Harry Potter and the Right of Justice
by justanothermuggle
Summary: This story is a sequel to my first novel-length story, Harry Potter and the Death Eater's Quest. This story is co-written with ghostchicken, who edited DEQ. It's a post-Hogwarts story and we do our very best to stay true to known JKR canon.
1. Chapter 1 Prologue

_A/N __**Harry Potter and the Right**__** of Justice**__ is a sequel to my first novel-length story, __**Harry Potter and the Death Eater's Quest**__. This story is co-written with __siledubhghlase__ (formerly __Ghost Chicken, who edited __**DEQ**__). It's a post-Hogwarts story and we do our very best to stay true to known JKR canon._

**Chapter 1 - Prologue**

Patricia Templeton awoke from a very sweet dream about dancing with a very handsome dark-haired young man in the Great Hall and reluctantly opened her eyes. At first she was confused, wondering where she was, because this certainly wasn't her dorm at Hogwarts. There was no canopy over the bed and hers was the only one in the room. Then she realised she had awoken in her own bed in her own room at home. Her mum, Diana Murray-Templeton, sat on the edge of her bed looking down at her. "Good morning, Sweetheart," she half-whispered.

"Good morning, Mum," Patricia yawned with a stretch. "I was having such a nice dream."

"Then I'm sorry to have awoken you, but Daddy's ship is due to arrive today. We'd better have some breakfast before we go dockside, don't you think?" Patricia's father, Paul Templeton, a captain in Her Majesty's navy, was due in from a six-month tour-of-duty at sea in the Middle East.

"Right! That _is_ today, isn't it? Oh Mummy, I can't wait to see him and tell him everything," Patricia beamed kicking the covers off her legs and feet.

While her mother padded to the kitchen to make a quick breakfast, Patricia washed and dressed, thinking about all the things she wanted tell her father about her first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. What a year it had been, too. She had returned home for the Christmas holidays, but the time had been filled with family gatherings and a bit of angst about her father shipping out, so she hadn't been able to talk very much with her parents. Furthermore, because she was a Muggleborn and the only witch in her family, her Muggle relatives weren't allowed to know about her special...talents.

Patricia remembered the day she learned she indeed was a witch. It was about a year ago that an odd-looking fellow had visited her and her family, saying she was a witch. Patricia has received the invitation to study at Hogwarts, a special school for young witches and wizards. At that moment, her entire life changed. After talking with the wizard, she and her parents wanted very much for her to attend Hogwarts.

The first experience associated with her new life had been a shopping excursion to Diagon Alley, a hidden street lined with magical shops, to buy the required books and equipment for the first year. She remembered how nervous she had been that day. There was so much to see and do there and the street was crowded with witches and wizards and Hogwarts students bustling about with their own shopping. Owls of all shapes and sizes hooted from perches at Eyelop's Owl Emporium, various squawks and odd noises assaulted the ears of the shoppers from the Magical Menagerie where one could purchase a pet, often called a "familiar," to bring to school. There was an Apothecary that emitted all kinds of strange smells and displayed all manner of interesting potions and potion-making needs including cauldrons, scales and _dragon-hide_ gloves!

The first shop Patricia and her parents stopped at was Ollivander's, Wandmakers Since 352 BC. She remembered how she had been measured by an funny magical measuring tape that measured her hands, arms, legs, and even the space between her nostrils before the old man began to show her different ones to try out, explaining that the wand chooses the wizard. She remembered with a sigh that warm feeling in her "wand" arm when a shower of pink sparks flew out of the end. "Willow and dragon heartstring, ten inches," Mr Ollivander said, tapping the box. "A very nice wand for Transfiguration, my dear." With a high-pitched chuckle, he twirled his index finger as though making a wand movement, then tapped Patricia's nose to finish his "charm."

As Patricia stepped out of Ollivander's, she met a pair of twins her own age who were also going to Hogwarts for their first year. Emma and Erica Prewett came from a Pureblood Wizarding family, but they became instant friends with Patricia, who peppered them with question after question while they finished their shopping together. The twin girls were all too eager to answer their new friend's questions the best they could, but they had to admit that there were things about Hogwarts their own parents wouldn't tell them, insisting that certain things were traditionally meant to be a surprise. As she sat down to wait for her mother to serve her breakfast, Patricia thought back to the summer of 1998.

_Mostly, it was a fascinating new world Patricia had entered. The Prewett twins introduced her to Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans (and they mean every flavour), told her about Quidditch, the Wizarding sport played on broomsticks high in the air, and all sorts of wondrous things. But they also told her about a horrible war that had ended that May._

_"Don't worry about it Patricia," Emma said reassuringly. "Harry Potter is the greatest wizard who ever lived! He defeated that horrible dark wizard and won't let evil touch us ever again." Patricia found herself breathing a sigh of relief, knowing that the Great Harry Potter would protect her._

_That was the first time she heard the name of Harry Potter, but not the last. To her amazement, she learned that Harry Potter was only 18 years old, and not an old man with long white hair and beard she first had pictured him to be. When she told her friends what she had pictured Harry to be, they giggled and showed her a Chocolate Frog card with a wizard who looked just like that, but it wasn't Harry. "That's Professor Dumbledore. He was the headmaster at Hogwarts but he was killed in the war. Harry was his apprentice," Erica explained, passing the photograph of the old man with the twinkling blue eyes and half-moon spectacles._

_Emma and Erica told Patricia all about the Second Wizarding War, the Battle of Hogwarts, and how Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had vanquished evil. Patricia was soon caught up in the twins' hero worship. "He's so dreamy," Emma declared with a sigh. Patricia also learned how Ginny Weasley—Ron's younger sister—and Neville Longbottom, also teenagers, risked their lives for other students, fighting evil Death Eaters at Hogwarts as well. "Ginny is Harry's girlfriend and the youngest witch ever to receive the Order of Merlin," Emma further explained, her voice full of admiration. "She's positively beautiful."_

_"Their pictures were in the Daily Prophet. Of course Harry and Ginny make a nice couple, but so do Ron and Hermione," Erica interjected. "He's handsome and strong and she's so pretty and smart. Did you know that Ron stands six-feet-five-inches tall?"_

_"Never mind her, Patricia," Emma said, rolling her eyes. "She's just in love."_

_"Am not," Erica protested. Then a smile stole across her face. "Well...maybe a little. But he's so gorgeous!"_

_"The Order of Merlin," Patricia repeated thoughtfully. "What's that?"_

_"It's the only the highest honour anyone can win, and it's only presented to those who uphold and defend the finest of Wizarding traditions," Erica enlightened her. "They're all honest-to-Merlin war heroes!"_

_"Wow..." was all Patricia could say. She'd been so overwhelmed by so many new sights and sounds and the wonderful stories her new friends told her over perfectly sinful sundaes at Florean Fortescue's newly-reopened Ice Cream Shoppe, she thought it would take years to process it all._

_That evening back home Patricia tried to comprehend all she had learned. Most of all she pictured the heroic teenagers, led by Harry Potter. Soon she fell asleep._

_"Breakfast is served," Diana said, setting a plate in front of her daughter._

_"Oh! Thanks, Mum," Patricia replied with a start as she returned to the present._

_Patricia glanced at her most prized possession: a signed Chocolate Frog card from her fellow Muggleborn mentor, role model and friend, Hermione Granger. She really was pretty. Hermione waved at her and she waved back before digging into her scrambled eggs, bacon and toast with marmite. "I've missed marmite," Patricia said, smacking her lips. "The House-elves prepare a gargantuan breakfast, but marmite is never on the menu."_

_Diana asked herself and gazed in astonishment at her daughter. __Gargantuan... whenever did she learn words like that? __"House-elves?"_

_"Yes, Mum. House-elves. Did you notice the little fellow with big eyes at Harry's and Ginny's wedding?"_

_"Yes... I did wonder... what it... he... was..."_

_"That was a House-elf, Mum. They're devoted servants and cook all the food at Hogwarts and clean all our dorms and common rooms. Some families treat their House-elves badly, but Harry is very fair and kind. He thinks of Kreacher—that's his name—as his friend and not a servant or...a slave," Patricia lectured, finding herself making a matter-of-fact gesture worthy of her idol, Hermione._

_"Patty, I hope you will tell us all about Hogwarts, House-elves, and your friends from school, but right now, we really need to get going," Diana concluded, checking her watch._

_Patricia shoved the last piece of marmite-covered toast into her mouth, and followed her mother to the car to bring Daddy home. As they drove along, Patricia's mind returned to the weeks leading up to the journey to Hogwarts._

_There had been another couple of visits to Diagon Alley in order to gather all the required supplies listed for first-years. Just two days before leaving for Hogwarts, to Patricia's great joy, she got the three Chocolate Frog cards she desired the most—the newly-issued Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger Famous Wizard cards. Reading about them and finally seeing their pictures, it was hard not to be amazed, since they were only seven years her senior. Patricia had read in the __Daily Prophet__ the same day that both Harry and Hermione and Harry's fiancée Ginny Weasley (whose card she already had) would be attending Hogwarts this year. Patricia felt the excitement when she understood she would actually get to see them in real life. She hoped they'd sign her cards if she could just summon up the courage to ask._

_September 1__st__ finally arrived and she couldn't contain her excitement as her parents drove her to King's Cross Station. Patricia felt thrilled and anxious at the same time. She had never been away from her parents this long, but once she'd been reunited with Emma and Erica, though, she felt loads better about it. After all, she'd be coming home for the Christmas holidays and they were only three-and-a-half months away. On the platform, she proudly showed her friends the Chocolate Frog __cards of the fabled Golden Quartet and was happy to find out that the twins each had collected them too._

_"How many Frogs did you have to buy to get all four," Emma asked._

_"Eleven..." Patricia admitted, "And I had to beg Mum to buy them for me."_

_They looked at the other cards they had collected over the summer too. All three had also got Merlin and Dumbledore and the twins had provided a couple of their doubles for Patricia's growing collections. "Oh, we're running late, we'd better get on the train," Erica yelled when she noticed it was two minutes to eleven._

_The three girls had barely hugged their parents and hopped aboard before the scarlet-and-black Hogwarts Express sounded her steam whistle and began to roll out from the station. Looking into the compartments, they thought it might be too late to find one with enough space so they could sit together. They continued to move down the train, looking for three empty seats in a single compartment. Excited about finally being on their way, however, the three girls giggled and squealed about everything and nothing as they examined the compartments they passed until they finally they found one with only three people inside, but they were older students, probably seventh-years. They opened the door._

_Emma swallowed and bravely spoke. "Are these seats taken?"_

_"No. C'mon in. Sit," the pretty red-haired girl said with a friendly smile._

_Patricia had just sat down when she looked at the older students they now shared compartment with. She could hardly believe her eyes when she realized she was sitting face-to-face with Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley. She blushed and suddenly felt like an intruder. "Oh, I'm sorry. Perhaps we should go someplace else," she suggested._

_"Why? Besides, the train is probably full by now. I'm Harry Potter. What's your name," Harry asked, smiling warmly._

_They introduced themselves and when Patricia dared to look at the celebrities opposite her, her eyes fell on Hermione. The twins discovered that they were very likely related to Ginny and told them about meeting Patricia during her first visit to Diagon Alley, when Hermione looked back at her._

_"I'm a Muggleborn too," Hemione said proudly._

_Patricia felt her spirits rise. Hermione was according to... everyone... the brightest witch in Britain, if not the world, and if she hadn't known about being a witch until she started at Hogwarts, then Patricia knew she could become a good witch too._

_During the journey, Harry, Ginny, and Hermione gladly signed their Chocolate Frog cards and found that it was hard not to giggle when Harry revealed that he didn't have a clue that he was even on a card. Hermione promised them she would have Ron sign his card too._

_That evening, after the trip across the lake to the castle, to Patricia's immense pride, she was sorted into Gryffindor, along with the Prewett twins. She was in the same house as Harry, Hermione and Ginny. Overall, her first day of term was an amazing one._

_What a first day that had been! The three national heroes proved to be very friendly and during the first weeks at Hogwarts, they had become friends. Harry had filled in as professor several times in Defence Against the Dark Arts. He and six others from Dumbledore's Army were living at Hogwarts and training to become Aurors. All seven of them had classes but for Harry Potter to teach them was something quite extraordinary. He was, after all, the best wizard in the world at fighting the Dark Arts. Then, just after the Christmas holidays, Ron Weasley joined the DA Auror class and joined his friends and fiancée at Hogwarts._

_Patricia had become especially close to Hermione because their common background as Muggleborns. They often sat together in the Great Hall or the library. Despite Hermione's workload with an almost unheard-of ten NEWT classes, she always found time to help Patricia and the twins, as well as their classmate and friend, Joseph Pointer. Harry and the others were soon involved in the task to track down remaining Death Eaters still large. This became the big news because one particularly nasty Death Eater, Mafalda Prewett, had hatched a mad plot that, had it been successful, would have destroyed their world._

_Mafalda was a distant relative to Emma and Erica and Ron and Ginny. Patricia had learned many things about the fight to round up the remaining Death Eaters first-hand from Harry and his friends before it was published in the _Daily Prophet_. Last spring, the fight had intensified. Harry, Ron, and the rest of the DA had passed the Auror exams and become fully-fledged Aurors. Following several devastating losses to the Auror Office, including the death of Head Auror, Gawain Robards, and the resignation of his successor, John Dawlish, Harry had been appointed Head, Ron as his Assistant Head. The two of them, aided by their fiancées and crack teams of Aurors, finally brought the last remnants of Death Eaters, or DEs as they were called, to justice, crushing Mafalda Prewett and her diabolical plans._

_In the midst of all of this, Hermione and Ginny managed to land their NEWTs, with Hermione having earned no fewer than 10 Os. Ginny, contracted to the Holyhead Harpies as a Chaser, led the Gryffindor Quidditch team to a record-smashing victory to claim the House Quidditch Cup. Patricia had taken her first year exams and was very pleased with her marks. Hermione had been a great inspiration and help, but the most amazing experience of Patricia's first year in the magical world was the one that had taken place only days ago—the beautiful and romantic wedding of Ginny Weasley to Harry Potter._

_Patricia was thrilled to have been invited to such a prestigious and high-profile event. It had been billed for months by the Wizarding press as the Wedding of the Century. Since her father was at sea, she invited her mother along as her guest. Both Templeton women were excited to be a part of such a lovely affair, but on their way to the wedding, Diana Templeton seemed more nervous than her daughter._

"_Patty, is this a big wedding?"_

"_Oh, yes Mum! It's the biggest! It's Harry and Ginny, Mum. The Minister for Magic himself will cast the Wedding Charm. All of the Aurors will be there and several professional Quidditch players. So will Professor McGonagall, the headmistress of Hogwarts, and Professor Hagrid, the Head of Gryffindor House. All kinds of important witches and wizards will be there!"_

_Arriving at the Burrow, Patricia re-introduced her mum to Emma and Erica Prewett. Soon, she more or less bumped into Professor Hagrid standing next to Headmistress McGonagall, although it's rather difficult to miss a half-giant in any crowd._

"_I'm very sorry, Professor Hagrid," Patricia apologised._

"_Better yer bumpin' in ter me than me in ter yer, Miss Templeton." Hagrid smiled, still blushing about his title as a Professor. He looked at her mum and stuck out a trashcan lid-sized hand. "Yer must be Patricia's mother."_

"_Mum, this is Professor Rubeus Hagrid, Head of Gryffindor House, and Professor Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts," Patricia said proudly as her mother shook hands with the two magical educators. _

"_Good afternoon, Professors. I'm very pleased to meet you," Diana said politely, but nervously. She had never seen a man as big as Professor Hagrid. But then again, if this man was the Head of Patricia's House, then she could be assured that her daughter was very safe at school._

"_Good afternoon, Mrs. Templeton, Patricia," Professor McGonagall replied. "I'm very pleased to meet you. Patricia is a very gifted student."_

"_So I'm told. It seems a certain recent graduate of yours has had a strong, positive influence on her," Diana replied. "And please, I'm Diana."_

"_Oh yes, of course. Patricia is very close to Miss Granger. I believe wholeheartedly that your daughter will follow very closely in Hermione's footsteps," Professor McGonagall assured her with an air of nostalgia._

_"She's very good wi' animals, too, Missus Templeton. Patricia here comes ter visit 'n' 'elp me wi' fixin' up injured creatures," Hagrid gushed. "She gets on best wi' th' owls."_

_Patricia blushed as her headmistress and Head of House praised her. She could hardly wait for third year when she could finally take Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid, but she had to admit that her favourite Professor had to be Harry Potter. "Thank you," she said meekly._

"_I suppose we should find our seats. It won't be long before the ceremony begins," Professor McGonagall reminded everyone._

"_Oh yes, of course. Again, I'm very please to meet you, Professors," Diana said, leading Patricia toward the marquee._

"_See, Mum? Aren't they wonderful," Patricia asked as they made their way through the crowd to some available seats about three-quarters of the way back on the groom's side._

"_Yes, dear, they are. Hush, now. It looks like the singer is about to begin."_

_Patricia wanted to sit on Harry's side of the house because she knew he didn't have any family other than the Weasleys and Hermione. He was the last of a very old Wizarding family, the House of Potter—that is until he and Ginny would have children, but that wouldn't be for quite a long time. But most importantly, Patricia thought of Harry as more than a hero or even a Tweener's crush in a dream. She loved him like the big brother she never had and as such, she would sit proudly on his side of the house to celebrate this wonderful day as the little sister Harry never had._

_This wedding was unlike anything both Patricia and her mum ever had experienced. As they walked toward the reception area where the feast would be served, she and her mother discussed the ceremony._

"_Harry and Ginny must really love each other. That was an amazing ceremony."_

"_Oh yes, Mum. Did you know that Harry died for Ginny," Patricia more declared than asked._

"_But how could that be, Patty? He's here and certainly not dead," Diana argued, a bit confused._

"_No, Mum. It's true. Harry walked into the Forbidden Forest to face down Voldemort—he was the evil wizard—alone. But some ancient magic was at work that kept Harry from dying when Voldemort threw the killing curse at him." Patricia went on to tell her mother the rest of the now-legendary tale of Harry's defeat of Lord Voldemort and the story that culminated in the beautiful expression of love they'd just witnessed._

_Diana didn't quite understand what Patricia was talking about, but it sounded very romantic on this absolutely gorgeous summer day in the enchanted garden of the Burrow, scented with wildflowers and strawberries. It truly was a lovely wedding that brought back memories of her own when she pledged her life and undying devotion to a young officer in Her Majesty's Navy._

_During the feast, Patricia introduced her mum to her idol and mentor, Hermione Granger and her fiancé (and Erica's crush), Ron Weasley. Diana had still been engaged in conversation with them when the Prewett twins dragged Patricia off._

"_Mrs Templeton. I hope it hasn't been terribly daunting for you to have welcomed a witch home. I remember my parents having had a difficult time after my first year at Hogwarts. I mean, when I boarded the Hogwarts Express from a platform that doesn't exist..."_

"'_Mione! It does so exist! You've been there loads of times." Ron decided to have one over on his lovely fiancée. "How soon they forget," Ron chuckled._

_Hermione shot him a mildly annoyed, but slightly amused look. "Very funny, Mr Weasley. Remind me to sort you out later."_

"_Promise?"_

"_Ronald..."_

"_Okay, okay, love. I'm on my best behaviour," Ron said with his characteristic half-grin._

_Following the banter as though watching a tennis match, Diana looked a felt a bit dubious at the exchange, but she had to admit that young Mr Weasley was a very fine-looking and engaging young man. It was no wonder that he and Harry were best friends._

_Patricia cottoned on to her mother's obvious discomfort. "Oh don't worry, Mum. They do this all the time. Silliness is just part of Ron's charm."_

_Ron perked up and polished his fingernails on his robes. "See, 'Mione? Patricia thinks I'm charming," he mused in mock-embarrassment. "I'm charming. Woo hoo!"_

"_God grant me the serenity..." Hermione murmured._

_Diana had to laugh, while her daughter clutched her sides in hysterics. These two young people had been to Hell and back to save their world, but still came out of it with a cute—if not warped—sense of humour intact. No wonder Patricia had been so taken by them—they made her laugh._

"_You two are so funny," she said, collecting herself. "And please...call me Diana."_

_Hermione continued. "I was a Muggle girl setting off on the greatest adventure of my very young __life. Although I'd done a copious amount of reading about Hogwarts and the Wizarding community, it was still a step into the unknown for me, and especially for my parents. When I returned home, I was a witch."_

"_Miss Granger. I..."_

"_Hermione...please," Hermione said, interrupting her._

"_And for future reference, I'm Ron. Mr Weasley is my father," Ron added with a wink._

_"Hermione, Ron, I admit there's a lot I don't understand about... all of this, but I think I speak for myself and my husband when I say we want to learn more. This is Patricia's life and we want to be a part of it too."_

"_Then don't hesitate to contact us, ever. Patricia is very dear to to all of us," Hermione told her._

"_Yeah, but especially to Hermione, since they're both Muggleborns and have a lot in common," Ron said, nodding between Patricia and Hermione._

"_Patricia auite admires you, Hermione. From what I've heard and you've confirmed so far, I think she has a fine role model."_

_Patricia didn't hear any more because Emma and Erica had dragged her off to meet Joseph on the dance floor. On the way, she stole a look over her shoulder to find her mother still in conversation with Ron and Hermione, and she seemed to be having a good time with them._

Patricia snapped herself out of her reverie as she looked outside and noticed they were almost to the harbour. She thought about Harry and Ginny, who were off on their honeymoon now. Patricia had been given a promise that Hermione and Ron would visit her. She was looking forward to that because despite the fact that she loved being home with her parents, she couldn't help feeling "cut off" from the Wizarding world. Her mum had been at the wedding with her, but still she couldn't really understand what the Wizarding world meant to her.

Patricia realised, like Hermione, that the Wizarding community was _her_ world, and something her parents could only ever be guests in but never truly a part of. Also, Hermione had promised to help her prepare for her second year, going through the literature with her. Patricia also looked forward to her upcoming visit with the Prewett twins. It would be her first visit to a Wizarding home. She was very happy that her parents had been invited too, because she so wanted her parents to understand how much being a witch meant to her.

Diana Templeton parked the car in the car park just inside the barrier separating the port from the docks. Taking her daughter's hand, she rushed toward the ship just as the officers and crew began to disembark. Since the enlisted men and women came down the gangplank first, it was about twenty minutes before Captain Paul Templeton, decked out in his crisp dress-white uniform, began his descent, his sea bag slung over his left shoulder.

Diana let go of Patricia's hand, jumping and waving to her husband as his eyes scanned the crowd for his family, surrounded by shipmates already reunited with their own. "Paul," Diana screamed. "Paul! Over here!"

Paul snapped his head toward the sound of his wife's voice and broke into a jog. With only a few paces left, he swung the duffel off his shoulder and dropped it to the ground just in time to sweep his wife into his arms, holding her like he'd never let her go. "Diana. How I've missed you, my darling," he said just above a whisper. Finally, overcome with love and the emotion that comes with reunion after a long separation, he kissed her deeply, drinking in her essence as though dying of thirst.

"Daddy," Patricia cried. "Daddy, you're home!"

"Patty, my sweetie," he said, sweeping her up a hug and a kiss as his own tears began to flow. "How's my best girl?"

"Oh Daddy! I missed you so," she said, burying her face in her father's neck. "I have so much to tell you!"

"Well then, how about you tell me on the way home? I'd love to get out of this stuffy old uniform and into some real clothes," he said with a twinkle and a wink. "Then perhaps we can go out for some decent food."

"Paul, that sounds marvellous! What do you say, Pattycake? Shall we take the old salt up on his offer?"

"Oh yes, Mummy! That sounds wonderful," she replied as her parents each took one of her hands. Captain Templeton once again hefted his duffel onto his shoulder and they made their way to the car park.

All the way home, Diana and Paul listened patiently as Patricia chattered on non-stop about Hogwarts, her lessons, her friends, and all the wonderful things she'd encountered during her first year in the Wizarding world. As they parked the car, Patricia dropped a question.

"Mum and Dad, can we go to Diagon Alley? I'd like to have an owl."

"What's an owl," Paul asked.

"Dad," Patricia sighed."I told you about the owls that fly into the Great Hall every morning with our mail."

"You mean the actual living, breathing, feathered, hooting birds that you talked about," Paul asked, vaguely remembering the part about the owls. "Isn't illegal to keep owls as pets?"

"Yes, Dad, they're real owls and it's not illegal—at least not in the Wizarding world anyway. They're _magical_ owls, not the sort one finds in the wild. I've been sending my letters with Hermione's all year. Her parents were kind enough to forward my letters on to you. Didn't you wonder why you've been sending your letters and parcels to London? Hogwarts is in Scotland, remember? The train?"

Paul and Diana realised they hadn't ever given it much thought. They had gotten a letter from Patricia a couple of weeks into September with a London address, and how to reach her.

"With an owl, I can write and send letters to my friends during the summer, and also to you once I go back to Hogwarts. Professor Hagrid says that Post Owls can carry letters and some parcels long distances in a relatively short time. They have a special instinct that tells them where to find the person the letters and parcels are for."

"But didn't you say the school has an owlery full of owls," Diana asked.

"Yes, Mummy, it has but those owls bite and I don't know them. It's always sensitive sending owls to Muggle neighbourhoods so I'd prefer an owl I know I can trust. I mean, Hermione used Ron's weeny little owl, Pig, but...well...like Ron says, he's a feathery git."

"Pig? What kind of a name is that for an owl," Paul asked, staring at his daughter in the rear-view mirror.

"Well, it's really Pigwidgeon. Ginny named him and Ron said after that, he wouldn't answer to anything else," Patricia giggled. "Hermione says Pig's just hyper and that they should slip a Calming Draught into his water."

_I'm sorry I asked_. "All right sweetie, we'll get you an owl." Paul promised with a chuckle. "A feathery git. Calming Draughts..." _Now I'm muttering to myself. I'm going bloody barmy_.

"Thanks Dad. You're the best," Patricia squealed. "And you're pretty good too, Mum."

"We'll go to London tomorrow," Diana stated.

That night, Diana and Paul looked in on their sleeping daughter. From her picture, Hermione winked and smiled at her friend, giving a little wave to the Templetons.

"Did she move the family portrait from her bedside table," Paul whispered.

Diana nodded. "It's on her dresser. She was very particular about having Hermione on her bedside table," Diana stated "I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Granger at the wedding. She is quite something and we couldn't wish for a better role model for Patty. Look at the other kids in the neighbourhood, Paul Their idols dress like tarts or criminals and sing...or is that scream...weird music. Miss Granger is studious, well-mannered, and a decorated war hero."

She knew that last part would impress her husband. She continued to tell him what she knew about how Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger put their own lives in danger in the field, while Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom fought to keep the students at Hogwarts safe during the war. Together, their efforts served to take out the most evil entity the world had ever known. "Their Order of Merlin is essentially the equivalent of our Victoria's Cross and the Americans' Congressional Medal of Honour all rolled into one. Paul, By Wizarding standards, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville are Knights."

"The Congressional Medal of Honour is awarded only to military personnel. The equivalent for civilians is called the _Medal of Freedom_," Paul corrected her, but then continued. "Diana, those are some pretty strong statements. Are you sure? I mean, is the Wizarding world really a safe place for Patty?" While Captain Templeton could certainly appreciate valour and bravery in combat, but to declare knighthood on teenagers—civilian teenagers, no less—might be stretching the tale a bit.

"It's like in the fairy tales Paul. It seems that all wonderful things are so much more wonderful, but the horrors are so much more horrible. We have to face it, Paul: our Patty is a witch whether we like it or not. We don't want her harmed, but what did your parents think when you took a commission in the navy right out of university? It wasn't that long after the Falklands War."

"Diana..." Paul began, but his wife cut him off.

"Do you have any idea how frightened I was when they shipped you off to the Persian Gulf during Desert Storm? We were only just married."

"Yes, I know, but..." Paul tried again to get a word in edge-wise, but he knew the effort was futile. His wife was on a roll and there was not stopping her now.

"You are a naval officer and Patty is a witch. The only difference is that you can resign your commission, but Patty can't resign from magic. Patty couldn't stop being a witch even if she wanted to, and frankly, she wouldn't want to. The magical world is as much a part of what she is just the same as the Royal Navy is a part of what you are."

Paul had finally had enough of his wife's diatribe and had to get her attention somehow. "DIANA TEMPLETON, THAT WILL DO!" Paul hated to shout, but sometimes one had to raise one's voice to be heard above the madding crowd. Only this time, the madding crowd consisted of one very passionate woman on a juggernaut.

He pulled his startled wife to himself and held her tight, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head. "Dear, please don't overreact! I'm sorry to have shouted at you, but I didn't mean it like that... it's just that I know so little, and we do tend to fear what we don't know. It's human nature," he said gently.

Diana collected herself while still sniffling into her husband's strong chest. She gulped and wiped her eyes before she spoke again. "I know. I'm sorry for my rant," she apologised in turn. "Paul, did Patty tell you about Hermione and Ron coming here to visit her? We're all invited to the Prewett family home for a visit. Emma and Erica Prewett are Patty's best friends. Staying with a Wizarding family for a few days would be a find opportunity for us to learn about Patty's world. I mean, what better way to learn it than to live it?"

"Well," Paul said thoughtfully. "That's certainly one way to look at it. But I guess my concern is really how to handle all of this as...what's the word? Muggles?"

Diana nodded. "Yes. Odd sort of term, isn't it?"

"Muggles. Hmmm...sounds like a salty snack food or a rather sugary breakfast cereal," he snorted. "Try new Muggles! They're delicious!"

Paul and Diana Templeton broke into fits of laughter, knowing they'd never be able to keep a straight face should they ever hear that word again. "Oh dear! I do believe we have gone well off-topic here," Diana giggled.

"Yes we have, my love. Please...continue," Paul agreed, trying to keep from breaking out into laughter again.

Diana related what Hermione had told her about returning home to her parents after spending her first year at Hogwarts.

"Perhaps a meeting with the Grangers is in order, yeah," Paul suggested.

"Not a bad idea. As soon as we procure a proper Post Owl for Patricia, perhaps one of its first missions might be to deliver a missive to our Miss Granger to arrange it. Perhaps we might invite them to dinner, along with Ron and Hermione."

The next day, the Templetons set out for Diagon Alley. Upon arrival at the Leaky Cauldron, Tom kindly opened the passage to Diagon Alley for them and directed them to Eyelop's Owl Emporium. "They've got great specimens at Eyelop's. Best owls in Britain," he promised. "They'll fix you up right, little Miss."

Patricia soon spotted a Tawny Owl who stared at her with what appeared to be great interest.

"Hi there," Patricia cooed, offering a finger.

The owl blinked back at her and Patricia immediately knew this owl was meant for her. He was a young male with big gold-coloured eyes, with black around them. His plumage was russet brown with white streaks.

"Dad, this is the perfect owl. And he's not very expensive either," Patricia observed, showing her father the price tag hanging from his cage.

Just then, a clerk approached them. "Tawny Owls are very reliable, and last year's clutches were huge so the price has come way down."

"Please, Daddy. He's perfect, Patricia pleaded.

"All right. All right. You're sure he's not a feathery git," he chuckled.

The owl hooted his indignity at such a slight coming not from a wizard, but a Muggle, of all people.

"No, he's not, Daddy," Patricia giggled. "He's not flitting around like Pig does."

"Well then, who am I to deny love at first sight? We'll take him," he sighed.

"Oh Daddy, thank you! Thank you!" Patricia rained kisses all over her father's tanned face. "You won't regret it, I promise!"

On the way home, Patricia and her owl shared the back seat, getting to know one another. Paul had insisted that his daughter's familiar should have everything he needs to be healthy and happy, so the boot had been loaded down with a perch, dishes, food, and a small case of owl treats to last at least a year.

"You know, I need to come up with good name for you," she told the owl. He hooted softly in response.

"Does it understand you," Diana asked.

"Of course _he_ does, Mum. How would he otherwise know where to deliver my mail," Patricia reasoned, turning back to the Tawny. "In honour of my mother, I will call you _Murray_."

The owl blinked again and hooted his approval.

"He seems to like it" Diana said, blushing slightly at the unexpected honour of having an owl named after her.

As soon as the car stopped, Patricia carefully lifted Murray's cage out of the car while her parents brought in his supplies. She carried her new friend up to her room and set his cage on the dresser.

"Where would you like to base _Operation Owl_," her father asked with a partially-assembled perch in his arms. Her mother followed him into their daughter's bedroom with the carton containing the food and dishes.

"Ummm...put his perch by the window there, so that when he comes home from a hunt or a mission, he can land right on it," she said with conviction.

"Right you are, Pattycake," her father agreed. "I'll just put this thing together, then, shall I?"

"Okay, Dad. Thanks," she replied. "Mum, just set the box down on my bed. I'll take care of it."

"All right, dear," Diana said, finally relieved of her burden. "While you two make Murray comfortable, I'll just nip down to the kitchen and fix tea."

"Okay, Mum. And thanks again," Patricia said, simply beaming with pride for her beautiful Tawny Owl.

After wrestling with the perch for roughly fifteen minutes, Paul finally managed to put it together properly. _When all else fails, read the directions. Works on both sides of the magical fence, doesn't it Templeton?_

"All finished, Sweetheart," Paul said, wiping his hands. "Well then, Murray. Care to have a go?"

The owl hooted is assent and Patricia opened to cage to free him. He stepped out of the cage, ruffled his feathers, and stretched his wings. He crouched down a little and then leapt into the air to flutter over to his new perch to preen himself.

His mistress' father then fastened the dish attachment, adjusting the height to suit the Tawny. "There you are, mate. Welcome home."

"Thanks again, Daddy," Patricia said, wrapping her arms around her father's waist. "And Murray thanks you too." The owl stopped preening long enough to blink at Paul and let out a hoot, and then returned to his grooming.

Once her father left the room, Patricia "stowed Murray's gear" and then pulled out a parchment, quill, and ink.

_Dear Emma and Erica..._


	2. Chapter 2 Farwell to Rook Holler

Chapter 2 – Farewell to Rook Holler

Rook Holler had been established in the 1750s before the American Revolution by a contingent of Wizarding families that had no desire to be caught up in the fighting. That was an "Aint" (Muggle) war they wanted no part of and swore they'd separate themselves from their struggles. They just wanted to be left alone.

When the War of Northern Aggression broke out in the mid-nineteenth century, more Wizarding families began to filter south into Rook Holler to escape the carnage. For the most part, southern wizards kept out of Aint politics, but that was one time they took sides. They weren't interested in the slavery issue because there were House-elves for that if one was so inclined. No, this was about being who they were without some Yankee wise-cracker telling them how to live, Aint or Magical.

Granny Tyree told many stories about her grandfather's regiment, a magical unit that scouted for General Robert E. Lee's Army of Northern Virginia. Lee owed a great share of his success in the war to Eustis Arnold Tyree's scouts and their uncanny ability to snoop around Union camps unseen. "Nothin' like a good Disillusionment Charm," she would say with a chuckle. "But E.A. Tyree never cast a spell to harm a living soul. He was a scout, not a butcher. In fact, no wizard, Yankee or Reb'd curse to kill."

After that, though, the people of Rook Holler vowed never to involve themselves in any more Aint politics. Theirs would be a peaceful home where they could raise their children far from Aint troubles. They cast varying wards to keep the Aints away, venturing out of their holler only if absolutely necessary. But the Tyrees stayed in the hills, outside the public wards, in order to offer their services to any who needed them, Aint and Magical alike.

It was in this ancient but well-maintained cabin, as the setting sun disappeared behind Grandfather Mountain, a strawberry-haired young woman sat in a stout rocking chair by her mother's bedside softly humming a tune from an old hymnal her Granny had given her along with a battered guitar that had once belonged to the old woman's father. As the melody wafted over the dying woman's pain-wracked body, the bedroom door opened with a muted creak and the old woman known as "Granny Tyree" shuffled in.

"Fiona, honey, I brought you some tea. You all right, child," she asked in her gentle, but slightly croaky Carolina twang.

"Thank you, Granny. I could use some," she replied with a heavy sigh. "I don't expect there's much time now, is there?"

"No, child. I could hear the rattle from the kitchen. I done sent for Coy Dennis. He's comin' directly," Granny said with a slight catch in her voice. "You called for your sister and that man o' hers?" Coy Dennis was the local Sin Eater who was also accomplished in Charms work and Transfiguration. It was said that he could turn himself into a wolf at will, but it was never substantiated and Coy never admitted or denied the stories. In fact, he'd howl with laughter whenever someone brought it up to him.

"Yes ma'am. I sent Mr Deeds after supper last night." Mr Deeds was a rather large Great Horned Owl that Fiona and Granny Tyree had rescued and healed after some fool Aint took a pot-shot at him with a pellet gun. It took several hours to remove the tiny steel balls from the poor owl's wing and patch him up. Fiona had formed a special bond with the bird and made him her pet project. After months of treatment and conditioning, she managed to prepare the owl to be released back into the wild.

"_All right, Mr Deeds. In ya go." Fiona gently placed the now-healthy owl into a modified Aint pet carrier and began her trek further into the hills surrounding their magical community. She wasn't sure why she called the owl Mr Deeds, but it just seemed to fit. "Just a little bit further and you'll be free again, my friend." The owl hooted a melancholy response. If Fiona hadn't known better, she'd have sworn this owl was sad to leave her._

_Winded and legs aching, Fiona finally reached the crest of a high hill overlooking Rook Holler. "Come on, old fella. Time for ya to fly," she said as she coaxed the great bird from the carrier. She held him gently in her hands, her arms extended in front of her. "Ready, boy? Go!" She tossed the bird into the air and held her breath as he fluttered his mottled wings and took flight into the morning sky. "Good luck, Mr Deeds," she whispered as a tear slid down her rosy cheeks._

_After a long night of sobbing into her pillow and another long day of gathering potions ingredients, she sat down to supper with Granny, her mother, and her sister, Gallatea. They were just finishing up a sumptuous meal of Brunswick Stew and cornbread when there was a tapping on the window. Granny Tyree looked up toward the tapping. "Well I'll be dipped in a rain barrel," she said. There, at the window, sat the owl, his golden eyes, round and staring. "Fiona, child, you have a visitor," the old woman said with a twinkle in her pale blue eyes._

"_Mr Deeds! Momma, Taya, it's Mr Deeds! He came back to me," Fiona cried as she ran outside to her friend._

"_Looks we got us an owl, Annie," Granny laughed._

"They ain't flyin' in one o' them Aint contraptions are they," Granny asked with narrowed eyes.

Fiona couldn't help but smirk at Granny's testiness. "No, ma'am. They're Apparatin'—"

"Apparition! Bah," she huffed. "Why anybody'd wanna be squeezed through a rubber hose is a mystery to me! Now give me a sturdy broomstick and I'm on my way! That's how they did it in the old days!"

"Granny, broomsticks ain't practical for such a long way. Besides, there's a lot more Aints in the world than there was in the _old days_. As it is, they have to travel in fits and starts. First from Sioux Falls, then Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee, and then Ashville."

"Broomsticks from there?"

"No, ma'am. Taya says they'd rest a bit in Ashville, and then Apparate here. They should be here any time now—"

_Bang, bang, bang! _"Granny! It's Taya! Granny, please open up!"  
The old woman shuffled toward the front door. "Hold your hair on, girl! I'm a-comin'! I'm a-comin'!" She lifted the latches on the scrub oak door and pulled it open. An exact replica of the young woman keeping watch over her mother in the bedroom threw herself into the old woman's arms and began to sob.

"Granny…is she…?"

"Not yet, child. Yer sister's with 'er," Granny Tyree cooed as she stroked the younger woman's hair. She nodded toward the bedroom where Rhiannon Prewett lay dying. "Go on, now. Yer sister needs ya."

"Thanks, Granny," Taya sniffed and then made her way sadly to the bedroom. She quietly opened the door and slipped in, closing it almost silently behind her. "Onie?"

"Hey, Taya," her sister replied, holding her mother's hand to her cheek. "It won't be long now."

"Why didn't you owl me sooner," Taya asked, wrapping her arms around her sister from behind. "You shouldn't have dealt with this alone." Taya released her sister and moved to the other side of the bed, where she gently sat down by her mother's hip and took her free hand.

"I wasn't alone, Taya. Granny's here and some of the women from the village've been bringin' food up so we could nurse Momma. Granny and me—we've been brewin' potions and dryin' herbs to keep our minds busy."

"Still, Onie, I wish you'd have sent for me sooner. When Mr Deeds arrived with your note—" Gallatea's voice broke and she began to sob again, laying her own strawberry head against her mother's breast. "Oh Momma, I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry for what," a deep male voice asked from the doorway. "Tay-O-Wee, what are you sorry about? O-Nee-Tsah, what's this about?" A tall dark wizard with shining black hair falling to the middle of his back stepped into the room. He smelled of wild sage and new leather.

"Howdy, Jayce," Fiona said with a sad smile. "Thanks for escortin' 'er." Jayce Silvercloud was the second son of a Sioux Medicine Man. He had taken it upon himself to bestow Native American-sounding names on the girls as terms of endearment based on their well-established nicknames, although the syllables really meant nothing at all.

"I wasn't about to let her make a trip like that alone, you know that," he intoned as he drew his lover's sister into a tight embrace. "What is this 'sorry' business, anyway?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. She could be apologizin' for runnin' off to the Black Hills with you or for not gettin' here sooner, or maybe she's sorry Momma's dyin'. Who knows," Fiona said with a resigned shrug.

"Did anyone ever figure out—"

"Not a clue, Jayce. At first, Granny thought it might be the Dragon Pox, but that's almost unheard of here. She didn't break out, so it ain't that or Spattergroit neither. She just came down with fever a couple months ago and it's been off 'n' on ever since. She took a bad turn early last Monday mornin' and just went downhill from there."

"She's dyin' of a broken heart. I'm sure of it," Taya declared through her tears. "You know how sad Momma always was when left to herself. This has been comin' for years. She's been pinin'—"

"Taya, don't bring that up now. It'll just upset her," Fiona snapped.

"What does it matter, Onie? Daddy's comin' for her and you know it!" Gallatea broke into tears again and began to rock. "It's okay, Momma. Daddy'll be here soon and then you'll be safe."

Another knock came on the front door. Jayce turned and left the room so the sisters could spend their final moments with their mother in peace. Granny opened the door to a large man with dull brown hair and dark eyes. "Coy," Granny said.

"Eula Mae, ma'am" the man replied, removing his hat to step inside.

"Coy Dennis, this is Jayce Silvercloud. He's Gallatea's man," Granny said. "Jayce, this is Coy Dennis. He's come to take Miss Rhiannon's sins."

"Ah. The Sin Eater. Gallatea told me about you. Looks like we'll be working together here very soon," the darker man said.

"Medicine Man?"

"Sioux. My father's the Medicine Man, but it's my oldest brother, Jett, who'll officially take over the family business." Jayce said with a shrug. "I know what to do, though. Dad gave me a blessing so I could perform the rite in my brother's place."

"So how d'ya reckon we should we do this then," the Sin Eater asked.

"Well, you should take her sins to purify her soul, and then I'll purify her body. That way, she'll be completely clean and ready for her husband to take her to the Great Spirit."

"Fair enough," Coy agreed and the two men clasped arms in the warrior's grip.

During this exchange, Granny Tyree listened with rapt attention. She'd never seen a Sioux death ritual, but she'd heard about the beauty and simplicity of many Native American rites of passage, so she was eager to witness this one. Rhiannon Prewett's passing would bring two cultures together to honour the life of a brave woman who sacrificed everything for the safety of her children.

"Granny! Come quick," Gallatea cried from the bedroom. "It's Momma!"

"C'mon, boys," Granny croaked. "It's her time."

Granny Tyree, Jayce, and Coy gathered their talismans and handkerchiefs and stepped reverently toward the bedroom. The woman's daughters were gently pulled away from the bed as their mother entered her final death throes. Gallatea struggled a little, but Fiona was able to calm her enough in order to perform their part of the ritual.

Granny handed Coy a bread roll wrapped in a cloth, which he blessed and handed to Gallatea. He then poured some dandelion wine into a wooden bowl, blessed it, and handed it to Fiona. "Do y'all know what to do," he asked the girls.

"No sir. We never done this before," Fiona answered, choking back her tears.

"It's nothin' child. Gallatea, jus' set the bread roll on yer Momma's chest." With shaking hands and a heavy heart, she laid the bread on her mother's sunken chest.

"Fiona, girl, you hand that bowl across the bed to Coy. Make sure it passes over yer Momma's body." Holding the bowl in both hands, she carefully extended it across her mother's body to the Sin Eater.

Coy Dennis raised the bowl to the ceiling, as in supplication, and muttered an incantation nobody could quite make out. After a few minutes, he lowered the bowl to his lips and drank the contents. He then took the bread from the dying woman's chest and ate it.

While he performed this ritual, witches and wizards from the holler gathered in the front yard to begin the vigil. A few witches, trusted friends of Rhiannon's and Granny's, assembled in the kitchen to prepare themselves for their part. They would be the vigil mourners who would wash and dress the body, enshroud it, and then sit watch through the rest of that night. They would be relieved by another group of witches some time next morning.

When Coy finished, he declared Rhiannon Prewett's soul clear and free of sin. He passed a blessing on the dying woman and her daughters, and then left the cabin to join the mourners in the yard. "She was a fine woman, girls. We'll shore miss 'er."

"Thank you, sir. Thanks for everything," Gallatea said and then fell into Granny Tyree's arms.

After Coy left, Jayce reverently unrolled a breadth of buckskin to reveal a feathered rattle and a few other items sacred to Sioux ritual. He turned first to the north and offered a prayer to the Great Spirit in his native tongue. He then turned to the east, the south, and then the west, offering a different prayer at each compass point. He took up the rattle and began to shake it up and down above his lover's mother's body, leaving small stones and other tokens at strategic points. Each one carried a blessing or a protection for the spirit as it crossed over into the next life.

While he worked, he sang in the linear tones of the Sioux Death Song. Granny, Gallatea, and Fiona looked on with hot tears streaming down their faces as the son of a great Medicine Man helped to usher their mother's soul into eternal rest in the arms of her husband. He had no sooner than finished, when Gallatea slumped to the floor as Rhiannon O'Reilly Prewett drew a final ragged breath and stilled. Fiona leaned into the woman she thought of as a grandmother and sobbed miserably into the old woman's crocheted shawl.

The four of them stood there comforting one another for about half an hour before Jayce gathered up his sacred equipment and ushered the women out to the sitting room where the trusted witches were gathered, waiting to do their part. The women exchanged warm hugs and kisses, the "wailing" witches offering words of sympathy and comfort. Quietly and orderly, they began to file into the bedroom to prepare Rhiannon's body for burial.

Jayce left the cabin to greet neighbours and friends keeping vigil in the yard. Several fires had been built where wizards passed jars of a strong-smelling clear beverage around as hunting dogs lay at their feet. Jayce spied Coy at one of the fires and joined his vigil.

"The girls all right," Coy asked as he passed the jar to the Medicine Man.

"As can be expected, I guess," Jayce replied. He raised the jar in salute to his fellows and drank deeply of the strong, but sweet, liquor. "Nice body," he said with a wink, as he passed it to the next man. "Any extra I can take back to the Dakotas?"

"Could be…fer a price…" Coy said with a sly grin. "I think we c'n work somethin' out."

"Fair enough. It's good stuff," Jayce said. "They're still drinkin' rot-gut on the Reservations. Never touch the stuff. This is nectar, though." The jar had made its way back to him with one swallow left. As soon as Jayce downed it, another man approached with a crockery jug in his arms and set to refilling the jar.

"Thank ya, Zeke," called Coy. "Yer a gentleman and a scholar, sir."

"I dunno 'bout that, Coy, but this run was a good'un!" This drew the laughter of those within earshot, which roused a few old dogs out of their sleep. They loped up to the men and laid their muzzles on their owners' knees for a scratch behind the ears. Mr Deeds flew down and rested on Jayce's shoulder, nipping affectionately at his ear.

"Hey, father owl," Jayce said, offering the bird a bit of flatbread he had in a pouch tied to his belt. "That good?" The owl hooted his approval and flew up into a tree to watch the humans around the fires in his own vigil.

A few hours in, Granny slipped out of the cabin and approached the fire where Coy and Jayce sat with a few of the others. They'd passed a few jars around and had quite a buzz on when she tapped him on the shoulder. "Jayce, come in the house. You need to hear what I'm about ta tell the gals."

"Yes, ma'am. Excuse me gentlemen. The women call," he said as he rose unsteadily to his feet. "Good night."

"Night, boy," the older man slurred as he followed Granny into the house. Inside, he found Fiona and Gallatea seated at the table with mugs and a huge pot of coffee. He could hear the wails and songs of the witches keeping their watch over the body.

"Sit. There's somethin' I have to tell these gals and I think they're gonna need ya, son," Granny said flatly, pointing to an empty chair with an equally empty mug sitting at its place. She poured coffee and began to speak. "Onie, Taya, as you know, you was borned in that England over there. You lived there with yer momma an' daddy until you was two year old. Then one day, yer daddy packed you two and yer momma up and Portkeyed y'all here where me an' Coy and a few o' the others was waitin' fer ya."

"Granny, you knew we were coming," Gallatea asked, shooting looks at her sister.

"Of course, child. Yer daddy and yer Uncle Gideon done set it up weeks afore you was sent here. Now hush so I can tell ya," she admonished.

"Sorry, Granny," Gallatea said, staring down into the almost-blackness of her steaming coffee.

"We had a cabin all set and ready when y'all got here that night. Yer momma was plumb wore out an' you two was out like lights. We moved ya in, put y'all ta bed, an' then me an' Coy sat the night 'n' talked. Yer momma cried out a few times. 'No, Fabian, no,' she'd scream. 'Please let us stay.' 'Course we knew why y'all'd been sent here, but we din't know how bad it really were 'til one day me an' yer momma was settin' on my porch separatin' herbs 'n' such."

_Granny and Rhiannon sat on rocking chairs on the porch with baskets full of various herbs and flowers. Each woman had a large metal bowl in her lap the used to prepare each plant for drying and potion-making. In the yard, two tiny girls—identical in every way—toddled around chasing a kitten. Suddenly, the younger woman screamed "Fabian!" and fainted, her long honey-blond hair falling over the side of the chair._

"_Annie," the older woman cried. "Annie, talk to me, child," she cried as she patted Rhiannon's cheeks to wake her. Soon, the woman stirred, stared into Granny's face, and began to cry. "Annie, what is it? What's wrong?"_

"_He's gone, Granny! Fabian! That monster…those beasts! And poor Gideon…poor Molly all alone!" Rhiannon's tears flowed hard and heavy as she sobbed piteously into the old woman's shoulder. "What am I going to do? How am I going to raise these darlin' babies without my Fabian? He promised he'd be careful—that he'd come for us and take us…home!"_

"She went quiet for a few days while she grieved for yer daddy and his brother. I looked after y'all until she come back to us. She was never the same, though. It was like somethin' bored a hole right in her soul. Oh she took care o' you young'uns well enough, but some of her fire went out. She wouldn't be courted, she wouldn't even be visited by no suitors. She was yer daddy's, heart an' soul and swore she'd never love another. An' she didn't."

"Years passed and yer momma made her mark as a fine healer and she was damned good with a cauldron. She could brew any potion for any need, but she'd never brew no love potions. She used to tell them silly gals when they come beggin' her to help 'em snag some beau that where she come from, they's illegal and could get somebody put in prison or some such thing. She just wouldn't do it, and she wouldn't teach 'em to do it themselves neither."

"_A love potion! Are ya mad, girl? Potions can't make a man love ya, darlin'. It's a lie; a cheat that'll always come to a bad end. No, if ya can't land yer man on yer own merits, then it's just not meant to be. Where I come from, ya can go ta prison for usin' such a thing on another human being. No, I'll not brew it and I'll not teach it either. Now go on home t'yer mother!"_

"Fiona, you get your healin' and potion-makin' talent from yer momma," Granny Tyree said with a wink.

"But Granny, what about me? I'm rubbish at that," Gallatea said sadly. "I…I can't do anything."  
"Taya, child, don't be silly," Granny said, placing a soothing hand on her surrogate granddaughter. "From what yer momma used to tell me, yer just like yer daddy—not only in looks, but in deeds."

"What? How," she said, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

"Child, since you could walk, you could track an animal from here ta Boone and back. Why do you think them Carver boys allus wanted to take you huntin' and fishin' with 'em? They din't bag that game on their own. Shoot, they couldn't track their way out o' their front yard, the idjits. But you…you could find game where there weren't none."

"Well…true, but—"

"Remember a few years back when that little Aint girl went missin' up in them hills," Granny said with a nod.

"Of course. She'd been lost for a few days. We found her curled up in some underbrush on the next ridge—"

"Not we, baby. You. While the others went gallyvantin' all over with their wands out, you just seemed ta be able to sniff 'er out better'n a hound-dog."

Fiona started and then grasped her sister's hand. "I remember that, Taya. Ya come troopin' up the yard with that little girl's hand in yours, singin' at the top o' yer lungs!"

"Yeah, but…"

"But nothing! Tay-O-Wee, that's amazing! You never told me about that," Jayce cried. "I might have known, though, because you are one of the best trackers in the Dakotas. Do you have any idea how many of my people envy this beautiful white woman who can hunt better than any man?"

"Oh yeah. I'm sure they just love that, don't they? Little Tay-O-Wee, the Great White Huntress! They think I'm nuts, Jayce," she laughed. "They think _you're_ nuts for having truck with me. I've heard them talking…"

"Jealousy, my prairie flower. Pure jealousy," Jayce smiled and kissed her cheek. Gallatea blushed deeply and buried her face in his strong shoulder. "I'd have you in my hunting party any day."

"That's why they think you're nuts," she replied with a slap to the same shoulder. "They think the Rangers made you unbalanced and that the US Marshal's Office just finished the job."

"Shhh…there's men with corn liquor outside! If they knew I was a Fed, they'd never sell me a drop and I intend to take some of that glorious stuff home with me," Jayce said in mock conspiracy.

"Enough, now," Granny said sharply. "There's a lot more ta tell and the night's wanin'! More coffee?"  
"Please, but the pot's almost empty," Fiona said.

"Fill it then, girl. Yer a witch aintcha?"

"Yes, ma'am." Fiona tapped the pot with her wand. Instantly, the pot began to steam with fresh coffee. She passed the pot around and then served herself.

"About yer 'leventh birthday, yer momma went kinda sad-like. She put on a cheery face fer yer party, but her eyes told another tale. She was a million miles away. She told me later what the trouble was. She said y'all should-a been gittin' ready to go ta some school… I can't rightly name it off my head, though." Granny scratched her gray head and tried to come up with the name, but became frustrated as it escaped her.

"Hogwarts?" Jayce had heard of the British school while he attended the Black Hills Academy of Magic. The United States contained six such magical academies, two of which were situated in Alaska and Hawaii. They were all well-hidden. The other four could be found in New Mexico, South Dakota, Oklahoma, and then the oldest of them all, the Salem Academy, in Massachusetts. There were rumours of a magical school outside of New Orleans that catered only to Louisiana Wizarding families, but if it ever existed, no trace of it had ever been discovered.

"That's it. Knew it had somethin' to do with pigs," Granny said with a grin. "Anyway, she said y'all was to go ta that school and that you'd-a been goin' with some twins—cousins o' yourn."

"Cousins? We have family over there, Granny Tyree," Fiona asked with a tinge of excitement. For all she knew, the only family she had left included Gallatea, Granny, and Jayce, and two of those three were not blood relatives. "Did Momma give ya a name?"

"Fiona, child, patience is a virtue. Be virtuous," Granny admonished in a mock-lecturing tone. "I'm-a-gittin' ta that."

"All right, all right," Fiona said, slightly deflated. "Go on, please Granny."

Granny Tyree paused for a few moments to listen to the hymnody coming from the death room and the hushed conversation out in the yard. She shook her gray head and spoke again. "She said that she 'n' yer daddy went to that school, an' so did the rest of yer people over there. Said they all belonged to the same house, whatever that meant." She shot a look at Jayce as if to give permission for him to elaborate if he could.

"Uh—well," Jayce began. "I don't know much about Hogwarts, except that it's been there for something like a thousand years, and that four powerful magical people founded it. But the 'house' thing…I don't know anything about that." Jayce shrugged apologetically, returning the floor to the elderly woman at the table.

"Yer Momma was determined that you gals'd get a good magical education rightchere at home with me 'n' her teachin' ya. She'd have none o' y'all learnin' about war or fightin', but she'd make shore you could defend yerselves if ya needed to. Them wands you got come from England, children, but she wouldn't say how she got 'em. Still don't know, but I 'spect one of 'ems yer daddy's and the other one's yer uncle's."

"Granny, can I tell ya somethin'," Fiona asked.

"Not now, child. I need ta finish this story," Granny insisted.

"But Granny," Fiona argued.

"But nothin' Fiona Prewett. You'll have a hush until I'm through," Granny Tyree scolded.

"Yes, ma'am," Fiona said, her eyes downcast. Even though Granny Tyree was suspected to be over one hundred years old, she still had a command to her voice that could cow even the biggest buck in the holler; but for Fiona, it was the love and respect of a granddaughter that kept her obedient.

"Never set much store by wand work—never was good at it, but it's still necessary for a witch or wizard to have one. I got one o' my own, but I don't carry it around with me. Too much of a temptation to take it out 'n' use it, if you catch my meanin'." The old woman took a sip of her now-lukewarm coffee and set the mug back down on the table. "So as I say, she swore y'all'd have a magical education rightchere at home and we was gonna teach y'all what ya needed to know to get on.

Yer Momma taughtcha Charms and some defense spells and I taughtcha most o' yer Potions. She was a fair hand at Potions herself as I told ya before, but she was better with Charms, so she left the Potions teachin' ta me. Taya, girl, ya took ta Charms like a hound-dog to a scent and Fiona took ta the healin' art. I'm tellin' ya, I ain't never seen the like!"

"Oh I can attest to that," Jayce interjected. "Tay-O-Wee can track earthworms, coax them to the surface, and then charm them to do the hula." The others around the table laughed out loud at Jayce's commentary on his love's talents. Gallatea, on the other hand, tried to cover her mirth with mock indignation, which caused the other three to howl even louder.

"Shhh…" Granny shushed them, remembering the somber scene in the next room. "We're supposed ta be mournin'. As I was sayin'… You gals seemed ta gravitate—Taya to Charms and Onie to Potions 'n' Healin'. But the both of ya caught on and soaked up learnin' like a pair o' sponges! Still, yer Momma was sad thatcha din't git ta go ta that school and git a proper education, but she weren't sendin' ya ta them Yankees in Salem neither! I guess we poured so much o' the south into 'er, that the very idea got 'er Irish up like nothin' I'd ever seen in my borned days!"

Granny leaned back in her chair and cackled at the memory of Rhiannon Prewett fuming about those "damned Yankees." What Granny didn't understand was that the situation the old woman told her about regarding the War of Northern Aggression reminded her too much of the strife in her own Northern Ireland, even though that conflict never directly affected her. Still, too many Muggles suffer because of imperial greed, and that injustice drove her to distraction.

"Y'all got good at what we taughtcha and that's what yer Momma wanted. But Taya, girl, when you left home, it broke her heart. Now don't go gittin' all teary-eyed. Ya were bound ta go. Ya had to find yer own way and ya were gonna some time. It's just hard for mommas ta let go o' their babies. Ya went ta Jayce here, and that's whatcha were meant ta do. Fiona…"

Silent tears slid down Fiona's cheeks as she listened. The moment Granny had revealed that she had family in England, something awakened inside her. Almost immediately, she began to feel a pull on her soul. She'd felt an emptiness for a long time she couldn't explain, but now it was clear. She needed to go to England, there was just no getting around it. For some reason, she felt as though her British family needed her as much as she apparently needed them.

"Granny, I have to go to England, don't I," Fiona said, casting a furtive glance at her surrogate grandmother. "I'm supposed ta go there like Taya was supposed ta go ta Jayce, ain't I?"

"Yes, child. You gals was borned in that there England and it's callin' ya home," Granny admitted sadly. "Yer Momma knew it when she took sick, and she made me promise ta gitcha there."

"Granny, shouldn't I go with her," Gallatea asked with trepidation. "She shouldn't go alone."

"No, child. She hasta do this thing; it's her job…at least for now. Blood's callin' ta blood and it's her place ta answer." Granny patted Gallatea's hand and gave her a pointed look over her round spectacles. "If she needs ya, she'll call to ya. But fer now, child, she has to make this journey alone."

"When should I leave? How will I get there? I ain't never flown nothin' but a broom and I cain't fly a broom over three-thousand miles of ocean," Fiona cried. "I ain't never been on a plane 'n' I wouldn't know what ta do at an airport…"

"O-Nee-Tsah, calm down," Jayce soothed as he grasped her arm. "I have connections. I can get you a passport inside of a week and on a plane from Charlotte to Heathrow very soon after. We'll have you in England in a couple of weeks. That'll give you time to set your affairs in order and say your goodbyes, all right?"

"But…what do I do once I get there? Who do I go to? How do I get around," Fiona cried. "Granny, just who am I looking for?"

"Child, yer lookin' fer a place called _The Burrow_ where a family name o' Weasley is thought ta live. Yer lookin' fer yer Aunt Molly. She's yer daddy's sister. It's her blood callin' to ya, child." Granny's eyes began to glisten with unshed tears. Her baby, her pride and joy, was finally taking wing and leaving the nest.

Eula Mae Tyree, known to just about everyone only as "Granny," had no fear of being alone, not by any stretch of the imagination. Coy Dennis was a good friend and would make it a point to look in on her. "Ye'll be takin' Mr Deeds with you. You'll need him and besides, that crazy bird'd prob'ly die o' loneliness pinin' after ya."

"But..."

"O-Nee-Tsah, it'll be fine. Trust me, okay," Jayce insisted. "We'll make sure you find what you're looking for. I'll make some calls when I get back to Sioux Falls and we'll work it all out. Meanwhile, you just do what you have to do to be ready."

"But first things first, children. It's nigh on dawn and we got a wake ta throw and a funeral ta git to."

Granny packed the young people off to get some rest. For a woman her age, she seemed to have boundless energy when there was a gathering to be planned and fed. Soon, witches from the village came to take over the vigil in the death room, allowing those who'd been there all night to return to their homes for some rest. Others arrived to help Granny with preparations for the wake, bringing food and drink for the guests. There were dressed chickens for frying, hams, game, vegetables and fruit preserved last fall, dozens of fresh-baked rolls, cakes, pies, cider, and of course, a couple of cases of quart jars of 'shine to share around the evening campfires. Tomorrow, Coy Dennis would commit Rhiannon's mortal remains to Mother Earth and release her soul to the eternities.

"Silvercloud?"

"Yeah, Dennis. What can I do for you," Jayce replied, knowing full-well what Coy had in mind.

"I got yer…uh…package waitin' in the shed. A full case o' quart jars, no questions, right?"

"No questions, man. I don't wanna know who or where. I just wanna know that it's good and how much," the Sioux replied.

"Fair enough. It's good all right. It's what we been drinkin' since last night. A good run, this was, "Coy said with a smile. "Fifty Yankee dollars, my man."

"That's it? Surely it's worth more than that," Jayce hinted. "Somebody went to a lot of trouble and all to make such a great product."

"Nope, fifty's the price. Lord, man, ye've got twenty-four quart jars!"

"Twenty-four! I was only expecting twelve! You're a prince among men, Dennis," Jayce said with a toothy grin and twinkle in his dark eyes. He drew out his wallet, careful to keep it separate from the "other" wallet that contained the encircled star insignia of a U.S. Marshal. Coy covered him, pretending to carry on a quiet conversation while Jayce leafed through the bills, finally pulling out a crisp Ulysses S. Grant fifty-dollar note.

"A pleasure doin' business with ya, red man," Coy said, shaking Jayce's hand. "We don't git too many Feds wantin' ta indulge."

Jayce's heart leapt to his throat. _How did he know? I might not get out of these hills alive._ Coy began to chuckle as he slapped Jayce on the back. "There ain't much goes on in this holler I don't know about. These other'ns don't know aboutcha, so ya got nothin' ta worry on. Just take care o' Taya and git Onie ta that England safe 'n' sound, an' we're all good," Coy assured him.

"You're good people, Coy. You'll look after Granny once Fiona leaves, won't you," Jayce asked with true concern. "I don't like the idea of that old woman puttering around in these hills alone."

"Not a problem, my friend. I'll be around and besides, there's a couple young'uns about to start trainin' with 'er. They'll keep the ol' woman spry and bright. An' my guess is that you and Taya'll not be too long behind Fiona. Mark me, boy, somethin's goin' on between here 'n' England that's just itchin' ta unfold." Coy's eyes held a steely, yet knowing glow. As Rook Holler's Spiritual Leader, he had a way of knowing which way the winds of change blew and just who was going to benefit or suffer for it. He didn't fancy himself a true Seer, but he had inklings and he was almost always right in his conclusions.

"Funny you should say that," Jayce replied with a far-way gaze.

"How's that," Coy replied.

"You know I'm the second son of a Medicine Man. Well, I may not be in line to take over the family business, but I have dreams and visions of my own. I have a feeling that at some point, one of my dreams is going to come true," Jayce said thoughtfully.

"How so," Coy asked, truly interested. Anything mystically spiritual piqued his curiosity and this had him by the brain stem.

"I can't say, Coy. Sorry. It's still fuzzy, but I had a plan once for a DEA bust in California. It was a damned good plan, but Uncle Sam didn't want to sanction and fund it. It would have brought down a rather infamous drug ring out there, but…" Jayce shook his head. The memory of a couple of lost comrades in the failed raid made his head ache with regret. "If they'd only listened to me, Griner and Shipley…"

"Jayce, you all right, man? Jayce? Hey! Red man!" Coy waved his hand in front of Jayce's face and snapped his fingers before the man's eyes. "Silvercloud!"

"What? Oh shit. I did it again. Damn. Every time I think on that, I just… Hey, thanks for the…uh…package," he said apologetically. "I'll pick it up just before Taya and I leave. I'll shrink it and put it in our back pack. We Apparate, so we don't have to worry about…well, you know."

"Take care, Silvercloud. Come see us again, hear?"

"You can count on it," Jayce smiled. He turned from the yard and disappeared back into the cabin.

"There you are. Jayce, git yer good duds on, boy. You got to meet up with the others to carry the coffin down the holler. You boys'll follow Coy. You know how this works, dontcha?" Jayce nodded and went to change.

Granny Tyree fussed about the cabin trying to keep herself busy while her surrogate granddaughters said their final farewells to their mother. A couple of the men arrived bearing a traditional pine coffin with Celtic knot work and a few runes carved into the lid. Another entered behind them carrying a burlap sack that contained a hammer and a box of heavy nails. "She's in that there room. Be gentle, mind. Her girls are in there with 'er."

"Yes, ma'am. We'll be gentle with Miss Fiona and Miss Gallatea," they said solemnly as they shuffled through the kitchen toward the bedroom. "It might be a good idea if'n you'n Mr Jayce brought 'em out'n the room 'fore we…do the job, Granny," the man carrying the sack advised. In fact, ya might wanna take 'em outta the house. The hammerin', ya know."  
"I'll do that, boys. Jus' give me minute," she agreed as she opened the bedroom door and slipped inside. "Taya, Onie, it's time, darlin's. They're here to take care o' yer Momma now," the old woman whispered gently. "Say yer goodbyes, now."

"You first, Granny Tyree," sniffled Gallatea. "You were her best friend—you were like a mother to her."

"All right then. Rhiannon, girl, you was a good momma ta these gals and a good friend ta me 'n' ever'body in this holler. Ya did right by yer man, too. Mr Fabian shore would-a been proud of ya 'n' I got no doubts he's-a tellin' ya now. Rest in peace, Rhiannon O'Reilly Prewett." Granny smoothed a stray hair off the dead woman's forehead and stepped back against the door.

Gallatea spoke next. "Momma…oh, Momma! I love you so much. I didn't mean to break your heart when I went west with Jayce. I never knew. But you were always in my heart and thoughts. Yours was the face I imagined every night before I lay down to sleep and it still will. Take care of Daddy, okay? Rest in peace, Momma." Gallatea stepped back and cried on Granny's shoulder. Granny rubbed circles on her back, cooing comforts to her.

"Momma," Fiona began, "Momma, I'm goin' back to England soon. It's callin' me home. Granny says it's blood callin' blood—Aunt Molly Weasley. I'm really scared, Momma. I don't know nobody there, and I don't know why I have to go, but I promise to find out where Daddy and Uncle Gideon are and leave wildflowers on their graves. I promise to find me a good man and maybe settle down, be it there or here. I want you 'n' Daddy 'n' Uncle Gideon to be proud o' me, Momma, but I wish you was goin' with me. I love you. Rest in peace, Momma."

Fiona stepped back into the arms of her twin and sobbed. She cried for her mother and father, for her uncle, and for being separated from Granny and Taya in a country where she would be completely alone, not knowing if she'd ever find the Weasleys or if they'd even accept her. It'd been almost 19 years since Fabian had sent them away to safety in the United States and as such, Fiona didn't consider herself British anymore; she was an American, raised up in the Appalachian south. _Would that be a barrier?_ _Well, at least we all speak the same language… pretty much._

"Let's go now, gals. These fellers need to do their work so we can lay yer Momma to rest," Granny whispered. She opened the door and took their hands, leading them into the brightness of the kitchen. Gallatea ran to Jayce and buried her face in his broad chest. He stroked her hair and whispered comforts, leaving little kisses on the top of her head.

"Shhh, Tay-O-Wee. You don't want to be in the cabin right now. O-Nee-Tsah, come here, honey," Jayce said, holding his hand out to his love's sister. "Granny, are you all right?"

"Course I am." Granny breathed a heavy sigh as she stepped off the porch to greet the mourners who had once again gathered in the yard. There was no sign of liquor amongst them as they stood there in black robes and shawls. Coy Dennis stood by the door, his countenance solemn.

Soon, the muffled sound of a hammer driving nails made Fiona and Gallatea jump. New sobs issued forth from the twins as they clung to one another. Jayce pulled away from them to join five other young men who had been called upon as pall bearers: Ed and Jack Carver, George Cox, Joe MacDonald, and Emery Johns. The six men filed into the cabin, followed by Coy Dennis.

After a few moments, they emerged again bearing the coffin through the door and down the wooden steps. They raised it up and placed it upon their shoulders, their hands clasped in front of them as they began a slow procession down the holler to the cemetery just inside the wards at the edge of the village, Coy leading the way. Gallatea and Fiona, flanked by Granny and Zeke fell into step behind the coffin, followed by the rest of the mourners.

Gallatea sobbed every step of the way, clinging to her surrogate grandmother's arm for dear life. Her thoughts drifted back through fond memories of her mother singing lullabies as she tucked them into their feather bed each night, and of the stories she told them about a knight seeking eternal youth, hopping pots, and three brothers who tried to cheat death. She remembered the sweet sounds of her mother's bubbling laughter and the soft lilt of her Irish brogue.

Fiona had cried herself out. She had no tears left, the last of them having soaked Jayce's robes. Her heart was filled with memories, but foremost in her mind was this almost terrifying trip into the unknown. A trip she had to make alone to reconnect with her father's sister's family in a country she hadn't seen since she was two years old. She trudged on, her arm linked with the old man's, blue eyes tinged with red, staring forward trying not to see the coffin borne by the men right in front of her.

Every step toward the cemetery, though downhill, felt as though she were climbing uphill in thick mud. Her feet felt like lead and her knees like water. "Miss Fiona, are you all right, child," a wizened old voice spoke in her ear. "Ya gonna make it, girl?"

"Oh. Yessir, Mr Zeke. I'm just a bit worn out is all," she replied with a watery smile. "This is all just so hard for me. Momma went so fast, I ain't had time to…" _How did Momma say that again?_ "I ain't had time to wrap my head around it. I guess it's just startin' ta sink in."

The old man patted her arm in a reassuring way. "It shore has been a lot ta take in, I'll give ya that. She was a fine woman, she was. Din't have a mean bone in her body and was good and kind ta ever'body."

"Thank ya, Mr Zeke," Fiona replied.

Soon, the arch over the cemetery gates came into view. Two men had been waiting to open them for the procession to pass. As Rhiannon's coffin passed, they doffed their hats and bowed their heads in respect for the fine woman they would always remember. As her daughters passed, they nodded their condolences and waited until the rest of the procession passed though before falling into step at the rear.

About halfway in, the funeral party arrived at the gravesite. Boards with heavy ropes laid across them covered the grave. The bearers carefully turned and lifted the coffin from their shoulders, carefully placing it on the ropes and boards on either side of the grave. They stepped back as Coy advanced to the head.

"Friends, neighbors, beloved, we gather here to bid farewell to Rhiannon O'Reilly Prewett. She was a good woman, a good mother, and a fine friend to all who had the privilege to know her. We commit her mortal remains to Mother Earth and release her soul to the eternities into the arms of her beloved husband, Fabian Prewett. To her sweet daughters, we offer our sympathies and our help. Blessed be, Rhiannon. Blessed be, Fabian."

With that, Coy nodded and four of the pall bearers, including Jayce, took hold of either end of the two ropes the coffin sat on. On a hushed count of three, they lifted the coffin a few inches and held it above the boards as the Carver boys carefully slid them out from under it. They joined the others to lower it slowly into the earth. With a soft thud, the casket came to rest on the floor of the grave. Fiona and Gallatea both jumped a little at the sound and tears began to fall once more. Granny nudged them forward so they could toss the first clods of black dirt into the grave.

Fiona and Gallatea leaned over and picked up a handful of the cool, dark earth. With a deep breath, they tossed it in, shuddering as it impacted the intricately-carved lid covering their mother's shrouded body. They clasped hands and walked away from the grave. Immediately after, Granny, Jayce, and then the other mourners took their turns.

Just before the assembly broke, the pallbearers turned and placed a hand on the shoulder of the man before him and quietly left the graveside, the lead man's hands clasped as before. As soon as was prudent, Jayce approached Gallatea and took her, sobbing, into his arms once again. He gathered Fiona into the embrace and the three of them just stood there, nodding their acceptance of many words of comfort and condolence.

Later that afternoon, after the last of the guests took their leave and the house was put right, Granny, Jayce, Fiona, and Gallatea gathered around the table once again. "We'll be heading out tomorrow morning," Jayce said. "As soon as we get back, I'll make those calls I told you about and get your passport in order. But I'm going to need a picture of you, O-Nee-Tsah." He conjured a small camera and bade Fiona to smile. "I know you don't have much to smile about, but I need this for your passport."

"Oh Jayce! I look a fright! Gimme a minute," Fiona said, rising quickly from the table. "Let me wash my face and run a brush through this hair first, okay?"

"Fine. Whatever," he chuckled as the three left at the table watched her retreating back disappear into the powder room.

A few minutes later, she re-emerged, looking a little better, but her face looked a bit drawn due to the exhaustion of the day. "Fiona, wait a second," Gallatea said, drawing her wand. She cast a quick grooming charm to clear up her sister's tired visage for the camera. "There. That's better. We can't have you looking like a hag, now, can we?"

"I feel like a hag," Fiona said with a sigh.

"Now, now. The only hag in this room is me," Granny quipped. This brought a smile to Fiona's lips and Jayce snapped her picture.

"Perfect," he announced. "This'll do nicely. Nice glamour, babe," Jayce complimented his love.

"Thank you, Sweetie," Gallatea said with a blush.

"I don't know about y'all, but I'm plumb tuckered. I need a nap," Fiona said, rubbing her tired eyes. "Y'all don't mind do ya?"

"Onie, of course not. Go lay down for a bit. I'll help Granny with supper and then we'll wake you to eat, okay," Gallatea promised, waving her toward the bedroom.

"Okay, thanks, sister-of-mine. Good…night?"

"Sweet dreams O-Nee-Tsah," Jayce said kindly. "By the way, I shook out your Dream Catcher. It was full."

"Smart ass. But thanks," she replied as she shuffled off to her room. A muted light met her as it fell across the quilt on her feather bed. It was one she, Granny, Rhiannon, and Taya worked on one winter. The log cabin design had been fashioned from rectangles of fabric cut from clothes that didn't fit anymore or were too worn out to be serviceable to anyone, and old bed linens. Fiona fondly remembered each stitch that nimble fingers laid into it and all the love that went into each tie. Each bit of fabric held a memory, as is tradition in quilt-making. Quilts are not just for covering up, but for telling stories of family and one's life.

She lay down on top of the covers, not feeling the need to muss the bed. She ran her fingers across the blue gingham square that had been cut from matching sundresses she and Gallatea wore when they were three. He eyes moved to another square—a bit of tweed from a jacket her mother used to wear when she went into the hills to gather potion ingredients and other plants for poultices and tinctures used to treat Aints in need. Still another square—faded green—drew forth a memory that was not her own, but her mother's. It was part of her life, though. It was cut from the very blanket she arrived in the States in that night back in 1980—the last time she'd seen her father and her uncle. A night she had no memory of, not even a flash. She began to weep. "Oh Momma," she whispered through her tears.

The next thing she knew, Taya sat on the edge of the bed shaking her. "Onie, wake up. Supper's on," she said barely above a whisper. "Come on, Twin. Time to eat."

Fiona groaned and turned onto her back. "How long have I been out," she asked, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

"Just a couple hours. Come on. We're all starved," Taya coaxed.

"Okay, okay," Onie replied. "I'm comin'." Fiona struggled into a sitting position and sat on the side of the bed to gather her wits. She raised herself up with a quiet groan and dragged herself to the kitchen table. There was enough there to feed a small army, but such was Granny's way.

She'd always said it was better to have too much than not enough because you never knew if a Sprite or a Brownie disguised as a weary traveler might show up at your door looking for a bite. Rhiannon's philosophy was decidedly Irish: _There's always room for one more_. These were lessons in generosity and kindness, for it was unacceptable to turn away a stranger in need. Kindness always reaped blessings whereas selfishness brought strife.

The four of them joined hands around the table for a moment of silence in honour of Rhiannon and the good beings that allowed their bounty. A minute later, bowls and platters laden with potatoes, pork, corn, scones, and baked beans made their way around the table. Glasses of cool cider accompanied the meal, followed by thick slices of apple pie. "Granny Tyree, that has got to be one of the finest meals I've ever had the pleasure of sharing with such lovely ladies," Jayce said, patting his full belly. "The Great Spirit has blessed this lodge."

"All right, Chief Fulla-Bull," Taya said with a giggle. "Must you flirt with my sister _and_ my grandmother?"

"I give credit where credit is due. It's the Army way," he replied with an air of superiority.

"Jett was right," Taya said shaking her head. "The Rangers and the Feds have turned you loco."

"Loco for you, my prairie flower," he replied with a wink.

Fiona and Granny Tyree cast odd looks at one another and rolled their eyes. The younger woman opened her mouth and inserted an index finger toward her throat as if to induce vomiting. "Yer both full o' buffalo chips," she said with a fake gag.

"Fiona, honey, why don't you go and git ol' Mokey and we'll set on a porch a spell? You ain't let out a song in a coon's age," Granny declared.

"Granny, I don't feel much like singin'…"

"You got a gift, child. Yer singin' heals, did you know that?"

"It din't heal Momma," Fiona argued.

"No, it din't, 'cos it was her time. What yer singin' did fer her was make her passin' easier. That's a gift, too."

"All right, I'll 'have a go,' as Momma used to say." Acquiescing, she rose and went back to her room to retrieve the old guitar Granny had given her. "C'mon, Moke. We're gonna do some front-porch pickin' tonight."

She gently lifted the instrument from its worn and battered case and carried it out to the porch. Granny'd given it to her for her twelfth birthday, and within a week, she was able to play well enough to sing along. She took her place on a bench fashioned from an oak plank and a couple of pieces of heavy branch for legs. She laid her head against the edge as she manipulated the machine heads that controlled the pitch of the strings. Once she was satisfied with the tune, she asked what they'd like to hear.

"Onie, what about one of Momma's old Irish tunes? Let's see…how about _Red Is the Rose_?"

"That's one o' my fav'rits," Granny agreed. "Sing that 'un, then."

The fingers on Fiona's right hand began to caress the strings as the fingers of her left moved behind the frets. With a short introduction to acclimate to the key, she began to sing in her rich alto. Granny leaned back in her rocker and let the music waft over her, enveloping her in a wave of warmth and security.  
_Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows,_

_Fair is the lily of the valley,_

_Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne,_

_But my love is fairer than any._

Jayce couldn't believe his ears. He'd certainly heard Fiona sing and play before, but there was something different this time. Something that somehow made him feel safe and calm and relaxed. He watched as he listened. The singer's face seemed to glow a little, her eyes closed in concentration as warm fuzzy tones drifted into the evening air.

_Come over the hill, my bonny Irish lad,_

_Come over the hill to your darlin';_

_You choose the rose, love, and I'll make a vow_

_That I'll be your true love forever._

Gallatea, his Tay-O-Wee, rocked in another chair, softly harmonizing with her sister. It sounded glorious. Taya wasn't one to sing much, though she was fascinated with the songs of his people and the traditions surrounding them. But this beautiful music had an effect on him and the other two women present that he couldn't quite put his finger on and it was driving him mad in a laid-back kind of way.

'_Twas down by Killarney's green wood that we strayed,_

_The moon and the stars, they were shinin';_

_The moon shown his rays on your locks of golden hair,_

_And you swore you'd be my true love forever._

He turned his thoughts over and over in his mind, trying to pinpoint what it was about Fiona's song that was so amazingly special. Then he noticed that the wild sounds of the evening were virtually non-existent. No cricket chirpings, no bird calls, no animal noises—all was silent except the song of the woman on the bench. Why? This had to be magic at some of its deepest. The human voice doesn't just shut down the voices of Gaia's creatures. It just doesn't happen. Unless…

_Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows,_

_Fair is the lily of the valley,_

_Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne,_

_But my love is fairer than any!_  
Fiona finished the song with a brief guitar reprise. Granny audibly sighed her appreciation. "Beauteous, child. Sing me another'n? How 'bout _Will the Circle Be Unbroken_?" Granny loved Aint hymns. She understood Aint religion and appreciated the many philosophies found in their Bible, but didn't pursue it beyond appreciation for the music.

"Well, if nothing else, that one is fitting for the occasion," Gallatea sighed. "Go on, Onie. I'll harmonize it with you."

_I was standin' by my window one cold and cloudy day,_

_When I saw that hearse come rollin' for to carry my mother away._

_And will the circle be unbroken, by 'n' by, Lord, by 'n' by?_

_There's a better home a-waitin' in the sky, Lord, in the sky._

_Well, I told the undertaker, "undertaker, please drive slow._

_For this body you are haulin'—Lord, I hate to see her go."_

_And will the circle—_

Suddenly Jayce ejected himself from his chair, interrupting the song. "Fiona!"

"W-what," she answered, startled out of her own reverie. If not for the strap across her shoulder, she might have dropped the guitar.

"You're a _Canticumagus!_"

"I cain't what?"

"No, no. You're a _Canticumagus_! You can heal people with music!"

"What in Sam Hill are you talkin' about, boy," Granny demanded, pulled from her reverie.

"A Canticumagus can heal with song. The reason we feel so relaxed and calm and…I don't know…safe is because there's magic woven into her music. When she sings, the magic passes into the heart, mind, and soul of the listener and drives out all ill feeling and sickness. Fiona, did you sing while you took care of Mr Deeds and all those other animals?"

"Well, yeah, but…"

"How about when you brew potions and prepare tinctures and poultices?"

"I sing while I work. Momma taught me…"

"I think she might have known," Jayce said thoughtfully. "Fiona, you have a very special gift and it's that gift that's going to get you through your trials in England. Your family there'll accept you. They won't have any choice!"  
"Jayce, do you really think so," Gallatea asked hopefully. "I mean, if she is what you say, she could be the finest Healer in…well, England, if not the world."

"Uh, excuse me, but ain't I the one with this 'gift?' And how c'n you be sure, Jayce? Where did ya learn about this Can't-come-ages thing anyway?" Fiona's interest was certainly piqued. If she were in fact a Canticumagus as Jayce suggested, it would explain how she saved so many small animals and a few humans from the edge of death. It would explain how her patients almost never recoiled in fear at her approach or trembled under her touch, even small children.

"You meet all kinds in the military, Fiona. There was a guy in my platoon at basic who could sing and play like you do. He could mellow us out after a hard day's manoeuvres in the field with a song or two. I knew he was magical. I could feel it. Sure enough, he'd just graduated from The Mesa in New Mexico. When I identified myself as a graduate of the Black Hills Academy, he told me the Aurors wouldn't take him because his grades weren't good enough, so he decided to join the Muggle military like I did. When we graduated boot, he went into the Medical Corps," Jayce explained. "Fiona, I'm telling you—you're a Canticumagus, like him."

That night, as she lay in her bed, Fiona contemplated the whole Canticumagus concept. She could barely pronounce the word and she was sure she'd have trouble spelling it. _Could it be, Momma? Am I this musical Healer Jayce was tellin' about? Am I special that way? Can I heal folks with my music?_ As she pondered these questions, she realized that Taya and Jayce would be leaving in the morning, and within a few weeks, she'd be leaving the only home she ever knew, for good. She knew she'd never see the Appalachians again, never see Rook's Holler, and never see the sun set behind the Old Man again.

Ten days later, an owl arrived carrying a packet from Jayce. Inside, she found a U.S. passport, a travel visa, and forms to present to the Ministry of Magic in London. A car would be waiting at Heathrow to take her directly to the Minister. _Why would I see the Minister for Magic? It's not like I'm a diplomat or something. _She was to leave for Charlotte two days hence to board her flight to London.

"Granny, I'm gonna take a walk to see Momma," she said as she grabbed a light cloak. Although it was late June, there was still a slight chill in the evening air in the mountains.

"All right, child. Give 'er my love," Granny replied over her knitting.

"Yes, ma'am." Fiona took a leisurely stroll toward the cemetery, plucking a few wildflowers along the way, for a final visit with her mother. She reverently opened the cast-iron gates, which squeaked slightly in protest. She made straight for her mother's grave, the dirt still mounded over the coffin within. With her strawberry head bent, she approached her mother's final resting place. She knelt and placed the impromptu bouquet on the mound.

"Momma, I leave fer England day after tomorra. I don't think I'll ever come back to the holler. I won't say goodbye, though, 'cuz I know in my heart we'll be together again. Jayce got me a passport 'n' travel papers. I'm gonna fly in a real airplane, Momma. By the way, Jayce says I'm a…Can-ti-cu-magus. Did ya know that, Momma? I heal with my singin'. Ain't that somethin'?

Oh, and I'm takin' Mr Deeds with me. Taya taught me a couple of charms to make 'im look like a knick-knack and then cast a charm over my wand to make it look to the Aints like a pencil. I'm gonna take some potion ingredients I don't think grow there. I'll get 'em through Customs on either end by usin' a disillusionment charm she showed me. She sure is good at that stuff.

Momma, I'm scared as a long-tailed cat in a room full o' rockin' chairs. I know I'm goin' ta Daddy's people, but will Aunt Molly accept me or hate me?" Fiona broke down and began to cry over her mother's grave. She dropped to her belly and sobbed in her loneliness and fear. "Oh Momma, I wish you were here!"

Fiona lay there and sobbed herself dry. She must have fallen asleep because when she fully came to herself, it was dark, but the sky was full of stars. Just then, a shooting star flew across the sky and disappeared behind the trees. She rose up from the ground and brushed the dirt from her clothes. She began to make her way back to the gates when she heard the faint sound of voices wafting through the darkness. She couldn't quite make them out, but it sounded like they were calling for someone. _Tarnation! They must be lookin' for me! Granny must be worried sick!_ She broke into an all-out run toward the gates. Sure enough, the voices were calling for her. She could see the lighted tips of wands as they cut through the inky blackness. "I'm here," Fiona called.

"Miss Fiona, yer Granny's havin' _kittens_," Coy Dennis said, wand held high. "Let's git you back to the cabin 'fore you catch yer death!"

"I'm sorry to've scared y'all. I was visitin' with Momma and I must've fell asleep," she apologized. "Y'all din't need ta go ta all this trouble…"

"When Granny Tyree puts out an alarm, we answer it," he replied sternly. "You gave us one helluva fright, missy." They began the walk back up the hill toward Granny's cabin. "'S all right, boys! I got 'er! She's safe! Went to visit her momma and fell asleep in the bone yard!"

Several illuminated faces appeared out of the darkness. Jack Carver's voice rose above the others. "Damn, Fiona! We thought some animal took ya or somethin'! You scared the hell out of us all!"

"Sorry Jacky. I din't mean ta…"

"Girl, you are plumb crazy," he said, shaking his head.

"I ain't crazy," she replied, slightly annoyed.

"Now children, that's enough. Fiona's fine, 'sall that matters," Coy intervened. As they approached the cabin, Coy called out to let Granny know he'd found Fiona safe and sound.

"Eula Mae, don't gitcher dander up. She's all right. Says she fell asleep in the cemetery talkin' to 'er momma," Coy told the old woman before she let loose a tirade on the girl.

"Fiona, git in this house this minute and git ta bed! It's past midnight," Granny said, swatting her on the bum. "You and that sister o' your'n are a caution! Coy, boys, thank ya fer bringin' her home. She's got a big trip ahead of 'er 'n' she needs her rest." Granny dabbed at her watery eyes with the edge of her shawl.

"Now, Granny, she's a big girl and she'll be just fine. Dontchoo worry none. You git inside now and git some rest yerself. Yer gonna need it too. I'll send Lizzy by in the mornin' ta help with the packin'," Coy assured her, patting her on the shoulder.

"Yer a good man, Coy Dennis. Thank ya, boys," Granny said tearfully. "G'night, y'all."

"G'night, Granny," they all said tipping their hats as they made their way back to their own homes.

The next day brought a flurry of activity as Granny, Fiona, and Lizzy Dennis worked to get Fiona's things assembled and packed for the trip. Lizzy brought a rucksack for Fiona to use as a carry-on. In the packet he'd sent, Jayce included written instructions as to what would be allowed on an international flight (no food) and where to exchange her American dollars for British pounds (not at the airport) and Wizard Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. His note said the Ministry would help her with that. By sunset, Fiona's bags were packed and waiting by the front door before she and Granny shared a last pot of sassafras tea and a river of tears before bed.

Coy Dennis drove Fiona to Charlotte in an old pickup truck he'd bodged together and got to run right. The fuel tank had been charmed to never run dry, so the cost of fuel wasn't an issue. As soon as he and Fiona checked her bags, he took her aside and gave her blessing, kissed her on both cheeks and left her with a heartfelt "blessed be."

Fiona was scared, but excited at the same time. She'd never been on an airplane before. Hell, she'd never been out of Rook Holler. This was an adventure to be sure and so she decided to treat it as one, and let the chips fall where they may. The flight attendants were very helpful since this was her first flight. They showed her to her seat and how to stow her carry-on, warning her to keep her passport and money on her person, rather than leave it in the rucksack.

"It's for your own protection, ma'am. The overhead compartments are communal, so you just can't be too careful," a kind dark-haired attendant told her.

She took the woman's advice and hid her passport in an inside pocket of her jacket and put her money in several hiding places on her body. She would have liked to have applied a good sticking charm, but her wand was stowed and it wouldn't have been a good idea anyway with all the Aints if full view.

Soon the plane taxied onto the runway. Fiona drew in a sharp breath as the aircraft picked up speed and lifted skyward. The sensation reminded her somewhat of broomstick flight, but a whole lot faster. About twenty minutes later, the plane leveled out. She decided to take a nap as this would be a twelve-hour ordeal. She knew she'd lose about five hours, so some quick calculation told her that even though her flight left Charlotte in the late afternoon, it would be well into late-morning when she landed in London. She slept most of the flight, waking only for the in-flight meals, in order to have her wits about her.

As promised, the Ministry car was waiting to take her to meet Minister Shacklebolt, who assigned a pair of Aurors to escort her to Gringotts to exchange her money. Then they were to escort her to some joke shop to meet her cousin, George, who would take her to the Burrow himself.

A garish sign reading _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_ graced the front of the purple, red, and lime-green building. _How hideous can a building be?_ With a shaking hand and a slight chuckle, she opened the door to the shop as sirens blew, nearly frightening her out of her skin. A moderately handsome young man with shaggy red hair rushed forward.

"Mister Weasley," she asked with a tremor in her Carolina twang.

"I'm George Weasley and you're Fiona Prewett," he replied with wide eyes and sly grin.

"Pardon me, sir," Fiona asked. _How did he know?_

"You _are_ Fiona, right? I had an owl from the Ministry saying you were coming from America," he said bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I'm pleased to meet you, Cousin Fiona."

Fiona breathed a sigh of relief and extended her still-shaking hand. "Yes, I am, Cousin George. I'm very pleased to meet you too."

"Listen, I'm just waiting for Verity to arrive so I can take you to meet Mum. But I'll warn you—she's a bit nervous. The war has left her…cautious. She's going to ask a lot of questions and…"

"I understand, George. Momma told me what it was like when she 'n' Daddy…" Fiona couldn't finish her thought as tears began to escape down her face.

"Now what's all this? It's a rule that no woman is allowed to cry in my presence, and certainly not inside the hallowed halls of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Only laughter spoken here," George teased, handing her a tissue from the box on the counter.

"Thank you, Cousin George. It's just all so much to take in at once," she apologized.

"Of course it is. It was tough when Fred…" George didn't have time to finish because Verity had arrived and set off the sirens, causing Fiona to jump.

"Hey, George. I see your cousin has arrived. Hello, I'm Verity, the token slave," she said, introducing herself with a bright smile and a friendly hand.

Fiona mustered a smile and returned Verity's greeting. "Fiona Prewett, the token cousin."

Verity's eyes lit up. "You're from the south, aren't you? Your accent is just gorgeous!"

"Yes, ma'am. North Carolina, USA," Fiona said with not a little pride.

"Oh, you _must_ tell me about it some time, Fiona! I'll bet it's beautiful, isn't it," Verity gushed.

"I'd be glad to, Miss Verity, and it certainly is."

"Well," George said, clapping his hands together. "Why don't I send your bags upstairs and then we'll Apparate to the Burrow? I have a flat upstairs with two bedrooms. You're welcome to one of them," he suggested hopefully. Fred's room had been empty for a year. Until now, George wouldn't hear of seeking out a roommate, but somehow it just felt right to allow his newfound cousin to move in. Besides, he knew it wasn't a good idea to leave her at the Burrow just yet.

"If you think that's best," Fiona agreed tentatively. "Oh wait!" A look of mild horror crossed her face as she pulled off her rucksack and began to tear at the straps. "Poor Mr Deeds! I forgot to free 'im!"

"Mr Deeds," George asked, scratching his head. "Who's Mr Deeds?"

"My poor owl," she worried as she extracted a rather large figurine from the rucksack. She tapped the sculpture with her wand and it began to grow and animate. "There we are! Are y'all right, Mr Deeds?" The owl hooted his annoyance, but shook out his feathers and stretched his wings as she checked him over for damage.

Verity rushed over with a few owl treats. "Here, let me," she fussed as she crooked her arm and offered Mr Deeds the treats. "You can have a snack and a drink here with me and then go for a fly, how would that be?" The owl hooted his assent and edged over to her.

"Thank you, Miss Verity. Yer very kind," Fiona said a bit apologetically.

"Not at all. Go on, then. Time's wasting," she scolded.

"Milady?" George offered his arm and Fiona took it. Suddenly, she felt as though she was being squeezed through a rubber hose. Just before she thought she'd lose her breakfast, she and George landed outside the strangest-looking house she'd ever laid eyes on. "Welcome to the Burrow," George announced with a flourish. "It's not much, but it's home. Shall we, Cousin Fiona?"

"We shall, Cousin George."

He escorted her through the wards toward the ramshackle house. Chickens ran screeching and clucking in all directions as they approached. "Mum! Mum!" He sensed his cousin's trepidation and tightened his grip on her hand. "No worries, yeah?" She nodded, feigning courage, as her knees turned to water. She so wanted to make a good impression.

A plump red-haired woman appeared at the door. Her eyes widened as her hand attempted to fly to her mouth. The young woman holding her son's hand looked oddly familiar, but she schooled her features as caution overtook her. "George! What are you doing here and who's the young lady? Where's Angelina?"

"Mum…erm…this is…" George replied haltingly, but he didn't get to finish. Molly Weasley stepped back in shock.

"Oh dear me! It can't be!" She fainted dead away and landed with a thud on her own kitchen floor.


	3. Chapter 3 Visitations

**Chapter 3 – Visitations**

Diana and Paul Templeton still felt a bit awkward following their discussion about the Wizarding world and their daughter's place in it, but decided to be happy for her in spite of it. Patricia's mentor, Hermione Granger, and her fiancé, Ron Weasley, were coming for a visit today. Patricia munched her customary toast with marmite, breaking into excited smiles between bites. Patricia already had all of her second-year books and equipment, which she and Hermione would discuss, during which time Hermione would give her a few pointers and orient her to the new expectations.

Patricia had been looking forward to meeting with them in order to still feel connected to her new world, despite not being allowed to perform magic outside of Hogwarts. Certainly, she had been reunited with some of her former classmates from her Muggle primary school, and she'd been overjoyed to see them again, but soon that joy wore off and she began to feel more and more awkward around them. They'd asked dozens of questions about her new boarding school, but she could only answer in generalities when she was truly dying to tell them all about the wonderful things she'd learned and the amazing people she'd met. Unfortunately, the Statute of Secrecies act prevented that and soon, the evasion became exhausting and put a strain on those friendships.

Patricia Templeton was lonely. She missed her best friends, Emma and Erica Prewett, but it was more than that. There was simply too much that had happened, too much that had changed in her life—none of which she could tell anyone but her parents about—and that hurt. Patricia simply belonged to the Wizarding world now, but wouldn't be able to give herself completely over to it until she graduated from Hogwarts. That was still almost six years away, but it seemed like a lifetime to her. She wouldn't have it any other way for all the pixies in Portsmouth; nonetheless, it was hard to feel so distanced from her former best friends.

Murray hooted a cheerful "good morning" as he glided through the open window and settled himself on the kitchen table. Diana simply wasn't used to having animals take up residence on her breakfast table and scowled at the now-preening bird.

"Really, Patricia, Murray shouldn't sit on the table. It's unsanitary," Diana said pointedly as the Tawny owl dropped a letter into Patricia's lap and blinked at her.

"Mum, he's not like wild owls. He's very clean and he won't leave any…presents…for us. They land on the tables at school all the time, and no one's ever gotten sick," Patricia countered, picking up the letter. "Oh look! It's from Emma and Erica!" Patricia read the contents and a bright smile stone across her face. "They say everything is prepared for our visit. We'll meet up with them and their father in the Muggle village and then they'll escort us the rest of the way."

Diana and Paul had learned that Mr Prewett would perform some spell on them that would allow them to visit, since their home was "warded" to keep Muggles away. It wasn't that the Prewetts were paranoid or that they abhorred Muggles, it's just that the Secrecy Act demanded it.

"All wizards place anti-Muggle charms on their homes. It's a law, really," Patricia explained. "Without lifting them for you, you wouldn't be able to go near the place. In some cases, you wouldn't be able to see it at all. You would only remember you really need to be someplace else. Hogwarts would look to you like a ruin without that charm."

"I know this is going to sound odd to you, Pattycake, but…is there pain involved," her father asked sheepishly.

Patricia couldn't help but giggle at her father's trepidation, but managed to contain herself enough to answer him respectfully. "No pain, but you might feel a bit disoriented for a few seconds as the spell takes hold and then you'll be fine," she assured him. "But then you can visit anytime after that without needing the spell recast again."

"It sort of sounds like an inoculation," Paul said with a grin. "Immunity to the wards, yeah?"

"Something like that, Daddy, but only the Prewett wards. If you were to visit Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall would have to cast the spell again."

"Different places, different wards, right," Diana said. "Just like different inoculations for different illnesses."

"I guess so," Patricia said, checking the clock for the umpteenth time. She was so excited about Ron's and Hermione's visit, that she could barely sleep last night and this morning, she could barely contain herself. She needed to find something to occupy herself until they arrived or she was sure she'd burst.

After breakfast, Patricia decided to tidy her already perfectly-organized room to pass the time. She cleaned Murray's dishes, cleaned his already-pristine cage, and then wiped down his perch. Once she finished with that, she decided she should tidy herself up as well, so she crossed the hall to the loo to wash her face and fix her hair into a single plait like Hermione often wore hers. "There. That's better," she muttered to herself.

Diana had only finished preparing tea and scones when the doorbell rang. Patricia was there almost as quickly as one could have Apparated and opened the door to find Hermione and Ron smiling grandly at her.

"You're here! It's so great you're actually here," Patricia cried, jumping up and down.

"Hello Munchkin," Hermione said, her arms open for a hug.

"Hermione, I'm so glad to see you again. I've missed you so," Patricia gushed. "Ron!"

Ron scooped the eager girl into a bear hug, lifting her a foot off the floor. By now, Diana and Paul arrived at the door to greet their guests.

"Welcome Mr Weasley. Miss Granger." Paul greeted them and shook their hands. "Please, come in."

"Oh my stars," Patricia gasped. "I'm so sorry. Please do come in! Ron, Hermione, you know my mum, but this is my dad, Captain Paul Templeton."

"Captain Templeton, it's a pleasure," Ron said, shaking hands with Patricia's father. "And please, it's Ron and Hermione."

The Templetons led Ron and Hermione to the garden, where they sat facing one another on rather comfortable lawn chairs. Diana served delicious fresh-from-the-oven scones and a Darjeeling tea.

"I'm so happy you're here," Patricia beamed. "I've missed you so."

"We've missed you too Patricia. There wasn't much time to talk at the wedding, was there," Hermione said, giving her little friend another squeeze. Following some small talk and pleasantries, conversation turned to the Wizarding world.

"What kind of work do you do," Paul asked his guests.

Hermione looked at Ron and flicked her wand. "_Muffliato,_" she muttered. Paul and Diana looked at her with questions in their eyes. "It's a privacy charm," she explained. "Anyone who tries to eavesdrop on our discussion will hear nothing but a soft buzzing sound."

"Amazing," Paul said with a chuckle. "You lot have a fix for just about everything don't you?"

"Just about," Hermione smiled.

"'Mione, love, why don't you and Patricia go inside and indulge in the books while I talk with her parents," Ron suggested. "And don't worry, Patrica. We've already alerted the Improper Use of Magic Office, so any magic performed here today will be attributed to me or Hermione." Ron gave her a conspiratorial wink and then grinned at her parents.

"You mean Hermione and I can read and I can try the second year magic," Patricia asked with glee.

"Yes. You see, the Assistant Head Auror carries some weight at the Ministry," Ron laughed. "Besides, you're with Hermione Granger, war hero. Who'd argue with that?"

"If you'll excuse us..." Hermione said as Patricia tried to drag her off.

"Come on, Hermione. Let's get started," Patricia enthused, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. The others laughed at the younger witch's enthusiasm as she dragged her mentor back into the house.

"If I may ask...what exactly is an _Auror?_"

Ron tried to think of what he'd learned about the Muggle world from Harry and Hermione. "We defend our community against the dark arts. I guess you could say that we're something like a military force. We can do anything from assisting with cursed objects to engaging in outright battles with dark wizards."

"I see. I guess we are in the same line of work then," Paul concluded, shifting in his seat. "I'm an officer in the Royal Navy."

"Yes, Patricia told us you couldn't be at the wedding because you were at sea," Ron replied. "What exactly do you do when you're out?"

"I'm a Captain, so that basically means I stand on the bridge, drink gallons of tea, and give orders," Paul said with a twinkle in his eye as Ron and Diana rewarded him with peals of soft laughter. "Seriously, though. I'm responsible for our ship and her crew on my shift. Essentially, I'm the boss."

Diana refilled their teacups. "I understand you had a big case last spring."

Ron explained about the Second Wizarding War and the fallout that led to the arrest of Mafalda Prewett. "We're hoping she was the last of Voldemort's thugs... at least we've haven't had anything worse than a few persistant Boggarts to deal with these last two weeks."

"Boggarts?"

"They live in dark places and take the shape of what you fear the most. They're quite harmless unless they scare you stiff. Most families deal with their Boggarts themselves, but we're always ready to assist if necessary." Ron explained the Riddikulus spell and how to eliminate a Boggart through laughter. "So once you get over the whole fear-thing, de-Boggarting is quite fun... and a good change of pace to fighting Death Eaters."

"Um... Patricia... really admires you and your friends..." Paul asked a bit embarrassed.

Ron blushed a little. "Yes, I guess she does, but I'd say it's a healthy admiration. Most of it is directed at Hermione, since she's also a Muggleborn. She inspired Patricia to study hard and perform her very best."

At this point, Diana and Paul had begun to feel more comfortable with all things magical. They found Ron very easygoing and personable and not odd or strange at all. He exhibited a brilliant sense of humour and proved very forthcoming in his answers to their many questions. The Templetons learned a lot about the Wizarding world from Ron that Patricia hadn't been able to explain in any real detail and in turn, Ron learned a few things about Muggles and couldn't wait to pass on his newfound knowledge to his father.

"Mum! Dad! You have to come and see what I can do," Patricia cried, dragging her parents to her room. There were books and parchments all over the place and Diana looked in shock on the room that had been the definition of perfection this morning. Patricia noticed her mum's expression and flicked her wand. All the books flew back into the shelves and the parchments arranged themselves on her desk.

"Amazing!" Paul applauded his daughter's magical talent.

Patricia shook her head at her father. "That's nothing, Daddy. Watch this!" She flicked her wand again at Murray, which turned into a jar of water, and after another flick of her wand back to Murray again. The Tawny owl hooted indignantly. She looked slyly at her parents for their reaction.

"That was impressive," Diana said, trying to believe her eyes. She noticed Ron standing there in awe with his mouth hanging open.

"Hermione, isn't that _third_ year Transfiguration," he asked.

"Ron, it was your Spell-O-Taped wand that stopped you from mastering this in second year." Ron's wand had been taped together because it had been broken when he and Harry crashed Arthur Weasley's illegally-modified flying Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow at the outset of their second year at Hogwarts. The two boys had missed the train because they couldn't get through the barrier at Platform 9 ¾. A House-elf had sealed it in hopes of preventing Harry from attending that year due to a threat against his life. It had been Ron's idea to use the car to get to school rather than send Hedwig for help.

"Patricia, Professor Bones will surely award points to Gryffindor for this, you know," Ron announced with pride.

"Hermione's a brilliant teacher," Patricia said blushing.

"Don't sell yourself short, Munchkin," Hermione insisted. "You're a good student and you catch on fast. You're a natural at Transfiguration."

"Just like another Muggleborn we know and love," Ron added, offering her a hand up.

Hermione demurred and took his hand, pulling herself up from the floor. "So…I understand you're all going to the Prewetts' for a visit?"

"Oh yes! I had a letter this morning for Emma and Erica," Patricia replied excitedly. "They say everything's ready for our visit and that their father's going to cast a revealing spell so Mum and Dad can go to their house without feeling as though they need to be someplace else." Patricia finished with a smirk.

"Merlin's pants," Ron exclaimed. "I forgot about wards! Do you have any questions about that?"

"No, not really," Diana replied. "Patricia explained what they're for—something about the Secrecy Act. She explained that charm and that we'd feel a bit disoriented…"

"Right, but only for a few seconds and then you'll be right as rain," Hermione finished.

"Yes, that's what Patricia said," Paul interjected.

"Well then, you're all set, then," Ron said with a satisfied grin. "That said, I guess we should be going. We're due at the Burrow for lunch."

"A Weasley and his food…" Patricia laughed.

"Are never long parted," Hermione added with a laugh. She leaned in toward Diana and whispered, "If we don't feed him, he turns into a Troll." That elicited a few chuckles and giggles at Ron's expense.

"Hey, I don't turn into a Troll," Ron protested good-naturedly. "I turn into a Manticore!" He growled and grabbed Patricia around her middle, tickling her mercilessly.

Patricia noticed the frightened looks on her parents' faces and began to explain. "Mum, Dad—it's a joke. Ron just gets very…grumpy when he's hungry."

"Grumpy like a big baby," Hermione agreed.

"Ah, like someone else in this room," Diana said with a nod. "Captain Templeton becomes Captain Bligh when his belly's empty."

"Well then, we're off," Ron announced. "Patricia, have a great time with the twins and give them a big hug from us, okay?"

"Okay," she said as they descended the stairs. "See you on the platform?"

"We wouldn't miss it," Ron promised. "Diana, Paul, it's been a pleasure. Patricia, take care of your parents. If you need anything, just send Murray, okay?"

"Okay," Patricia promised. "I will." Tears began to trickle down her face as she turned to Ron for a hug. She buried her face in his chest as he rubbed her back.

"Hey, now. None of that," he admonished her. "You have a great holiday coming up and before you know it, it'll be time to go back to school."

"Goodbye, Ron. Goodbye, Hermione," Diana said. "Please come again, will you?"

With that, Ron and Hermione stepped through the door, checked for anyone who could watch them, embraced, and Disapparated to the Burrow.

"Mum! Merlin's muffler," George fussed. "She's fainted."

"I see that," Fiona observed, slightly amused at her cousin's statement of the obvious. "Shall we get her over to the couch and…"

"Tea. I'll make her some tea. It's her cure-all," George said nervously.

"But shouldn't we…" The distinctive _pop!_ of Apparition interrupted whatever it was Fiona thought they should do. She moved toward the door to find a very tall red-haired man trudging toward the house with a brown-haired woman in tow. "Looks like we got company, Cousin," she said pointing down the path.

"Damn! It's my brother, Ron, and his fiancée, Hermione. He's going to freak when he sees Mum lying here on the floor like this," George said with a wild look in his eye.

"What are you fussin' about? You didn't do anything. She just passed out," Fiona said, thoroughly confused as to why George was so agitated.

"You don't understand, Fiona. I run a joke shop and—"

"What the bloody hell happened to Mum," Ron roared. "What did you give her, George?" Ron stomped through the door toward his mother. "Who's the redhead and where's Angelina?"

"Why is everyone so concerned about Angelina all of a sudden," George asked, crossing his arms. "And to answer your questions, little brother: nothing, our cousin Fiona, and she's at work."

_Little brother? There ain't nothin' little about this man_. Fiona was a bit worried about the walking mountain currently kneeling by her aunt's side. She'd never seen such a tall man before and frankly, she was a bit intimidated by him. Her thoughts were interrupted by the woman who followed the mountain through the door.

"George…what happened," she asked her future brother-in-law. She then turned to Fiona and extended her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger and the thundercloud over there is my fiancé, Ron."

"Fiona arrived at the shop this morning with Boot and Goldstein. She's our cousin from America," George explained. "Mum took one look at her and fainted dead out on the floor."

"You didn't give her any new treats, then," Ron said warily. "No new Skiving Snackbox items, no—"

"For Merlin's sake, Ron! I'd never slip Mum any of that stuff, you know that," George argued, irate that his brother would accuse him.

Fiona looked on in utter confusion. She leaned over to Hermione and asked, "Do they always do this?"

"No. Just usually. I supposed we'd better intervene," Hermione sighed. "All right, you two. How about you take your mother to her room while Fiona and I make her some tea?"

"You're right, 'Mione. C'mon, George. You take her feet and I'll take this end. On three—one, two, three," Ron said taking charge. "Merlin, she's heavy."

"Ron, what a terrible thing to say about our mother," George chided him. "How could you?" George teased his younger brother with sadistic glee. After all, he had the heavy end.

"'Scuse me, boys, but aintcha'll ever heard o' Levitation," Fiona asked, trying to hold back a smirk. "You know…swish 'n' flick? _Wingardium_—"

Ron rolled his eyes and glanced over at a very amused Hermione. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Probably because you were too busy accusing your brother of sabotaging her," Hermione answered with a snort.

"So why didn't I think of it," George asked her.

"Because you were too busy freakin' out," Fiona answered, crossing her arms with a sardonic smile.

Just then, Ron realised something about this new redhead in his parents' house. "Bloody hell!" He nearly dropped his mother. "You look just like—"

"My brother, Fabian," a weak voice said. "But it can't be because Fabian and Gideon—"

"Mum, are you all right," Ron said, helping her to her feet. "George, let's help her to the table. Hermione, how's that tea coming?"

"It's just about ready, Love," Hermione replied. "Molly? Are you all right?"

Ron and George supported their mother on either side as they slowly walked her to her place at the scrub oak table. Fiona stood apart from the others, knowing that it was her presence that caused her aunt such distress. She didn't want to cause her any more pain.

"I'll be all right, dear. I've just had a terrible…shock," she said, shielding her eyes. Hermione set a cup of tea in front of her fiancé's mother. "Thank you, Hermione, dear." She took a sip and then looked up at the stranger in her kitchen. "And just who are you, young lady?"

Fiona decided to put on her best behaviour before she answered her aunt. "I…I'm…my name's Fiona Francine Prewett, ma'am. I've just arrived from the United States. I…"

"Prewett? You say you're name is Prewett," Molly asked, almost accusingly.

"Y-yes, ma'am. My daddy was Fabian Prewett and my momma was Rhiannon O'Reilly Prewett."

"Fabian and Rhiannon? You say you're their daughter," Molly said suspiciously. "Are you telling me that you're my brother's child?"

"If yer Molly Prewett Weasley, then yes, ma'am. That's what I'm tellin' ya," Fiona answered politely.

"Impossible. Fabian never married. Neither did Gideon," Molly replied dismissively.

"But yer wrong, Aunt Molly," Fiona said, feeling braver. "Daddy 'n' Momma married in secret in 1977. Taya 'n' me were born in 1978."

"In the United States…"

"No, ma'am. Right here in England durin' that war y'all had. He sent us to America in 1980. Nobody but Uncle Gideon knew about us," she explained.

"Why would they have kept this from me, their sister? This doesn't make any sense, young lady. Why are you—"

"With all due respect, ma'am, I expect they didn't tell you because they didn't wanna put us in any more danger than we was already in. Momma said that Daddy 'n' Uncle Gideon belonged to some secret organization that—"

"The Order of the Phoenix," Ron added. "Mum, you told us about that when you, Dad, Bill, and Charlie joined."

"Ronnie, stay out of this," his mother warned.

"But Mum—"

"Ronald Bilius Weasley! I said stay out of this, young man," Molly snapped.

"Mum, what is the problem," George interjected. "Just look at her, will you? She's the spit and image of Uncle Fabian. You can't deny that."

"George, that will do," Molly snapped again.

"Who are you and what have you done with our mother," George asked scathingly. "Molly Weasley would never treat a stranger like this—especially one that's family. C'mon, Fiona. I wanted to wait until Dad came home, but I can see that's not going to happen."

Fiona's heart fell to her stomach like a tonne of lead. "I didn't mean any harm, ma'am—"

"And you haven't caused any," Hermione said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Molly's had a shock. She'll come around—"

"Don't make excuses for me, Hermione. There is no way this woman is my brother's daughter and that's that," Molly said firmly as she rose from the table and headed for the stairs.

"Blimey! I've never seen her like that," Ron said sadly. "Fiona, I'm really sorry…"

"Don't worry, Ron. You got nothin' ta be sorry for. None o' ya do," Fiona said resignedly. "Maybe I should just go on back to Rook Holler. This is just a big mistake. I'm sorry to've troubled y'all." Fiona made for the door, picking up her rucksack on the way out. She began to jog toward the road, deciding she would hitchhike back to London and catch the next flight back to the States.

George shot out the door after her. "Fiona, wait! Don't do this," he shouted, pelting after her. He ran until he caught up to her. He panted and gasped for air, begging her to stop long enough to catch his breath. "Fiona, please don't go. She didn't mean any of that. She's just stressed."

"Yeah, she's stressed all right. I stressed 'er. George, I didn't come here to cause trouble. I came here to find my family, but my family…" Her voice broke and she began to sob. "My family doesn't want me."

"That's not true, Fiona, love. I want you. Ron wants you. Hermione wants you," George said, choking back his own tears. He drew her into his embrace wondering what had gotten into his mother. She'd never treated a stranger like this and certainly would never do this to family. "Please don't go."

He couldn't just let her go like this. For some reason, he felt drawn to her—not romantically, of course, but there was just something about her that made him need her. It was like she filled an empty space in his soul. He knew it the moment he met her. Fiona Prewett belonged there with him—with the Weasleys. He decided that he would do anything in his power to keep her there. "Let's go back to the flat. I'll fix some lunch. We can talk better there, all right?"

Fiona sighed heavily. She really didn't want to leave. She really liked George and she knew he was special somehow—special to her. Perhaps there might be hope if he wanted her to stay so badly that he wept as hard as she did at the prospect of her departure. But there was no denying that Molly's rejection cut her to the bone. Still, at least George, Ron, and Hermione wanted her. That was something. _Oh well. Hope springs eternal_. _What have I got to lose? _"All right, George. Lunch sounds good, but I could sure use a stiff drink," she agreed.

"Milady?" George offered Fiona his arm once again and the Disapparated to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, where they found Verity concluding a sale while Mr Deeds looked over her shoulder from his perch on a shelf behind the counter.

"Back so soon," Verity asked in surprise. She noticed how George and Fiona had puffy red eyes and seemed to be clinging to one another's hands. "I take it things didn't go well?"

"The understatement of the century," George said without his usual wit.

"Oh, dear! What happened," Verity asked, hurrying from behind the counter.

"First, I introduced Fiona…"

"…and then Aunt Molly fainted…"

"…dead out…"

"…on the floor."

"Then Ron and Hermione showed up…"

"…and Ron shifted into Auror mode."

"But that's not the worst of it," George continued, snapping Verity back to reality. "She outright dismissed Fiona and just the same as…"

"…called me a liar." Fiona burst into tears again, causing George to pull her into another hug. She sobbed into her cousin's shoulder, soaking his shirt.

Verity couldn't believe her ears. _Molly Weasley cruel to a stranger? A member of her own family? Impossible._ "George are you telling me that Molly Weasley mistreated a stranger with no provocation?"

"She even snapped at Hermione. Ron about had a fit," George affirmed. "They were still there arguing with Mum when Fiona and I left."

"But…weren't you going to stay there until your father came home?"

"There was no point. Mum had all but driven her out, Verity. I'd never seen her like this and I'm a bit worried," George said, still holding Fiona while she cried. "This is so not like Mum."

"Perhaps you should Floo your dad, George," she suggested. "I'll take Fiona upstairs, shall I?"

"Right," George agreed. He gently pulled away from his still-sobbing cousin and wiped her tears with his thumb. Her pain was reflected in his own eyes as he gazed down at her. "Fiona, love. Go upstairs with Verity. I'm going to Floo Dad and see if he can't set Mum straight, okay? I promise I'll be up as soon as I'm done."

Verity offered her a tissue and put her arms around her shoulders. "Come, dear. Let's go get you settled in, shall we?" Fiona only nodded and allowed herself to be led toward the stairs. "The Weasleys truly are wonderful people and I have no doubt that Arthur will sort Molly out in no time."

"You really think so, Miss Verity," Fiona asked between sniffles.

"I know so. Now, up you get."

"Mum, I can't believe you did that," Ron growled at his mother. "You outright mistreated a stranger, something you'd always taught us never to do, and then you all but drove her out."

"Ronald…" she began.

"No, Mum. You're going to hear me out this time," Ron said firmly. "Not only did you break that poor girl's heart, you snapped at Hermione for trying to keep peace."

"Ronald Weasley, I warned you to stay out of it," Molly growled back.

"Stay out of what? You sound like there's a fight going on or something!" Ron's voice began to boom as it often did when he became agitated. "What the bloody hell is the matter with you?"

"Ron, language," Hermione warned.

"Language be damned, Hermione. She's acting like she's gone bloody mad," Ron snarled. When he saw the wounded look on Hermione's face, he softened and palmed her face. "'Mione, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"It's all right, Ron. You're upset," Hermione said, her bottom lip trembling.

Hermione's bottom lip trembled only when she was deeply hurt. Ron managed to learn this over the many years he'd known her. The last time he'd seen that was when he left her and Harry in the tent that night after their row over food—or the lack thereof—brought on by the cursed locket. He'd sworn never to cause that lip to tremble ever again, yet, here it was. He'd snarled at her and it broke her heart.

_Git._ "'Mione, love. Please don't cry. I…" But there were no words to express his remorse. All he could do was hold her while he glared at his mother. "Come on. Let's get out of here." He kissed the top of Hermione's head and led her to the door.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, don't you turn your back on your mother, young man," Molly called. His pace never slowed. She could do nothing but watch her youngest son's back as it retreated to the Apparition point, his arm firmly around his fiancee's waist. Neither of them so much as looked back at the house before they embraced and disappeared with a _pop!_

George drew his wand and pointed it at the cold grate. "_Incendio!_" Flames leapt from the fireplace and crackled to life. He reached into a ceramic crock and grabbed a bit of Floo powder. He tossed it into the flames, causing them to flare green. "Arthur Weasley's Office, the Ministry," he called, and then knelt down to stick his head into the green fire.

Various living rooms and offices flashed by until his father's office appeared. Arthur Weasley sat at his desk, shuffling through reports to be used for the upcoming trial of Mafalda Prewett. A face appeared in the fireplace belonging to his son, George. "Dad, we have to talk."

"George? What is it son? Is something wrong with your mother? Are Harry and Ginny all right," Arthur said in near-panic. After all, George had never Flooed him at work before.

"No, they're all fine…well, not all," George began. "It's Mum. She's done something awful, Dad."

Arthur detected a note of sadness in his son's voice that he hadn't heard since Fred's funeral. "Now it can't be bad as all that, son. What has she done?"

"She rejected a stranger—but not just any stranger, Dad. She rejected Fiona Prewett," George said, expecting his father to understand.

"Fi—oh, dear. Damn. What happened, Georgie? Did you take her to the Burrow or did your mother come to your flat," Arthur asked him.

"I took her to the Burrow," George replied and then launched into the entire story, including the arrival of Ron and Hermione and their part in the tale. "As far as I know, Ron and Hermione are still there."

"Is Fiona all right?"

"Yeah—Dad, you sound as though you know about her," George said suspiciously.

"Yes, son, I do," Arthur sighed. "Listen, just keep Fiona there and I'll sort your mother out as soon as I finish with these files for the trial. I'll be to the Burrow in about a half hour. You just sit tight, and if your brother and Hermione happen to show up, go to the Leaky, all right? I'll try and catch you up there."

"Yeah, sure, Dad. Thanks," George said. "See you later, then?"

"I'll talk to you later, George. Thanks for the heads-up," Arthur said, pulling himself from the flames. _I was afraid of this. I should have warned Molly. That poor girl_.

Arthur ran his hands up and down his face and back along his balding pate. He needed to finish this file before he could leave. He decided to send an inter-office memo to Kingsley to let him know he was leaving for an early and extended lunch at the Burrow. Having his son-in-law and youngest son in the top two jobs in the Auror Office certainly helped the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in the clout department. Those two and their team of crack-on Aurors made his job very easy these days.

About a half hour later, the files and reports were assembled in the proper folder to be delivered to the Wizengamot the morning of the trial. He lifted his cloak from the hook near the door to his office and told his receptionist where he was going that he wasn't sure how long he'd be. He swept out the door and made for the lifts followed by little parchment aeroplanes.

"Atrium," a sickly-sweet female voice announced when the lift stopped its ascent. "Thank you for visiting the Ministry of Magic."

"Visiting," Arthur muttered. "I ruddy well work here, you silly bint." _Ron has the measure of this, that's for sure_. He couldn't help but snicker at his Auror son's constant annoyance with Glumbumbles on nettles and airy-fairy female voices stating the obvious. He stepped out of the lift and headed for one of the dozen or so giant fireplaces that lined each side of the atrium. He threw some Floo Powder into one of them and called, "the Burrow," stepping into the green flames and spinning away in his own private cyclone.

Moments later, Arthur's hand on the family clock moved to HOME. "Molly! Molly, where are you," Arthur called from the living room. He strode into the kitchen area to find his wife seated at the scrubbed oak table with a full cup of now-cold tea in front of her, staring into space, her eyes red and puffy.

"Your sons are out of control, Arthur," she said quietly and coldly.

"Which ones? I have si—five, Molly." Arthur knew that when his wife referred to any of the boys as "your sons," they—and by extension—he were in trouble.

"George and Ronald," she said flatly. "They deliberately disrespected me. I didn't raise my children to disrespect me."

Thinking it wise to feign ignorance, Arthur ploughed on. "George and Ron disrespected you? Perhaps you should start at the beginning, while I fix us some lunch." It was obvious to him that Ron and Hermione had since left. This wasn't good.

Molly launched into a diatribe describing her version of the events of that morning while her husband prepared sandwiches from some leftover pork roast in the cool box. "And George brought that woman here under the pretence that she is my niece by Fabian and Rhiannon O'Reilly, no less! When I objected, Ronald took her side!"

"Whose side?"

"That…that _woman's_," Molly said angrily, pounding her hand on the table. "I'm so angry I don't know what to do with myself, Arthur!" Tears began to pour down her face—tears of anger and betrayal.

"Molly, that _woman_, as you call her, is barely 21 years old—the same age as George, and her name is Fiona Prewett," Arthur told her point-blank. He held his hands up as though he were defending himself from attack and continued. "Yes, I knew she was coming. I only wish I'd have warned all of you ahead of time. Now I know this was a terrible shock…"

"A shock? Et tu, Arthur? You believe this rubbish," Molly screeched. "There is no way that Fiona Prewett—or whoever she is—is any relation to _us!_"

"Molly, it's the truth. Her identity has been verified through the Ministry by way of the magical division of the United States Federal Marshal's Office," he insisted. "It seems Fabian and Gideon kept a little secret from you."

"What would Gideon have had to do with this if she's Fabian's child," Molly asked, very annoyed that her own husband turned against her.

"Gideon was Fabian's and Rhiannon's Secret-Keeper. Fabian kept his marriage to Rhiannon a secret to protect them—and you, Molly." Arthur took his wife's hands in his own across the table. "You know your brothers were in the Order at that time, and you know how bad it was. Fabian and Gideon worked very closely with James Potter, making them _all_ targets. When Fabian sent Rhiannon and the girls…"

"_Girls?_ As in more than _one_," Molly cried. "This is outrageous!"

"Is it, Molly? Is it so outrageous for your brother to have found love and had a family of his own?"

"He never married Rhiannon, Arthur! How could he have," Molly stormed on.

"He did, Molly," Arthur reaffirmed. "In 1977. Rhiannon gave him twin girls in May of 1978, just six weeks after our own Fred and George were born."

Molly rolled her eyes and then glared at her husband. "I suppose there's more to this?"

"Yes. Are you going to listen?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No. You don't," Arthur stated firmly. "Dumbledore had connections with some people in the States. Arrangements were made—I don't know the details. Fabian sent Rhiannon and the girls there in the summer of 1980…just before Harry was born."

"This still doesn't make any sense, Arthur. Assuming this is all true, why on earth would Fabian and Gideon send them to America, of all places?" Molly couldn't wrap her head around this and wasn't entirely inclined to do so.

"Because it was somewhere Voldemort wasn't. You know how bad it was, Molly! Voldemort wanted your brothers and the Potters and the Longbottoms for making a fool of him so many times over." Arthur had become royally annoyed with his wife's stubbornness on this issue.

He and Molly hadn't been members of the Order at that time, but he'd heard all of rumours at the Ministry. But he was able to separate the wheat from the chaff and draw his own conclusions. And now, he had access to the old DMLE files and could check the accuracy of said conclusions.

"As you very well know, a year later, Gideon and Fabian were ambushed and killed by Death Eaters and the Longbottoms were tortured unto insanity. Then, Lily and James Potter had to go into hiding with Harry, only to die at that fiend's hands anyway."

"How do you know all of this, Arthur Weasley," Molly asked incredulously. "Since when…"

"Since I'm the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Fiona's appearance in Britain would impact my family. Kingsley wanted to send her straight here, but I asked that she be escorted first to George's place," he explained.

"Kingsley! He's in on this too?" Molly had heard enough. "You came up with some crazy scheme…"

"MOLLY," Arthur shouted. "This is not a crazy scheme! What has gotten into you? This isn't like you at all!" It was a rare occurrence for good-natured happy-go-lucky Arthur Weasley to lose control and shout, but this situation warranted it. His usually sweet and kind wife had seemingly gone mad. "You're being unreasonable."

"_I'm_ unreasonable? I'm trying to protect my family from potentially dangerous imposters and you're telling me I'm unreasonable? How dare you," she howled.

"I dare because it's the truth. I'll be at the Leaky tonight," he said, as he raced up the stairs to pack a kit. A few minutes later, he descended the stairs with a large rucksack on his back. He made for the door and stopped with his hand on the latch. "Call when you're ready to behave like the sweet and kind woman I married. And remember, Molly, Harry and Ginny are due home in a couple of days."

"Arthur Weasley, don't you dare leave this house like this," Molly warned. Arthur opened the door and walked out, leaving his wife perfectly gobsmacked. I can't believe this. _First my sons and now my husband. Why is this woman trying to tear my family apart?_

The fireplace at Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes erupted in a flurry of green flame as Ron and Hermione, stepped through, startling Verity nearly out of her skin.

"Sorry, Verity," Ron apologised. "Didn't mean to scare you like that."

"It's quite all right," she smiled. "Just give me a moment to swallow my heart."

"Is George here," Hermione asked tentatively.

"George and Fiona are upstairs having a little lunch. I'm really sorry to hear about what happened earlier today," Verity said sympathetically. "That poor girl was just about hysterical when they arrived back here."

"Yeah, we know," Ron said, shaking his shaggy red head. "Mum even snapped at Hermione."

"Oh, dear. I'm so sorry. Why don't you go on up. You look famished," she said, knowing what a Weasley running on empty looked like.

"I could do with a bite," Ron said, taking Hermione's hand. Without another word, they made their way through the aisles of shelves to the staircase leading to the flat overhead. They made just enough noise to announce their approach so as not to alarm George and Fiona, knowing they were both feeling rather down, as were they themselves.

Hermione knocked on the door at the top of the staircase. "George? Fiona? It's us, Ron and Hermione," she called. "May we come in?"

"It's open," George called in reply. "We're in the kitchen!"

They entered the flat and walked through the living room into the kitchen. George and Fiona sat at the table with a platter of roast beef sandwiches, several bags of snacks, and bottles of Butterbeer.

"Help yourself. I rather expected you two would be along soon," George beamed. He nodded his head toward the cold box. "There's Butterbeers in the box." He'd no sooner than uttered the words before Ron plopped down opposite Fiona and began to dig in.

"'M strv," Ron said, his mouth full of sandwich.

"Ronald, honestly! Don't try to talk with your mouth full. We can't understand you and it's disgusting," Hermione chided him. "Now what did you say?"

Fiona and George exchanged sly looks as Ron swallowed his food. "I said 'I'm starved.' I'd hoped to grab at bite at Mum's but…well…you saw how that turned out. Hey is there any more roast beef in there," he asked his brother.

"No, but there's some ham and a bit of cheese, I think," George said with a snicker. "We all suspect that our Ickle Ronnikins may have a hollow leg."

"Well he sure is a tall drink o'water, ain't he," Fiona said with a giggle. "How do you do it, Miss Hermione?"

_Miss Hermione. Only Joseph's ever called me that. I think I like it_. "How do I do what, Miss Fiona," Hermione asked in response.

"Hold onto it while you drink it," she replied with a smirk. George nearly fell out of his chair while Ron bumped his head on the cold box in surprise as he extracted the extra food.

Blushing profusely, but refusing to be outdone, she answered the other woman's question with a grin. "With both hands, Miss Fiona. With both hands." The two women broke into fits of giggles while Ron and George sat there with their chins on the floor before they, too, broke into laughter.

"She's definitely a keeper, eh, little bro," George declared, playfully punching Ron's arm.

"Oh, yeah. Wait 'til Percy gets a load of you, Fiona," Ron laughed. "That ought to be interesting."

"Percy? Who's Percy," Fiona asked, blinking tears away.

"Fiona, did anyone give you any hint as to the size of the Weasley clan," Hermione asked.

"Well, now ya mention it, no," she replied.

"Let me explain," Hermione said, leaning in to her new friend and soon-to-be-cousin.

"Oh here we go," George sighed, leaning back in his chair. "The Weasley family tree according to Hermione Granger."

"Shut it, you," she countered. "You see, Fiona, there are seven Weasley children. Well…six now…"

"Why are there only six now? What happened to the seventh," Fiona asked, looking between the other three.

"You want this one, George, or should I take it," Ron asked, prepared to hand off to his older brother.

"I've got it, Ron. No problem," George replied. "Fiona, I'm a twin, but only a surviving one. My brother—_our_ brother, Fred, was killed in the war last year."

"Oh George, I'm so sorry! I know I'd be heartbroken if somethin' ever happened ta Taya," she blurted and then covered her mouth in horror.

"Taya?"

"My sister, Gallatea. My _twin_ sister," she confessed. "She lives in South Dakota with her boyfriend, Jayce Silvercloud. It's 'cause of him that I'm here. He's a Federal Marshal. He fixed it for me with yer Ministry."

"Whoa," Ron breathed. "Silvercloud. Is he a real Indian?"

"Ronald, they prefer to be called Native Americans," Hermione corrected him. "Indians come from India."

"Oh, sorry. So is he…" Ron asked again.

"Yes. He's Lakota Sioux, but we're talkin' about _your_ family, not mine," Fiona said, returned to the subject at hand—namely, the Weasleys.

"Oh, right. Sorry. Go on, 'Mione," Ron said, nodding to his fiancée.

"Molly and Arthur have six surviving children—Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, and Ginny. Bill works for Gringotts Bank as a Curse-breaker and is married to Fleur. They have a baby girl called Victoire, Charlie is unmarried and works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry. He's a highly-trained Dragonmaster as well."

"A Dragonmaster? You mean he trains actual dragons," Fiona asked with great interest.

"Not anymore," George said. "He came home from the preserve in Romania to help with the war effort. When it was over, he decided to stay on and help rebuild the Ministry. It's a long story."

Hermione began again. "Percy is…well, Percy. He works for the Ministry, but we're not sure what he does. He's in some administrative position and it must be good, because he's awfully proud of it. If there's a woman in his life, we don't know about it."

"If you remember, Hermione, he was awfully proud of cauldron bottoms too," Ron added with a snicker.

"It was his first job," Hermione chided him. "But I digress. George, would you like to take it from here?"

"Right you are, Hermione. Three years ago, Fred and I came into some money which allowed us to develop our joke business and open this shop. We have another in Hogsmeade as well that Ronnie ran for several months before he went into Auror training. Anyway, we began to branch out into other aspects of the business when the war came."

"So is there anyone special in your life, Cousin George," Fiona asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Angelina Johnson. She used to date Fred, but she and I hit it off at a party last New Year's and we've been together ever since," George explained.

"Explains all the int'rest in where she was this mornin'," Fiona said thoughtfully.

"Right. Sorry about that," George said sheepishly. "I didn't explain that, did I?"

"It's all right. Go on," she said, encouraging further branch-shaking.

"Then there's Ickle Ronnikins here," George began, but Ron cut him off.

"Sod off, tosser," Ron grumbled good-naturedly.

"Ron is the youngest of the Weasley Brethren and a very highly-skilled Auror and Chessmaster. In fact, he's the Assistant Head Auror." Ron playfully stuck his chest out in exaggerated imitation of Percy the Prat. "And above all, he's engaged to this lovely witch right here," he said, giving Hermione a wink.

"And she's brilliant," Ron declared, kissing her hand as she blushed.

"Ronald, honestly," Hermione laughed. "You're too kind, but we're forgetting someone."

"Ah yes. Our illustrious baby sister and our Ickle Harrikins," George smiled. "Just wed about two weeks ago."

"George, you know if Harry heard you call him that, he'd hex you into the middle of next year," Ron laughed. Fiona's brow furrowed.

"Harry Potter is our brother-in-law. He's married to our burgeoning Quidditch Star sister, Ginny—_Ginevra_, if you want to be fussy," Ron explained. "He's been my best mate since we went to Hogwarts eight years ago, _and_ he's my boss."

"And the Saviour of Wizarding Britain," George added.

"George, don't even go there, all right," Hermione warned. "He doesn't…"

"He don't what? And what's this _Saviour_ stuff," Fiona asked, thoroughly confused but intrigued.

"Fiona, that's a long story, better told when Harry's here to downplay his heroics," Hermione explained. "He really doesn't like the attention, but since you're family, I'm sure we can get together and talk…about it…THAT'S IT! I'VE GOT IT!"

The other three people at the table jumped and nearly fell to the floor. "Got what, Love," Ron asked trying to slow his now-accelerated heart rate.

"Harry," Hermione said.

"What about Harry," George asked.

"He's the answer to our problem with Molly. Don't you get it?"

"No," Ron and George said together while Fiona watched the exchange.

"Honestly! You _know_ Harry's a Master Occlumens and Legilimens," Hermione prodded.

"Oh I get it! We get everyone together at the Burrow and have him scan Fiona, right," Ron asked, cottoning on. "But we have laws about that. Fiona, would you be willing to allow Harry to scan your thoughts?"

"Ya mean like read my mind," she asked incredulously.

"Well, yes and no," Hermione began to explain, launching into lecture mode. "Occlumency and Legilimency are basically mind magicks that take a lot of practice to master. Harry's done it. He had to learn Occlumency before the war, but he managed to learn Legilimency while he was training as an Auror. Ron can do it too."

"I'm not as good at it as Harry is, but it isn't about reading minds as you'd read a book. It's more like viewing thoughts like moving pictures," Ron added.

"Well…I suppose…but does it…hurt," she asked with some trepidation. She certainly had nothing to hide and she was telling the truth as she knew it. She was willing to whatever it took to make Molly believe her and accept her. She couldn't fulfill her promise to her mother if she didn't.

"It doesn't hurt a bit. It just feels like a little nudge," Hermione explained, nudging Fiona lightly with her finger. "Only you don't feel it in your arm; you feel it in your mind."

"Well, Hermione, it _can _hurt if the Legilimens just ploughs in like a bull in a china shop," Ron corrected. "But Harry wouldn't do that. He's had that done to him and it wasn't pleasant for him. Remember those wonderfully productive lessons with Snape?"

"I remember Harry's headaches afterwards," Hermione said. "That was one awful year."

"So supposin' Mr Harry agrees to this, how d'y'all get Aunt Molly to," Fiona asked.

"Don't worry about Mum, Fiona. She adores Harry. She'll do anything he asks," Ron smiled evilly. "Anything."

"Then I'm game. I'll do it if Mr Harry will," Fiona said, resolved. "I really want Aunt Molly to accept me. Y'all are the best, you know that?" She began to cry again, only this time, she cried tears of hope and joy in new friendships and family.

That evening, the four of them met Arthur at the Leaky Cauldron for supper. He explained the argument he had with Molly and told them everything he told her. Hermione was about to lay their Legilimency plan on the table, when they heard some potentially disturbing conversation a few tables away.

"I'm telling you, Arnie, they've got to do it. But if they don't, we'll need to act," the man said.

"I don't know, Al. It seems pretty risky to me," the other man replied.

"What's risky about peaceful activism," the man called Al asked.

"Peaceful activism," the man called Arnie repeated.

"Yes. Among Muggles, what I propose is called _lobbying_. We'd be a sort of _special interest group_ spreading awareness about the plight of the Half-bloods and Muggleborns still trying to make their way in a Pureblood-dominated society. It's an old system and needs to be abolished."

"Dad, those two look familiar," George said with a sidelong glance. "Do you know them?"

Arthur turned slightly to get a better view of the two men engaged in deep conversation. "The larger fellow is Alastor Gumboil. He was a Hit-wizard back during the first war. He worked at the Ministry for a long time, but then he seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. The other man is a Ministry Obliviator by the name of Arnold Peasegood. He spent a good deal of time with the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. I wonder what they're up to."

"Well, from what we've heard so far, it looks as though they're planning to form some kind of advocacy group to better the lot of Muggleborns and Half-bloods. Sounds pretty harmless to me, really," Hermione observed.

"So what do these advocacy groups do," Ron asked, shifting into full Auror mode. "I mean, are they like Death Eaters or something? Anarchists?"

"No, Ron. Death Eaters and anarchists are not harmless. Mostly, these groups seek to raise awareness for a particular cause in political arenas. Generally, they stage rallies in public places, like Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley, where they would make speeches for or against whatever they're for or against, and then distribute literature and pass collection tins. Most of the time, they make sure to seek and procure permits for lawful assembly so as not to incur the wrath of thorough Aurors such as yourself." Hermione leaned into Ron and snuggled up as a cat would snuggle its master.

"Mercy, Hermione. Yer a smart cookie, aintcha," Fiona marvelled. "How is it you know all that?"

"If it's in a book, she's read it," Ron answered for her, kissing the top of her head. "She hasn't been touted in the press as the brightest witch of her age for nothing."

"I've known Al and Arnie for many years and they're all right. You may stand down, Auror Weasley. That's an order, son." Arthur cast a wink at Ron, who rolled his eyes at his father.

"Okay, Dad. Standing down, sir," he sighed.

"Hey, I thought _Harry_ was yer boss, Cousin Ron," Fiona said, again confused. "How is it Uncle Arthur can give you an order 'n' you follow it?"

"Because he's Harry's boss," George said, bursting into laughter. "Dad's the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Nepotism at its finest, Fiona," Hermione giggled.

The five of them laughed and talked over Butterbeers until the inevitable yawn-fest broke out. "Well, kids, I think we should call it a night," Arthur said as he rose from the table to stretch. Fiona, I take it you'll be bunking with George for the time being?"

"Yessir, Uncle Arthur. George made that perfectly clear this mornin' when I got here," she replied.

"Ron? Hermione? You going back to the Burrow tonight," he asked.

"I suppose someone should stay with Mum. It might as well be us, yeah?" He nudged a very sleepy Hermione.

"W-hat? Oh! Yes, I suppose so," she yawned. "She's probably in bed now anyway."

"Then I shall bid you all goodnight. Ron and Hermione, I'll see you at work tomorrow, yes?"

"Yeah, Dad. Duty calls and all that," Ron said, standing and stretching his long frame skyward. If the ceiling had hung any lower, he might have been able to touch a few of the exposed joists.

"Night, all." Hermione dozed off on his shoulder where she stood, so Ron easily scooped her up and carried her outside to Disapparate, followed by George and Fiona who'd decided to walk back to the flat.

Arthur received a key for Room Seven and proceeded up the creaking staircase to his night's lodging. _Thank Merlin Harry and Ginny will be home Saturday afternoon. I'm entirely too old for this._

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Business at WWW was brisk that Saturday. Verity had all she could do to keep up with the constant line of customers, mostly school-aged children stocking up early before the rush that accompanied the chaos of last-minute shopping for the fall term at Hogwarts. Even Fiona pitched in, helping George keep the shelves stocked and even breaking up a few tiffs between shoppers who wanted the last whatever-it-was on the shelf. Verity rang up the last customer at five minutes to three, just before closing time.

Suddenly, a loud _crack!_ rent the air of the now-quiet shop. One wizard and two witches responded with wands drawn. "Who's there," George demanded from the rear of the shop.

"Come out, Weasley, or your clerk buys it," a gravelly voice snarled.

"What the hell…" Fiona whispered.

"I don't know. You come up that far aisle by the staircase and I'll sneak up this one. That way, we might be able to flank him and take him down."

"Gotcha, Cousin," Fiona agreed, crouching low to her aisle. She looked forward and saw not one, but two assailants but no sign of Verity. "George, there's two of 'em."

"Shit," he hissed. "All right, it's one-on-one, then. Just be careful not to hit Verity. Stunners. I don't want to clean up blood."

"Stunners it is, Georgie. Let's go," she said, gripping her wand for dear life. _What am I doin'? Oh well, no use cryin' over spilt cider._

"Weasley, last chance! Come out or else," the voice growled again.

George and Fiona slowly crept forward, eyes and ears peeled, until they reached the front end of the aisles. There, with his arm around his wife and the clerk stood a grinning Harry. "Who's the redhead, George?"

"Damn you, Potter! You scared the hell out of me," George cried, letting out a huge sigh of relief. "Welcome home," he laughed, drawing his sister into a big-brother hug and giving Harry a shot in the arm. "How come you're here instead of the Burrow?"

Suddenly, the fireplace flashed green and Ron, Hermione, and Arthur stepped through. "Because I sent Pig with a letter telling them to meet us here," Hermione said.

"Yeah and the poor wittow guy neawly dwopped into my bweakfast," Ginny said in baby talk, pulling the tiny owl from her pocket. "He's exhausted. So what's going on and who's the redhead?" Harry only rolled his eyes.

"Harry, mate! Welcome home," Ron cheered, reaching his brother-in-law in two long strides and catching him in a bear hug. "How's married life treating you then?"

"That, my friend, is a closely-guarded secret," Harry smirked, slapping Ron's back. "Hermione, how are you, sis? This lumbering oaf looking after you right?"

"Welcome home, Harry," Hermione giggled, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tightly. "He's done better than right, actually. He's been a prince among Weasleys."

"A prince? It seems that I remember Weasley as your King," Harry laughed, finally letting her go.

"I may never live that down," Ron moaned in mock regret.

"Hey, Granger! Where's _my_ hug," Ginny demanded in mock jealousy.

"Welcome home, Gin! Did you have fun on the Riviera," Hermione asked conspiratorially. "Did you do the beaches?"

"Later, my friend. Later," Ginny said with a wicked grin. "Let's just say Mr Ethics here had his moments." The two women squealed with laughter as their men caught up on the latest news.

Fiona and Verity stood back watching the exchange with amused smiles. "They're close, ain't they, Miss Verity?"

"They're all quite mad, really," Verity teased. "Okay, truth time. Harry, Ron, and Hermione have been best friends since they started Hogwarts. You knew that, right?"

"Sure. I got stories the other night, why?"

"Well, the three of them were primarily responsible for the defeat of the Dark Lord, Voldemort, last year. They're very close. They went through hell together to bring him down, living rather rough in a tent, running for their lives most of the time, and doing what they had to do to undermine his hold on Wizarding Britain," Verity explained. "It's a very long story, but they came out of it with their lives and the Order of Merlin, First Class. Ginny there won the Order of Merlin, Second Class along with another friend of theirs for their leadership of the resistance and rescue efforts from the school. Those four are virtually inseparable and they love each other dearly."

"It's fine thing to have folks close to ya," Fiona said thoughtfully. "The world's a cold, lonely place when ya got nobody."

"This is true," Verity agreed. "I never thought of it that way."

"Just a little Hillbilly wisdom," Fiona told her. "Granny had a sayin' for darn-near everything."

"She sounds like a wise woman," Verity said, placing a hand on Fiona's upper arm. "You must miss her."

"I do. She's the only family other'n my momma and my sister I ever knew," Fiona told her. "But she ain't really my grandmother, though. She was my momma's best friend and she helped raise Taya 'n' me." Fiona reached up a brushed a couple of unshed tears from her eyes in an effort to keep them from falling.

Verity was about to ask who Taya was when George called out. "Fiona, come on and meet the newlyweds so we can get down to business, yeah?" George waved her over and put a protective arm around her. "Harry, Ginny, meet our long-lost cousin from America. Fiona Francine Prewett, this is our sister and brother-in-law, Ginevra Molly and Harry James Potter."

"Wow. A cousin from America? This is so _cool!_ Welcome to England, Fiona," Ginny said, drawing her into a hug. "Just call me Ginny. Everyone else does."

"Ginny it is," Fiona said, choking back tears. The only one who had hugged her thus far was George. Ron and Hermione had not.

Fiona turned to her gaze to her cousin's new husband and hitched in a breath. She was taken by the sparkle in his emerald green eyes and the warm smile that played across his lips. _Lucky gal, Ginny, honey._ "Mr Harry, I'm pleased ta meetcha. I've heard quite a bit aboutcha," she smiled, trying not to sound flirty.

"_Mr_ Harry. Now that's a new one. Please, I'm just Harry and whatever stories they've told you are probably grossly exaggerated," he said, casting a furtive glance at Ron and Hermione.

"Harry it is," Fiona agreed.

"So…why have we been diverted here," Harry asked. "Shouldn't we all be at the Burrow?"

"Yeah. All the letter said was that there had been a change in plans and that we were to come here first," Ginny added. "Is something wrong?"

George and Arthur moved to flank Fiona. "I'm afraid something _is_ wrong, Pumpkin," Arthur said sadly. "That's what we have to talk about. Shall we?"

Verity took this as her cue to leave. "I'll just finish up here and the lock up," she told George.

"Thanks, Ver. See you Monday," he said.

The group walked back through the far aisle toward the staircase in near-silence. Harry and Ginny whispered back and forth speculating as to what the latest crisis might be. At the top of the stairs, George unlocked the door and let the others in. Then he closed it and cast privacy wards against it…just in case.

"Find a seat, children," Arthur said gravely as the group gathered in the living room. "Fiona, you sit here between George and me."

"Yessir," she agreed quietly and moved to the sofa.

"Now, Harry and Ginny, what we're about to tell you may come as a bit of a shock. It was a terrible shock to your mother and that's why we're here."

"Daddy, is she all right? Is she ill," Ginny asked, tears welling. Harry sensed his wife's distress through their bond and drew her into his lap, holding her close.

"She's all right, Ginny. She's fine." Ron pulled Hermione into his own lap as their father began his tale. By the time he finished, Harry's and Ron's eyes were glued to the floor, Ginny and Hermione were crying softly, and Fiona was sobbing once again into George's shirt. Arthur held her trembling hand while George comforted her.

"So, Harry, what we propose is this," Hermione began, wiping her eyes. "We go to the Burrow tonight and confront Molly."

"You want to confront Mum," Harry asked as if he'd been slapped. "And just how do you propose to do that?"

"Legilimency."

"You want me to perform Legilimency on _Mum?_ Are you mad," Harry exclaimed. "She'd kill me at the first prod!"

"Of course not, you prat," George said. "We want you to perform it on Fiona…in _front_ of Mum. She needs verification that Fiona is truly who she says she is. We were hoping that you might even find an early memory from before Uncle Fabian sent them abroad that you can tell her about."

"The trouble is, new brother-of-mine, that she wouldn't be able to see the memories. Only I could," Harry argued.

"That's true, Harry, and we realise that. But Molly trusts you and your judgement implicitly," Arthur explained. "If you say she's Fiona Prewett, daughter of Fabian, she'll believe it."

"But Dad…"

"Son, we've got to try. It's the only hope we've got of convincing her and then helping her through it," Arthur argued. "Please try, Harry."

"All right, fine. I'll do it, but I want everyone there, including Percy," Harry insisted. Then he turned to his new cousin and spoke gently to her. "Fiona, are you sure about this? Are you sure you want me taking a walk through your mind?"

"Harry, I got nothin' ta hide. I'm willin' ta do anything I have to do. I've got a promise ta keep ta my momma 'n' myself an' I need Aunt Molly's help," Fiona pleaded. "Y'all c'n _camp out_ in my mind if that's whatcha gotta do."

They all sat quietly in the room while Harry explained to Fiona exactly what would happen during the Legilimency session, what sensations she would feel, and promising that he wouldn't intentionally hurt her. "I promise I'll try not to invade your privacy beyond verifying for Molly who you are, deal?"

"Like I said, Harry, I got nothin' ta hide, so there really ain't much privacy to invade," she said with a watery smile and a little giggle. Soon it was time to Floo to the Burrow to confront Iron Molly Weasley.

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Bill and Fleur, Charlie, and Percy were all talking with their mother in the sitting room when Arthur and the others arrived. Arthur came through first, then Harry and Ginny, then Ron and Hermione, and George and Fiona last.

Once all the initial greetings and welcomes were made, Harry took Molly aside. "Mum, Dad tells me there was some trouble the other day regarding Fiona. I take it you're having some strong doubts?"

"Harry, this is just preposterous. There's no way that woman is my niece," she whispered insistently.

"Well, I know how we can find out for sure," Harry suggested carefully. He needed to keep her on his side if this plan had any hope of working out.

"How?"

"Legilimency. I can sneak into her head, poke around a bit, and see what I can see." His plan was to do it in such a way as to make Molly believe that the only ones who would know about the mental probe were the two of them.

"Is that legal," Molly asked, a bit taken aback.

"It is if you're the Head Auror," Harry replied with an evil grin. "After all, this _is_ an investigation, is it not?"

"Why yes, Harry, I believe it is. Shall we join the others, then," she suggested with her wide Molly smile.

"Milady," Harry said with a stiff bow, offering his arm to his mother-in-law. As the two of them re-entered the sitting room, Harry gave Ginny a wink and a slight nod. "Gin, why don't you and Hermione fix us up with some sandwiches and pumpkin juice," Harry suggested. _I've got to make this look good_.

"No problem. Come on, Hermione. There's _got_ to be an overabundance of food around here somewhere." Ginny knew there would be. When Molly Weasley was upset, she cooked—a lot. Sure enough, there was enough food in the cold box to feed an army for a month. They had only to select whatever they wished, lift the freezing charms from it, slip it into the oven, and let it go.

"Maybe by the time this is ready, the war will be over," Hermione whispered.

"We can only hope," Ginny said as she sent a wave of the Unspoken Thing to her husband. _Give him strength_.

After about twenty minutes, there was a loud bang from the sitting room, startling Ginny and Hermione from their conversation at the kitchen table. "What the hell was that," Hermione said, leaping from her seat. Next they heard shouting and it was definitely Molly.

"I can't believe this, Harry James Potter! You're in this with them too!"

"In what, Molly? I did what I told you I was going to do and I told you the result. What did you expect?"

"You set this up with them earlier, didn't you?"

"If you mean asking Fiona's permission to invade her mind, then yes! I set that up earlier! If I hadn't, I would have violated a very strict Ministry regulation," Harry shouted back.

"He's right, Mum. If he'd done that without asking her ahead of time, I would have had to arrest him," Ron said quietly. Inside he was seething at his mother's unwillingness to admit she was wrong.

"Ronald, I told you this before and I'm telling you again. STAY OUT OF THIS," his mother ordered.

Bill, Charlie, and Percy stepped around their youngest sibling to keep him out of the fray. "She's right, Ron. Stay out of it. Harry can take care of himself. She's wrong and she knows it. Just settle down, little brother," Bill said massaging Ron's tense shoulders. "He'll bring her around."

"So you believe us, then," Ron asked his older brothers.

"Ron, it's as plain as the nose on her face," Percy assured him. "We've seen the photographs."

"Yeah, I remember them coming by," Charlie mused. "But they never stayed very long."

"They couldn't, Charlie. They worked for the Order. To stay around here too long would've put us in danger. You remember what it was like," Bill whispered. "Just hang in there, Ron. Harry's got it all under control."

"Thanks, man. He's my best mate and our brother. Gotta keep his back, yeah?"

"Right you are, Ronald. Right you are," Percy agreed, laying his hand on his youngest brother's shoulder.

"MOLLY WEASLEY! You are the _last_ human being on this godforsaken planet that I ever expected would treat a stranger like this! A member of your own _family_, no less," Harry stormed. "Ginny's constantly on about how you taught your children to always be kind to strangers and to _never_ mistreat a family member. Hell, you treated me better that first time than you've treated Fiona! I wasn't even a redhead!"

"Harry that's different," Molly argued. "You're Ronnie's best friend and you were mistreated, beaten, and starved. Of course I took you in."

Fiona hitched in a ragged breath. _Harry was abused? But he's so nice…_

"You took me in and treated me as one of your own because that's who you are…or _were!_ You took Hermione in because she was Ron's friend, Lee Jordan because he was Fred and George's friend—you even took Neville and Luna under your wing! But when a young woman appears at your door on your son's arm, the spit and image of your dead brother, you can't accept her! Great Merlin, woman, what is your problem?"

"It's not possible…"

"Like hell it isn't! Just because you didn't know Fabian married in secret doesn't mean it didn't happen! Dad's got all the Ministry paperwork and verification from the States and I've just taken a walk through her brain. Do you realise I was able to access memories she can't? Do you? I can tell her about her infancy!"

"No, I… Harry, are you _sure?_" Molly was beginning to crack. She'd known all along Fiona had to be her niece. She looked just like Fabian—right down to the twitch around her lips when she felt nervous. But her eyes were Rhiannon's—blue as the morning sky. It was just such a shock to find a carbon copy—albeit a feminine one—of her own brother, murdered eighteen years before.

"Molly, I'm positive. She _is_ the daughter of Fabian Prewett and Rhiannon O'Reilly. I _promise_ you," Harry said insistently, but gently. "Now stop torturing yourself and that poor young lady over there. Go to her. She needs you."

For a few moments, time stood still. No one spoke, no one moved, no one breathed. Finally, Molly rose from her chair and slowly crossed the room toward her son and niece. "Excuse me, George. I must welcome my niece to our family. Welcome home, Fiona dear."

The two women burst into rivers of tears, falling onto one another's necks and sinking to the floor, rocking one another as they cried. Molly apologised over and over for her foolish stubbornness while Fiona kept forgiving her. There wasn't a dry eye in the room. Even Percy had to retrieve his handkerchief from his pocket and wipe his face several times.

"Children, let's go to the kitchen and leave your mother and cousin alone for a bit, shall we," Arthur commanded gently. "How's the food coming, Ginny?"

"It's just about ready, Daddy," she replied as she removed her tear-soaked face from her husband's chest. "Hermione, let's feed this ravenous lot before they turn into a colony of Trolls."


	4. Chapter 4 Holidays & Heartaches

**Chapter 4 – Holidays and Heartaches**

Molly and Fiona sat huddled together on the sitting room rug in front of the fireplace clinging to one another for dear life. Each was a connection to the other for love of the same person. As they sobbed and held one another, they whispered apologies and pledges as the rest of the Weasley assemblage feasted on the meal Ginny and Hermione had prepared.

"Fiona, please forgive me," Molly choked. "I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that you had to be Fabian's. You have his twitch."

"H-his twitch, Aunt Molly," Fiona asked as she wiped her face.

"Your father had a nervous twitch around the corners of his mouth," Molly explained. "He and your Uncle Gideon were quite the pranksters, but when mother shouted at them, his mouth would twitch. It looked as though he was smiling at her, but he wasn't. He was scared out of his wits."

This elicited a watery giggle from her niece. "I got a twitch?"

"Oh you sure do, dear. When you stood there with George and bravely told me who you were, I could've sworn it was Fabian with a Glamour on," she said, tearing up again. "I couldn't get my head around it and I just…fainted."

"But…why didn't you…" Fiona began, her eyes still leaking tears.

"I couldn't admit to myself that my brothers—my favourite people in the whole world—had kept something that monumental from me. I had no idea Fabian married your mother; as far as I knew, they just dated. And then to find out there were children involved," Molly began to cry again. "It was just too much. I'm so sorry!" Molly broke down again in shame and regret. "I wish…"

Fiona had begun to sob again. "Aunt Molly, don't beat yerself up anymore. We got through it thanks ta family. We're here together now and that's all's important. That's all…"

The two of them clung together for a while longer until they managed to soak one another's blouses with salty tears. Molly lifted her nieces face and stared into sky-blue eyes. "You have your mother's eyes, but otherwise you're all Prewett," she said with a choked laugh. "Now let's go have some food, yes?"

"Sure, Aunt Molly. I could use a bite," Fiona answered, wiping her eyes once more. "But Aunt Molly…I need ta ask ya somethin' important." She stood and extended a hand to her aunt, pulling her from the floor.

"What's that dear," Molly asked, leading her to the kitchen.

"Where's my daddy's grave?"

"It's in Somerset, not too far from here. He and Gideon are buried together," she replied with a hitch in her voice, followed by a heavy sigh. "We had to bury them in secret once we…"

The pain in Molly's eyes prompted Fiona to stop her. "We'll go together 'n' you c'n tell me all about it then, all right? Don't fret about it now. We don't want the family ta worry."

"We'll all go. The others have never been there either. Let's eat. It smells wonderful!"

"That it does, Aunt Molly. And judgin' by the way George talks, Ronnie's got a hollow leg," she laughed.

"Oh don't ever let Ron hear you call him that," Molly warned with a smile. The corners of Fiona's mouth twitched in reply as they sat down at the table to enjoy a meal with the family.

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Paul Templeton was driving through the southwestern English countryside. The excitement and the summer heat, despite air conditioning, had gotten the best of his daughters, who slept peacefully in the back seat. The family was headed for Stoke St Mary in Somerset, the Muggle village closest to the Prewetts. Diana and Paul were looking forward to learning more about the Wizarding world.

They had been invited for a week-long visit with the Prewett family. Patricia was of course beside herself with anticipation. For starters she had missed her friends, Emma and Erica, and secondly, her only contact with the Wizarding world had been through Ron and Hermione's recent visit and letters Murray delivered to her.

She had become very fond of her owl. Ron added Murray to a very limited list of trusted owls kept by Lee Jordan. Those owls were allowed to deliver letters directly to Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ginny and Neville, but the rest flew to Lee Jordan's office, where they were inspected and sorted before they ever found their way to any member of the quintet.

Lee had become their public relations officer following the defeat of Voldemort and a series of newspaper articles exaggerating their personal lives, primarily Harry's. Most of the letters came from well-wishers, but many contained curses aimed at Hermione and Ginny or thoroughly inappropriate missives containing thoroughly inappropriate photographs with graphic descriptions of various bedroom fantasies, again mostly directed at Harry. Eventually, this protection extended to the entire Weasley assemblage.

Patricia jarred from her nap as the car began to slow and enter a quaint village. "Are we here," she yawned.

"Yes dear," Diana replied, adjusting herself in her seat.

"Really," she said suddenly awake, her excitement returning. "Emma and Erica will be here with their father to meet us and take us the rest of the way."

"Yes, Pattycake," Paul chuckled. "We also read that letter. Remember?"

They found the appointed meeting place without any trouble since the village was quite small. The car had barely stopped before Patricia threw open the door and virtually flung herself into the arms of her best friends. "Emma! Erica," she cried as they joined in a group hug, chattering like squirrels on a sugar high.

Diana and Paul approached them. Paul extended his right hand to the stocky red-haired man he presumed to be the twins' father. "Mr Prewett, I'm Paul Templeton and this is my wife, Diana. The human missile over there is our daughter, Patricia."

"Pleased to meet you, Paul. Diana. I'm Desmond Prewett, and those two young ladies engulfing your Patricia are my daughters, Emma and Erica."

After exchanging the customary pleasantries, Mr Prewett shrank the Templetons' luggage, pocketed it and then waved his wand at Diana and Paul. "_Revelio!_ Come along, girls!"

"Is that the charm that will allow us to see your home," Diana asked as they began to walk away from the village centre.

"That's correct," Desmond replied with a jaunty smile. "You're familiar with it?"

"Yes," Paul assured him. "We had a visit from some friends of the girls' who explained it all."

"Ah. Young Weasley and his young lady, I presume," he ascertained.

"Miss Granger, yes," Diana affirmed. "A remarkable young couple. Patricia is completely enamoured with them."

Desmond laughed as he stole a glance back at the chattering pre-teens. "Ron, Ron, Ron," he chuckled. "Erica carries his Famous Wizard card everywhere."

"It appears Miss Granger has some competition, then," Paul chuckled in return. "Patricia thinks Hermione's the greatest thing since sliced bread!"

"Emma, Erica, Patricia, come along now. We're almost to our Portkey spot," Mr Prewett called to the lagging girls.

"Coming, Dad," Emma replied, urging her companions forward "We just can't wait to show you everything, Patricia..._everything_!"

Mr Prewett turned to his guests and presented a leather glove. "I wouldn't try to Side-along. There are too many people, so we're going home by Portkey," he explained to the very confused Paul and Diana. "Oh, just grab the glove. I'll explain later."

Shrugging to one another, they grabbed on to the glove with the others and Desmond activated it. The Templetons felt an uncomfortable tugged sensation behind their navels as their bodies were seemingly hurled through space. All of a sudden, they landed in a heap on a hill overlooking a most-idyllic house. Desmond helped the others up and led them toward it.

The house itself was timber-framed with wattle and daub walls and water reed thatching on the roof. A small brook babbled through a rose-laden garden resplendent with a colourful array of flowers and the greenest lawn the Templetons had ever seen. A dry stone fence encompassed this little patch of Eden, broken only by an ornate cast-iron kissing gate.

"This is...beautiful," Patricia breathed.

"It's home," Erica smiled. "Mum loves gardening."

As they approached the house they found hens pecking about seeking seeds and earthworms with a proud cock overseeing his harem. A few odd cats lay on the steps in the sun, oblivious to the clucking and crowing in the yard. Suddenly, Diana gave a shriek as a potato appeared to have darted out from a few bushes and dashed through the pack of hens into another bush.

"Mr Prewett...what was _that?_"

"What was what," he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I think she meant the gnome, Dad. Really, Mrs Templeton, they're all over the place, but they don't live among Muggles. They like magical homes," Erica guessed. "Dad, can we de-gnome the garden with Patricia? I'll bet she's never done that."

"Right, go ahead if you want to. No one's happier than me to get rid of those pests...for a while, anyway."

"Come on, Patricia! De-gnoming is _fun_," Emma called as she and her sister tore across the yard to the offending clump of bushes. Patricia started after them at a dead run in order to keep up. By the time the adults reached the garden, the first Gnomes had already been heaved over the fence in graceful arcs amid wild protests and vulgarities.

"Is that humane," Paul asked Desmond, nodding towards the swearing potato-looking things flying through the air.

"Trust me, Paul—this is a common chore for youngsters in a Wizarding home. Those little blighters can wreak havoc on one's rose bushes, but they do worse damage to vegetable plants. They're doing my wife a big favour, trust me."

He noticed Diana's dubious looks as the screeches of the Gnomes reached her ears. "Diana, it doesn't hurt them; it only annoys them. They're tough little buggers and in a day or two, they'll be sneaking back only to be chased out again."

Mr Prewett escorted his guests into the entryway where they met a pleasantly bright-faced blonde woman the Templetons presumed to be Mrs Prewett.

"Welcome! I'm Heather Prewett, Erica's and Emma's mum. How was your trip? Nice drive," she asked.

"Diana Templeton. Thank you, Heather," she said. "The trip was fine. A lovely drive, really, but I must say that it was an interesting experience to arrive by... _Portkey _is it?"

"Ah yes. Travel by Portkey can be a bit daunting at first. That tugging feeling behind the navel is a bit disconcerting and then the dodgy landing…some never quite adjust to it," Heather smiled knowingly. "But you get used to it."

Paul extended his hand to Heather, instantly warmed by her friendly demeanour. "I'm Paul Templeton. Pleased to meet you, Heather. Thank you so much for inviting us sight-unseen."

"Oh not at all," Heather said, waving him off. "The girls have had nothing but glowing reports about your Patricia. They've been so excited for you visit. Well, let's not stand around. Come on through to the back garden. We've got some refreshments ready. You must be famished!"

Although a bit uncomfortable with the whole magical world, Paul and Diana had been able to relax a bit after Ron's and Hermione's visit, but the Prewetts' hospitality had really made them feel welcome in it. Although magical, they were as friendly and laid-back as any of their Muggle neighbours with no pretence at superiority, nor did they appear to see Paul and Diana as oddities.

Heather escorted her guests to the garden while Desmond took their shrunken luggage to the guest rooms and restored it to its proper size. A few minutes later, he joined his wife and their guests at the lawn table in the garden.

Heather had taken Diana on a tour of the beautiful flowers and plants in her well-tended and groomed lawn. Desmond joined Paul at the table while Heather showed Diana her glorious rose bushes. The two women seemed to be engaged in deep conversation, so Desmond took the opportunity to introduce Paul to some of the delights of Wizarding cuisine. Keeping a close eye on his wife, he leaned across the table toward Paul in a conspiratorial manner.

"My wife's pumpkin lemonade is really refreshing, but how about we turn it into…er…_punch?_" Desmond winked and discreetly reached into his robes, pulling out a hidden pocket flask containing a few drams of Old Ogden's Best.

Paul grinned like an errant schoolboy while his new buddy poured some into each of their glasses. He took a sip and smacked his lips. "Oh, very smooth, Desmond. But won't they smell the alcohol," Paul asked a bit nervously. "I mean, sometimes I wonder if Diana isn't part bloodhound." He had learned early in his marriage never to come home with liquor on his breath unless he planned on spending the night on the sofa.

"Maybe amongst you Muggles," the wizard smiled, "However…" He flicked his wand at his own and Paul's mouths and muttered something Paul couldn't quite make out. "Now... _that_ little spell is every husband's life saver."

"If you could market charms, you'd make a fortune on that one, Prewett," Paul declared triumphantly. "Cheers, then, old man," Paul chuckled.

"Aye, and cheers to you, sir," Desmond returned with another wink, and the two men toasted with a _clink!_

The pumpkin lemonade _punch_ was indeed very refreshing, but its affects were most cheering. Paul had already relaxed and instantly liked Desmond Prewett. The two men swapped stories about what they did for a living, their marriages, and a few lies for good measure. Desmond found himself fascinated with Paul's life as a Captain in Her Majesty's Navy and life aboard ship.

They were just about three sheets to the wind when the three giggling girls joined them for some lemonade too. Out of the corner of his eye, Paul caught a wand movement from his companion and his head suddenly cleared.

"Dad, you must try de-gnoming," Patricia exclaimed. Her face was red and glowing with sun and excitement and she panted from the exertion. They'll be back in a few days and Erica promised we'll do it again before we go home!"

"It really is a lark," Desmond told him. "When I was a boy, we used to treat an otherwise tedious chore like a Muggle sport. We'd throw for distance with the prize being a sweet or the taking on of the winner's extra chore."

"Sounds like great fun," Paul agreed.

After some lemonade and a bit of a breather, Emma and Erica took Patricia inside to show her their home. In the kitchen, the found a long-haired black cat on the table trying to enhance its hunting skills by stalking and pouncing upon an enchanted cloth as it cleaned the table. On the wall hung a clock not unlike the one the Weasleys had at the Burrow. Heather's, Emma's and Erica's hands showed _At Home_. Desmond's hand, however, pointed to _Up to Mischief_.

"Why is that," Patricia asked.

"Oh, he's probably spiking his and your dad's lemonade with Firewhiskey," Erica snorted.

"Mum'll go spare if she finds out," Emma added with a giggle.

On the sideboard, a knife chopped salad and the something in the oven emitted a wonderful smell in the house. Patricia gazed at it all in utter awe. She was broken from her reverie as the horrible of the cat reached her ears. The enchanted cloth had apparently become annoyed with the animal and slapped it out of its way. The cat flew off the table hissing and spitting with its hair sticking straight out. It skidded around a corner and into a bedroom, where it crouched under a bed still hissing and growling.

Patricia and the twins watched the spectacle with girlish glee, pointing and laughing. "Come on, Pats. Milton's probably hiding underneath one of our beds now. He never learns. Let's go to our room and see," Erica said. "You'll share with us. Daddy conjured an extra bed and it'll be just like our dorm."

Emma took Patricia's hand and led her around the corner the cat had just escaped around and into their room. The walls were lined with paintings—mostly portraits—watching them. Out of habit, Patricia acknowledged each one with a nod as she passed.

"Such a polite child," an old maid with opera glasses commented. "Certainly knows how to treat her elders."

"A product of proper breeding, no doubt," said a portly gentleman with his left hand tucked into his vest. "She'll make a fine witch. Mark my words."

Patricia smiled her amusement as she followed the twins to their rather spacious room. and noticed some portrait's looking at her on the way. The twin's room was quite spacious, with its lemon-chiffon painted walls and white lace curtains at the polished windows. The walls were practically covered with posters and pictures of various Wizarding celebrities, but in the very center of it all hung a newly-released poster of Ginny astride her Firebolt, dressed in Harpies' Quidditch robes which were emblazoned with POTTER 6. Ginny waved at them, smiling her brightest "I'm-In-Love-With-Harry" smile. Lying on the guest bed, Patricia found her bag and began to unpack while Emma stared at Ginny's poster.

"She's so beautiful," Emma groaned. "I wish I had her looks." To Emma, Ginny was a goddess who'd landed a god in Harry Potter. She hoped to follow in Ginny's and Harry's footsteps and play Quidditch for Gryffindor. She secretly planned to try out for the team as a Chaser.

"What about Joseph..." Patricia reminded her with an evil grin. "He likes you just the way you are. And remember…Harry called you his princess."

Emma blushed. "Yes... I suppose..."

"_I suppose..._" Erica mocked her sister with a nasal voice. "Joe sends you two owls a _day,_ Em!"

"Owls! Great Circe," Patricia shouted. "I'd better let Murray out!"

"Yes, you'd better... he knows his way around here," Erica said gravely.

"Poor Murray," Emma sighed.

At lunch, Diana noticed how animated her daughter had become, and how her vocabulary had changed so drastically. There were a lot of _By Merlin's something-or-other_ and _Great Circes_ and other wizardly expressions and expletives. Overall, Patricia seemed much more relaxed in this element and Diana had her suspicions as to why.

_I hadn't thought of it quite like this. Of course _home_ is still _home_, and I understand, as Paul does, that this is her world, but I guess I didn't realise just how much she has to consider while being with Muggles. It must be very difficult to not be able to talk to other witches, to always remain careful to never slip and reveal something... Hermione told us about this... I knew this... but only now am I really beginning to understand._

Her thoughts were interrupted by a little girl's voice. "...can we, Mum?"

"I'm sorry dear. My mind was wandering. What did you say?" Diana gave her daughter an apologetic smile and then focused on her face.

"Mr Prewett said he can play two on two Quidditch with Emma, Erica, and me. Can we, please?"

This was the only difference between Patricia and Hermione, so far. Hermione hated flying, but Patricia loved it. She had neither the talent nor the ambition to make the House team, but some friendly Quidditch was something she'd love to have a go at.

"Of course, Sweetie." Worried as she was about her only child flying around on a broomstick fifty feet in the air, she couldn't deny her. Again, this was part of Patricia's world and Diana would have to make peace with it. Besides, Ron had explained that falls that could kill a Muggle would only injure a wizard or witch and there were plenty of spells and potions that could aid in a quick recovery. _Harry lost all the bones in his arm once and had them grown overnight. What's the worst that could happen?_ Diana didn't want to think about it.

"All right girls," Desmond announced, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. Last one to the pitch is a Flobberworm!"

"My husband likes to imagine himself a great Quidditch player. He played one match at Hogwarts for Gryffindor, but ended up in the hospital wing when a Bludger caught him in the back of the head. It knocked some sense into him, but threw off his balance, so he remained substitute for the rest of his student years," Heather revealed with a loving smile. She watched as her eager husband distributed brooms from the shed and picked up the chest containing the balls. He bounded toward the pitch with the girls like a teenager.

Patricia and Mr Prewett paired up and played the twins. Actually, Mr Prewett was not a bad player, but his adult size and weight proved a disadvantage, as he couldn't break away, turn, or accelerate as fast as the girls. Still, they had a great time, and by lights-out that night, the three girls fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows, exhausted after a very exciting day.

The days at the Prewetts' passed quickly, filled with hours of fun and adventure for adults and children alike. The Templetons learned that the Prewett family were farmers, growing mostly the special barley used in Firewhiskey. Paul felt like a child again when he, as promised, assisted with de-gnoming. Desmond chuckled as he watched him dive in and out of the bushes, triumphantly displaying every Gnome he caught before launching it as far as he could, shouting "incoming!"

Patricia and the twins had the best time of the entire summer. The day before the Templetons were set to leave for home, a small owl arrived at the breakfast table with one letter for the twins and one for Patricia.

"Pig," Emma said, cocking her head slightly. "What are you doing here, boy?"

"I've never seen an owl that small," Paul remarked.

"This is Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, Dad. I told you about him," Patricia said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, so this is the feathery git," Paul laughed. The owl launched himself from Patricia's finger and flew a few laps around Paul's head, hooting madly.

"Pig, stop," Patricia snapped, snatching him out of the air the way she'd seen Harry do several times at Hogwarts.

"Patricia, with hands that quick, you could be a Seeker," Mr Prewett said with a wink.

"Not me. I prefer to watch from the stands, Mr Prewett," she replied, rubbing her cheek over the tiny owl's head to calm him.

"C'mon you," Erica reminded her "The letters have got to be from Ron unless Harry, Hermione or Ginny borrowed him..."

"Great Merlin, you're right!" Patricia enthusiastically ripped her letter open as did the twins. Not two seconds later they collectively yelled.

"_Now_ what," Mr Prewett asked, crossing his arms over his chest. The girls began to explain all at once.

"Whoa, ladies," he called over the din. "The Magpies belong in Montrose! One at a time," he laughed.

Emma waved the letter over her head. "Listen to this!"

"_Dear Emma and Erica!_

_Harry and I are back from our honeymoon and I've got tickets for our first game at Harpies Stadium pitch. It's the British-Irish Quidditch League season-opener against Puddlemere United and I have been given an entire top box, the biggest and most luxurious one, as a wedding present from the Harpies. With this letter, you'll get tickets. I've already made arrangements with Professor McGonagall to give you permission to leave Hogwarts for the game. There'll be tickets waiting for your parents, too._

_I hope you come because I'll be so nervous since it's my first game in the professional league. I'll feel loads better knowing there's a top box full of my friends and family cheering for me._

_Harry sends his love,_

_Ginny Potter (That's so cool!)"_

"By Merlin's miraculous magic! It's from Ginny Potter," Mr Prewett shouted and joined the girl choir.

At this the girls stopped immediately and burst into laughter. "Dad thinks Ginny's beautiful..." Emma giggled causing her father to blush.

"Dear... don't be embarrassed," Mrs Prewett cooed, patting her husband's arm. "Ginny _is_ beautiful, and I'll bet she'll make it a full year on _Witch Weekly's_ Most Beautiful Witch in the Country List.

"She'll sit on that list for a dozen full years," Emma said with a stiff nod. "A dozen dozen!" The table erupted in laughter at the prospect that Ginny would sit at the top of that list for 144 years.

Patricia's letter said more or less saying the same thing, except they complimented her performance in Transfiguration that Ron and Hermione had told them about. Patricia and her parents would have tickets waiting at the Stadium too.

By the time the Templetons had to leave, the two families had laid the foundation for a strong and lasting friendship. Desmond's hand on the kitchen clock had been more or less parked at _Up to Mischief_ the entire time, and had Paul had a hand on that clock, his would be parked there too. Heather and Diana discovered they shared many common interests, especially gardening. As a farewell gift, Desmond slipped Paul a bottle of Ogden's Old. They had already agreed to meet again, but this time at the Templetons' home. But it was a very happy family that piled back into their car and Patricia looked forward to spending the last week of summer at home with her parents before returning to Hogwarts.

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There was something warm on his belly. Something soft caressed his chest and moved along his sides. "Ron," a soft voice called. "It's time to wake up, my love." Another warm something on his ear. "Ronald," the sweet voice called again from the fog. Pressure below. His eyes fluttered open. A curtain of wild curls surrounded his head.

"'Mione." Lips met and parted. "Wha…what time?"

"It's 5:30, baby," she whispered. "We have just enough time to…" Whatever it was they had just enough time for never passed her lips because they were trapped by her fiance's. More pressure below.

"I can just about guess what we have just enough time to do," he chuckled softly and pulled her body atop his own. Her thin nightshirt had ridden up over her hips and she wore no knickers. "'Mione, you naughty girl."

"You like it, but if you don't shut up and…"

"Shutting up, Love." In a trice, he divested her of her nightshirt, which turned out to be one of his old Chudley Cannons tee shirts. He slept only in his boxers, but they had become rather tight and restrictive. "Um…'Mione, Love. It's a bit uncomfortable just there."

She twisted around at the waist and found the source of his discomfort. A wicked grin spread across her lips. "Oh dear. Did I do that," she teased as she toyed with the elastic waistband. "What shall we do?" She pretended to think, biting her lower lip as in concentration. The shorts became tighter suddenly.

"The lip thing, 'Mione. You know that drives me mad," Ron growled.

"Well…the only solution I can come up with is to release the pressure, yeah?" Hermione slid down his body, collecting the elastic band as she moved. She carefully extricated the fabric from around Ron's discomfort. "Ah…that's better, isn't it?"

_Torture, thy name is Hermione and I love thee_. "Much," he squeaked.

Hermione slinked back up his body and brought her face to his. He tried to capture her lips again, but she kept just out of reach. "So impetuous," she cooed. She threw a leg over his hips in order to straddle him and drew herself up to height. "Like what you see?"

"I _love_ what I see. Who knew such glory could be mine," he confessed, his sapphire eyes glowing with want. He gently took hold of her hips and massaged them as she leaned forward allowing him to kiss her. Hands began to roam along her sides, back, and bum. "So beautiful." The kiss deepened as their passion reached the boiling point.

With a growl, Ron wrapped his long arms around her comparably tiny body and rolled her over onto her back. "And now, my wild goddess, you are mine!"

Hermione moved to accommodate him. "Always, my ginger god, but make it quick. We haven't much time for small talk. The whole house will be awake soon and you're so…expressive."

Her cinnamon eyes burned into his soul and his heart skipped a beat. Reaching under his pillow, he extracted his wand and waved it at the door. "Muffliato," he murmured and then buried his face in her neck, entering her with one sure but gentle thrust.

"Ron," she cried softly trapping his lower torso with her legs, forcing him further forward. "Take me, my sweet god! I want you so badly, I can taste you!" Her hands fisted into his thick red hair as they began to move together in a perfect physical rhythm.

Lovemaking for Ron and Hermione was a spiritual experience as well as a physical one. They were such strong personalities, so primal in their instinctual need for one another, that the intense sensations transcended any tactile plane. It burned into their very souls, branding them with one another's magical signature. Never could either love another.

They rode wave after wave of physical and emotional pleasure, urging one another on with cries and moans, kisses and caresses. Caught between worlds in a place all their own, the bonds of their very hard-fought-for love fused them heart and body as they climaxed time and again, marking one another with teeth and fingernails, screaming their love and desire onto and through one another's bodies. "'Mione, I'm…'Mione, are you with me," he groaned, tears streaming down his face as sapphire met cinnamon in a blinding flash.

"I'm…yes! Dear gods, Ron, I'm with you! I'm…" Had there been wards around them, they would have come crashing down with the heat and magic that poured from them at their moment of release. Hermione clung to Ron for dear life, sobbing her love and passion into his neck. "I love you so much, my Ronald. I…I need you so." Something crucial happened that morning. What had started out as a sexually-charged wake-up call became an experience unlike they'd ever shared before. She didn't know what it meant; she didn't care. All she knew was at that moment, she loved Ron Weasley more than ever.

"'Mione," Ron began, choking off sobs of his own. "You're my everything—my heart, my soul, you're my every breath. I don't know what just happened here, but it's like nothing before. I feel like I can't get close enough to you." He held her as tightly as he could, almost crushing her in his need. He kissed her neck and shoulders, gently caressing her soft skin, vowing never to let her go. His heart and soul were forever fused to hers. He didn't know what that meant, but as far as he was concerned, he would give his own life to protect and defend his Hermione.

Ron and Hermione lay together in the soft afterglow, wrapped in love and the peace that attends it. Tears still flowed as they gently kissed one another's lips and joined fingers. Hands gently caressed skin that glowed with a light coating of sweat and legs twined and untwined as they slowly descended from their mutual high. The spoke not a word, for words couldn't begin to convey the feelings or the thoughts that filled their minds. They were content to just lie there and bask in the blessings of being in love.

All too soon, the Burrow came to life. The stairs squeaked as Molly descended the stairs to the kitchen to start breakfast. They had a long day ahead of them and they needed to get moving. Ron took up his wand again and waved it at the door. "Finite." He pulled Hermione in for one more long embrace before reluctantly releasing her.

"I don't want to get up now," Hermione moaned as he withdrew his embrace. "I want you instead."

"I want you too, Love, but we have to get up. We have to be on Stoatshead at 8:00 and the entire house has to shower and dress yet. If we're quick, we can shower together and save some time," Ron suggested, kissing her passionately again.

"Last one in's a Screwt," she laughed, finally leaping from the warmth of the bed. She searched through her trunk for clean underthings, shivering as she picked through the mass of silk and satin. "Why am I so cold? It's August!"

In one stride, Ron stood behind her and wrapped his well-muscled arms around her, encasing her in his body heat. "Better?"

"It's heaven, Baby," Hermione sighed, leaning into his barrel chest. "I could stand here like this forever, but we really do have to get going."

Ron turned her around and crushed his lips to hers. She moaned deeply and melted into his arms, her knees weak with want. He released her after a few moments and held her face in his large hands. "Will that hold you until we get to the hotel?"

"No, but it'll have to do," she pouted playfully. "Now…let's get into that shower before Harry and Ginny do!"

"The Boy-Who-Shagged? I'm sure my sister's keeping him busy…or vice-versa," Ron laughed. He took Hermione's hand and led her to the shower where they washed one another thoroughly until their skin all but squeaked. They took turns drying one another, again thoroughly, then put on their underwear and raced back to the bedroom to finish dressing.

The Burrow was a flurry of activity. The sounds of running feet and banging luggage filled the morning air. Harry and Ginny were having a rather loud discussion about her stealing his boxer shorts and wearing them as pyjamas when he needed them for their intended use. It was short argument that ended in a full-out snog that caused a traffic jam on the landing.

"Molly, where are my red braces," Arthur called down the stairs. Molly put a platter of rashers on the table and strode to the bottom of the stairs grumbling about men and their clothes.

"Arthur, you red braces are attached to your trousers! The ones you're wearing," she said with a huff. "Honestly!"

"So they are, so they are," Arthur said with not a little relief. "Thank you, my beauty!"

Molly chose not to answer him. Instead, she felt the need to shout at her children. "Charlie! Ginny! Harry! Ron! Hermione! Hurry it up! Breakfast is ready! It's 7:15 and we have to be on Stoatshead at 8:00!" She scurried back to the kitchen to finish putting the food on the table. "And _where_ are the others?"

Just then, the Floo opened and out stepped George and Fiona. "Mum, we're here!"

"Somethin' sure smells good, Aunt Molly," Fiona smiled, hugging her newfound Aunt. "Oh, is that rashers?"

"Yes dear. There's also bangers and mash, scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee. Tuck in quickly, dears. We haven't much time," Molly said, ushering them to the table.

Overhead, Fiona heard the sounds of chaos. "What're they doin' up there?"

George and Molly exchanged amused glances as they raised their eyes to the ceiling. "Sounds like it should be September first, doesn't it, Mum?"

"September first," Fiona asked, not understanding at all.

George explained about the first day of the fall term at Hogwarts and how no one was ever ready ahead of time. He told her that the noise she heard right now was what the entire morning on that day sounded like every year and how they always arrived at King's Cross with only minutes to spare before the Hogwarts Express was due to leave the platform. "This is the first time since 1982 that there won't be a Weasley walking Hogwarts' hallowed halls" he said wistfully. "But I can take you there if you'd like to see it," he offered.

"Terrorizing is more like it," Molly laughed. "You boys were always in trouble!"

"Bill did his share of pranking, Mum. He just didn't have our flair for the…"

"Obnoxious," Charlie finished for him. "Really Mum, Bill did his share of damage to the Snakes. "Morning, Fiona."

"Mornin', Charlie," she replied. "I need a cup of ambition. Anyone else?"

"Thank you dear. The pot's on the stove," she said absently as she returned to the foot of the stairs. "Come on you lot! George and Fiona are here! Ronald, if you don't get a move on, you'll miss breakfast!"

"Five, four, three, two, one…" Charlie counted. Right on cue, Ron came pounding down the stairs followed by Hermione, Harry, and Ginny.

"G'morning all," Hermione chirped as she slid into her appointed place at the table. "Rest well?"

"My, aren't we _alive_ this morning," Harry grinned as he slid into his seat next to Ginny. "How did you get Sleeping Beastie over there out of bed and into the shower so early?" Harry knew the answer to that question because he wore an evil grin on his face.

"Sod off, you," Ron grumbled as he blushed. "What took you so long to get up? You're usually up before anyone."

"Oh he was up, all right," Ginny giggled. Hermione stole a glance at her soon-to-be-sister-in-law and snickered.

Not accustomed to this kind of banter, Fiona spit her coffee into her plate. The entire table erupted in laughter, even Molly. The Weasley matriarch gave up trying to enforce any sort of decorum at mealtime, or anytime for that matter. She'd resigned herself to the realization that no matter how carefully she tried not to, she'd raised a family of reprobates. She waved her wand, cleaning up the mess and then set a fresh plate of food in front of her niece. "Never mind, dear. This is only normal."

Fiona nodded and with a dubious glance at her cousins, she returned to her meal. "Aunt Molly, this is so good," she said between bites. "I never thought o' havin' tamaytas fer breakfast!"

"Thank you, Fiona dear," Molly replied with a satisfied smile. "I thought a hearty English breakfast might be in order for the long day we have ahead of us."

"All right, Weasleys," Arthur said, putting down this morning's edition of the Daily Prophet. We have a full itinerary today. We have to be on Stoatshead just before 8:00 to catch our Portkey to Somerset. Bill and Percy should be here anytime…"

"Good morning, family," Bill boomed through the kitchen door. "Are we about ready?"

"Ah, Bill! Fleur, good morning," Arthur called as he arose from his seat at the head of the table. "We're still waiting for Percy. The rest of us are ready to go, right crew?"

The rest of the family voiced their affirmation. "Ready as we'll ever be," Charlie grinned, biting off a bit of rasher. "Mum, we'll help clear away while we're waiting for Perce, yeah? C'mon you lot!"

The Weasley assemblage, less Arthur, Bill, and Fleur helped Molly clear the table and set the dishes to wash. As soon as the last bit of food had been placed in the cool box, Percy stepped through the fireplace with a hearty "Good morning, family!"

"Are we ready, then," Arthur asked. "It's 7:45. We'd better get a move on."

"Good thing we can all Apparate," Ron said to Harry under his breath. "Remember that hellish climb we had to make to go to the Quidditch World Cup?"

"Yeah, I'm still catching my breath," Hermione added. "I've got a five-year-old stitch in my side." Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione followed the rest of the family out the door, trailed only by Arthur, who locked the house and checked the wards. "See you on Stoats," he called as one by one, his family Disapparated from outside the wards.

The Weasley assemblage arrived just in time to gather around a beat up dustbin lid that transported them to the outskirts of the town of Somerset. They all knew why they had to make this particular stop. Molly and George stood at Fiona's sides and led her to the cemetery and her father's final resting place. The rest of the family followed behind at a respectable distance. This was Fiona's moment and they were all loathe to intrude on it.

The three of them walked in silence toward the far edge of the cemetery. It was very well-kept with a trim lawn and straight head stones, some centuries old. There were no grand mausoleums or monuments, just simple headstones bearing names and dates. Finally, they arrived at a double-sized headstone that read PREWETT, with Fabian on one side and Gideon on the other. Their birth date and date of death carved under their names. Molly urged Fiona forward, but she and George held back to give her some space and privacy.

Fiona drew her wand. "_Orchideus_," she whispered. A bouquet of wildflowers sprouted from her wand tip and she laid them between the names on the headstone. Fiona knelt at her father's side and traced his name with her fingers. "Hello, Daddy. It's Fiona. Aunt Molly and the family brought me here to see you. I…I promised Momma I would." She'd opened her mouth to say more, but an anguished cry escaped instead. She fell to her face across her father's side of the grave and sobbed. George rushed forward to take her in his arms and rock her until her crying subsided.

"Want me to stay," he asked her quietly. "I can if you want or…"

"No, please stay, Georgie. I…I don't wanna do this by myself," she sniffled, wiping her eyes with his proffered handkerchief. She extricated herself from her cousin's arms and rose to her knees again.

"Daddy, I'm sure Momma told you by now what happened. Taya 'n' me're all grown now. I came home to England last week. Granny Tyree said I was s'posed ta find Aunt Molly. I did. She and Cousin George are right here with me. The rest of the family's here too." She turned to look at them, gesturing as if her father sat right there with her.

"Daddy, I don't know what I'm s'posed to do here, but I'll find out 'n' do it, I promise. I think the Weasleys're gonna help me too. Oh, 'n' guess what? We're on our way ta France. Cousin Percy arranged for it all last Christmas, I guess. I thought it was awful good of 'em t'nclude me at the last minute. They're really nice folks, Daddy. Aunt Molly tells me stories aboutcha, too," she said with a watery laugh.

"Well, Daddy, I gotta go now. We're on our way ta catch another Portkey ta Normandy—there was a big battle there in World War Two. Fleur, that's Bill's wife, she got us some nice rooms for a fair price. Anyway, I'll visit again soon. I love you 'n' Momma and I miss you." George helped her to her feet and he and Molly led her back to the rest of the assemblage. They had to hurry if they were going to make their Portkey to France.

"C'mon you lot" Molly said herding her flock up the hill. "International Port keys are not something you conjure up from your arm pit."

"Mum, we know. We're on time." Ron grunted.

"Please love, you're just grumpy because you didn't have time for a third serving of breakfast," Hermione teased, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"You know me only too well, love," Ron smiled. _And I will be sure to know you too well tonight._

"All right, less talking, more walking." Percy urged.

"Calm down, Percy," Bill said "We have plenty of time...if we don't waste too much time talking."

Since his arrival at breakfast, he'd acted the Prefect all morning, both nervous and proud of his arrangement of this holiday. Thanks to Fleur having some relative knowing someone owning a hotel, he had been able to pay for a week-long stay for the entire family. He thought it was the least he could do for them—for _his_ family. In a clearing a mile up the road, not far from Somerset proper, they found their next Portkey, a yellow plastic barrel that had once contained oil for deep frying.

"Splendid, we are all here and on time." Arthur said, counting his flock. _That's got to be a first_.

"Just a few minutes now," Percy noted. "Everyone find your position."

To Percy's surprise, they all obeyed and gathered around the barrel, each with a hand on it somewhere, waiting for activation. "I can't understand why they can't allow Apparition... or allow Hermione make the Portkey for us," George said with a huff.

"George, we can't have foreign wizards and witches popping into Britain whenever and wherever they want. Evidently, the French feel the same way," Percy said. "It's a matter of national security."

"I agree with Percy," Hermione said, shifting smoothly into lecture mode. "The International Treaty Regulating International Magical Transportation of 1515 came about a result of the confusion a long history of unregulated international Apparition and homemade Portkeys had caused. In History of Magic, we read several accounts where this problem made it necessary to Confund entire Muggle villages because they'd been overrun by touristing wizards, bringing House-elves and everything they owned along. In fact, the treaty is one of the fundamental international agreements that..."

The Portkey activated, pulling them all off. They soon found themselves in another clearing, where a man stood waiting for them.

"Bonjour. I am Monsieur Blanc. I am ze owner of z'otel. Bienvenue en France. Follow me please."

They all thanked Monsieur Blanc for meeting them and soon he and Fleur were involved in a conversation in very rapid French. Fleur turned to her family. "Monsieur Blanc reminded me zat zis eez a Muggle village and most of 'iz guests are Muggles. 'Ee will show us ze Wizarding part of z'otel. We will almost fill ze Wizarding rooms. Zere eez an owlery where our owls will be tended to and zere eez a floo connected to ze French network ready to take us to any site we wish to see.

"Thank you, Fleur. I'll just get us checked in then," Percy announced with only a slight air of self-importance. He'd learned a valuable lesson during the war and it tempered his pompous streak considerably. He was still a bit stuffy, but not like he had been in the years before the war. He'd nearly thrown his family away for good, but common sense kicked in just in time to redeem him at the Battle of Hogwarts. He'd regained his family and his sense of belonging, but lost a brother—something he'd never forget. He'd mentally promised Fred and himself that he'd never take his parents and siblings for granted ever again.

Soon, he returned with several hotel room keys and distributed them. "Harry and Ginny, Mum and Dad, Bill and Fleur, Ron and Hermione, Charlie—you're with me, and George and Fiona you're in the last room." The others gave him a furtive look. "What? They share a flat," he said defensively. "Oh for heaven's sake, they're cousins! There _are_ two beds in the room!"

"You people are sick," George spat in mock disgust. "Come on, Fiona. Let's get away from these Cretins!" The two cousins sniffed and stuck their noses in the air, sauntering off with their arms linked. "Minds in the gutter, they have."

"Cousin George, I'm inclined to agree with you," Fiona giggled as they walked away.

"Percy, you could have roomed George with Ron and Hermione with Fiona," Molly chided, already knowing the answer to that.

"Mum, why bother? Ron and Hermione already share a room at the Burrow," he reminded her. "And since George and Fiona share a flat, I don't see what the big deal is."

Ron stepped up to his bespectacled older brother and leaned down to peer into his eyes. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother, Percy?" The others began to snicker and laugh.

Percy, refusing to be the butt of another joke, had an answer for that. "I'm the new and improved model. The old Percy was seriously outmoded and obsolete."

"Good one, Perce," Charlie laughed, slapping his younger brother on the back. "Let's get settled in and then find some lunch. I'm famished."

The Weasley assemblage dispersed to their respective rooms to settle in and unwind from the trip, agreeing to meet for lunch at noon in the hotel restaurant. George and Fiona had already found their room where they chose beds and began to unpack. "George," Fiona said tentatively.

"Yeah, Fiona," he replied, fiddling with the window latch. It was a bit stuffy since the room had been unoccupied for a while.

"Thanks fer bein' there this mornin'." She sat on her bed Indian-style, picking at the bedspread. "I was kinda nervous…bein' there…with Daddy."

"Oh hey, no problem," George said with a grunt as the window finally unstuck and came open. "Ruddy window."

"Ever heard of _Alohamora_," Fiona smirked. "I…I know it sounds really dumb, but I was a little scared, ya know? It was nice ta have some support when I was talkin' to'im is all."

"No problem. Any time. I'm always here for you, all right," George promised, wrapping his cousin in a hug as she wept into his shoulder. This past week had been rough on her. The trip from America, the fuss with Molly, adjusting—the holiday was welcome, but he knew she needed something to do, something useful.

"Fiona?"

"George?"

"Fiona."

"George."

"Fiona!"

"George!"

The two cousins broke into laughter through her tears. Things had become too serious for a joker like George and he felt the need to lighten the mood. What he hadn't been bargaining for was Fiona's ability to slip into the moment and play along. It was almost like having Fred back by his side…_almost_.

"Fiona, what do you want to do," he asked seriously. "I know you don't want to work in the shop."

"I never said that, George, but now you ask, I wanna finish my trainin'," she answered honestly.

"Finish you training? What training?" He hadn't thought to ask her much about herself because of all the drama at the Burrow, running the shop, and then all the chaos getting ready for the trip.

"I'm a Healer…or at least I wanna be. Granny Tyree's been trainin' me up since I was about seven," she told him. "I'm a fair hand with potions and poultices, fixin' broken bones, healin' up cuts 'n' scrapes, all that stuff."

"St Mungo's has a programme…"

"George, I…I wanna work with kids 'n' animals. That's where my learnin' is. I know about treatin' adults 'n' all, but I do so much better with young'uns and critters. I rescued Mr Deeds and fixed 'im up. When I tried to turn 'im loose, he came back and wouldn't leave."

"That's one way to get an owl, I suppose. So you fancy yourself more a veterinarian, yeah?"

"Sort of, but I like workin' with kids too. I love it when they come ta me with their little scrapes and owies for me to fix up. _Miss Onie, look! I fell outta that big tree in the square 'n' hurt my arm. See,"_ she said in a child's voice. "George, It feels so good to heal 'em up 'n' wipe their tears away." She sighed, realising she missed Rook Holler already. "Granny 'n' me helped Magical 'n' Aint alike. I was taught that everybody bleeds red, magical or not."

George looked thoughtful, but kept his peace. He didn't want to say anything and get her hopes up, but a plan began to form under his mop of red hair. _Hogwarts. I'll wager Madame Pomfrey could use the help and Fiona can get some more experience with animals working with Hagrid. Oh this is so perfect!_ "Miss Onie?"

"Yeah. Back home, I'm called Onie—short for Fiona," she giggled. "Jayce—that's Taya's boyfriend—he calls me O-Nee-Tsah. Don't mean anything though," she added.

"Can I call you Onie," George asked.

"All o' ya c'n call me Onie if ya want," she replied with a smile. "I wish y'all would. It'd make me feel more ta home, ya know?"

"Onie it is, then," George agreed, taking her hand. "Come on, let's go have a look around before lunch." He checked his watch. "10:30. Let's check out the beach, yeah?"

"Sounds good ta me, Cousin George!"

George pocketed their room key on the way out the door. They walked the beach, picking up shells and watching the waves roll in. Fiona fell in love with it all. "'TilI came t'England, I'd never been outta Rook Holler, 'cept when we went inta Linville ta go up Grandfather Mountain. Now, here I am in France!"

"Onie, are you telling me you never went anywhere," he asked her, unable to comprehend being shut up at the Burrow all the time growing up. "I mean, we got to go to Diagon Alley with Mum and to Hogsmeade during the school year, but…"

"There wan't no need, George. Everything anybody needs is right there, mostly fer the takin' if ya got any gumption. Granny plants a garden every year—a big one with corn, tamaytas, taters, all kinds of stuff," she explained. "Potion ingredients grow wild up in the hills and all ya gotta do is take a walk. What we don't grow, we buy or barter for down in the village. Everybody keeps chickens and every fall, we go to the fairs for meat 'n' other stuff to put up for the winter."

"Wow! You should tell Mum about that. She'd be thrilled if you could teach her how to do that. She keeps a garden, but once the season's over, then it's back to Diagon Alley and that gets expensive," he said with twinkling eyes.

"I'll be glad to teach Aunt Molly how ta put her vegetables up," she said excitedly. "But the downside is that I can cure a sick child, but I cain't cure a ham to save my soul!"

It took George a few moments to register his cousin's joke, but once he did, he threw his head back and laughed heartily. "Cure a ham! By Merlin's beet-red brassiere, that's hysterical!"

The two of them walked back up the beach toward the hotel to meet the family for lunch. They were chatting and laughing as they entered the restaurant where the others were already seated at a long table that had been comprised of four smaller ones.

"Where did you two disappear to," Ginny asked, leaning toward her brother expectantly. "We knocked on your door to call you to lunch."

"Oh we just took a walk on the beach and talked a bit," George said, not exactly evasively, but not entirely forthcoming either.

"What about," Harry asked, truly interested.

"I was tellin' George about Rook Holler and what life's like there," Fiona replied.

"She wants to finish Healer training," George blurted. "I mean, she…"

Fiona patted her favourite cousin's shoulder. "Don't hurt yourself, Georgie. Back home, Granny was teachin' me the healin' art." She went on to explain that she wanted to complete her training to be certified. "I want to work with kids and animals, but not at a cold, sterile ol' hospital."

The Weasley assemblage exchanged looks that conveyed the same thing: Hogwarts, Madame Pomfrey, and Hagrid. "I…I don't know if I should say this, but…"

"I know what you're thinking, George," Harry interjected, "and I think it's a great idea."

"What's a great idea," Fiona asked, looking around the table.

"Hogwarts, right mate," Ron said with a grin. "You're thinking Hogwarts."

"That's what I was thinking," George said. "I just wasn't sure if I should say anything."

"Well, I'm sure Poppy would love to have the help," Bill offered. "And Hagrid's the gamekeeper and CMC professor."

"Wait. Hogwarts, that's the school, right," Fiona asked no one in particular.

"Yeah. I was telling you about it this morning at breakfast," George said. "There's hundreds of kids there and they're always breaking something or cursing each other."

"Harry has his own bed in the hospital wing," Ginny added with a snicker. "There's a little bronze plate with his name on it. It says _Harry Potter bled here_." Harry turned red as beetroot as the family erupted in gales of laughter. The next half hour was filled with stories of Harry's, Ron's, and Hermione's exploits as students and about Harry's numerous injuries. The Chamber of Secrets incident, however, was omitted from the litany.

"All right, all right," Harry finally called above the din. "You've had your fun with me, but the subject at hand is Fiona, remember? Now, if we could get you in to see the headmistress, and if we can get Madame Pomfrey to agree, would you be interested in training at Hogwarts?"

"Harry, I'd be thrilled! D'ya think it's possible," Fiona asked, her face red with excitement. "I c'n learn about curses 'n' all too?"

"Believe me, there are more curses flying around that school than stars in the sky," Arthur added. "They're not supposed to do magic in the corridors, but kids will be kids."

"I can't tell you how many times Ginny's cast her infamous Bat-bogey Hex," Charlie laughed. "She's been at that since she was six!"

"Remember that time on the train after fourth year when she nailed Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle with it," Hermione giggled.

"Yeah, that and a Jelly-legs curse from one of us, and something else," Ron added. "It wasn't pretty…but it was funnier than—"

"Ronald," Hermione warned.

"Sorry, _Mum_," Ron muttered. The Weasley assemblage shared another round of laughter and finished their meal.

"So what's next," Harry asked. "Any plans for this afternoon?" Nobody spoke. "In that case, I'm going to take my wife for a stroll. Ginny?" He sent a hint of the Unspoken Thing through their bond, indicating just where he planned to stroll to.

A smile broke across her face as she allowed her husband to pull her chair out and pull her to her feet. She returned the favour as she took his arm. "We're off then. See you later," she trilled as she wiggled her fingers at her family.

"I could stand to stretch my legs a bit," Ron said leaning back in his chair and raising his arms high over his head. "I need to work off breakfast and lunch." _And a few other things as well_.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Ron," Hermione agreed. "Mind if I join you?"

"I'd be honoured to have such a lovely lady on my arm," he teased as he helped her rise from her chair.

"Check out the beach," Fiona advised them. "The sand's really…_soft_."

"Sounds like a plan," Hermione agreed. "Shall we?"

Ron was tempted to pick Hermione up, throw her over his shoulder, and carry her out of the restaurant, but he didn't want to embarrass her. There were appropriate times and places for that sort of behaviour. He was content to walk with his arm around her waist…for now.

Bill and Fleur arose next, announcing they would go to their room for a nap. Molly and Arthur agreed, leaving George, Charlie, Percy, and Fiona at the table. "How about a swim," Percy suggested. "They have a beautiful pool in the courtyard. I checked it out a little while ago."

"A swim? I didn't know you could swim," Charlie replied.

"Of course I can swim, you prat," Percy said, feigning annoyance. "There is a pond at the Burrow, you know!"

"Yeah, but since when did you ever go in it," Charlie argued with a smirk.

"I swam when you weren't around. I didn't trust any of you lot not to drown me. I saw what the twins did to Ronald," Percy confessed. "You'd have done that to me given the chance."

"True, that. But that was a long time ago. A swim sounds like fun. George? Fiona?"

"Sure. I don't have a suit, but I'm sure I c'n transfigger a shirt or somethin'," Fiona agreed.

"See you lot at the pool," George said, jumping out of his chair. "Last one in's a hippogriff's Mum!"

Next morning, Percy Weasley proudly watched his family enjoying breakfast, Ron more than the others, and discussing what they should do first. The hotel was in Sainte-Marie-du-Mont, so Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione decided to take a walk in the village and its surroundings, promising to be back by noon at the latest. Bill and Fleur decided to Floo to Fleur's parents' for the day so they could check on Victoire. Percy and Charlie talked about investigating the Muggle bars, which George and Fiona seemed to think was a fine idea.

Molly and Arthur mumbled something about reliving old memories.

"Have you been here before," Charlie asked.

"Well, yes... but it was before any of you lot were born. We had a very... good... time," Arthur said blushing.

"Our only holiday together." Molly smiled "After that we built the Burrow and couldn't afford any more posh holidays. But this certainly brings back memories." She looked lovingly at her husband.

"All right that's enough. We don't need to know," Bill said covering his ears.

Molly and Arthur blushed and continued eating their breakfast in silence, stealing schoolboy and schoolgirl glances at one another.

When they were finished, Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione bade their family a fond adieu and headed out. The village was small and picturesque with many interesting shops and cafés, but the first thing they noticed was the church. For some reason, they felt compelled to approach it.

"Hey, there's a plaque here...in English," Ron said. "_To pay tribute to the soldiers of the 101__st__ American Airborne Division who liberated our village at dawn June 6__th__ 1944." _What's that about, 'Mione?"

Hermione sighed. "The insufferable Know-It-All is summoned. Well, the Muggles had a big war and... don't any of you know anything about this," Hermione asked them aghast.

"Second World War...sure...I heard about it...a little. Uncle Vernon used to brag about one of _his_ uncles who was a fireman and got some ruddy honour from the Muggle Prime," Harry said.

"And you two," Hermione asked Ron and Ginny.

"Muggle wars...no. I don't know anything about them," Ron admitted. "Should I?"

"Me either. Sorry," Ginny agreed.

"Come to think of it... Professor Binns never mentioned anything about it in History of Magic. Surely a Muggle conflict of that magnitude had to have had impact on the Wizarding community. I wonder why it's not in our history books. I think I'll have to check the Wizengamot achives from that time. There simply _has_ to be _something_..."

"'Mione, we're on _holiday_. What's so blasted important about this anyway," Ron asked a bit annoyed.

"I know Ronald. But...London and many other cities were bombed. All of southern England was a Muggle military camp before this invasion. The Ministry _must_ have increased the wards for Wizarding families. They had to have taken some measures against having our world blown to bits." Harry, Ginny, and Ron recognized the symptoms. Hermione was about to launch into a full-scale crusade.

"Could it at least wait until after our holiday? Please," Ron moaned.

Hermione looked at him. "Yes, all right. Come on then," she sighed.

The quartet headed north into the surrounding countryside. Hedgerows grew everywhere, dividing farm fields and vast apple orchards. "Blimey! I've never seen so many apples," Harry said. "You can actually smell them!"

"They're probably mostly for Calvados, Norman apple brandy," Hermione enlightened them before anyone had the chance to ask what Calvados was. "Wizards and Muggles alike love their Calvados."

"Have you ever had it," Ron asked. "I mean, you seem to know so much about it."

"No, Ronald, but I'm sure they serve it in the bar at the hotel," she suggested. "Perhaps we can give it a try with supper tonight."

"Oh that sounds good," Ginny agreed. "Something new!"

"Hey, I'm game," Harry volunteered.

Soon they encountered a group of Muggles standing at the edge of a field surveying it enthusiastically.

"Are they Confunded or something," Ginny wondered.

"They're staring at an empty field... Hermione why would they do that," Harry turned to his surrogate sister.

"What do you think I am? A walking encyclopedia" she countered.

"Yes," Ron, Harry, and Ginny said together.

"Honestly! Do you people ever read," Hermione sighed.

"We don't have to. You do it for us," Ron snickered.

Hermione decided the best thing to do was to let it go. She actually liked it when Ron teased her because it wasn't mean or spiteful. In fact, over the past several months, she began to notice just how witty he really was. "Let's just wander over and find out, shall we?" They approached the group and discovered that it was led by a guide giving a lecture about the site. They decided to stand a way off, but still close enough to be able to hear what he said.

"… with only thirteen men from various paratrooper companies, Lieutenant Winters quickly decided on a battle plan. He faced about 50 German troops, but due to tactical superiority and fine leadership in a small-unit attack, the Americans captured all four guns, killed 20 of the enemy, captured 12 prisoners, and suffered only two dead in the original attack group. If you'll follow me, please, I will take you to the first gun position and explain the attack in greater detail."

The Muggle group moved on and Ron stood there as though he'd been with a Body Bind curse. "Harry, did you hear that," Ron asked. "Small group units successfully attacking a superior force in numbers! That might be something for the Aurors to study. We might be able to adapt those tactics to Wizarding applications. I need to find out everything I can about this. 'Mione, what do you know about this...Lieutenant Winters bloke. Who is he?" Ron was on a roll. Tactics were his element and in the face of these possibilities, his mind began to race.

Hermione looked at Ron and burst into laughter. "Ron, we're on _holiday_...or so someone told me a few minutes ago."

Ron looked at her and turned on the charm. "Please..."

"By all the Obliviated Ogres on Omaha beach, how would I know the name of a single officer in that war. It was decades ago, and there were millions of soldiers. I don't know any specifics. I just know there was a big Muggle war, called the Second World War and that one major campaign was the invasion of Normandy in 1944. Apparently, the paratroopers that liberated the village also attacked the Germans here, evidently led by Lieutenant Winters, who obviously knew what he was doing."

"Exactly what is a paratrooper," Ron asked, realising that he knew absolutely nothing about Muggle warfare.

"They jump out of aeroplanes, usually behind enemy lines," Hermione clarified.

"What," Ginny cried. "But Muggles don't have brooms! They'd get themselves killed!"

"No, Ginny. They strap on a parachute," Hermione explained, and then continued to tell them what a parachute was.

"I wouldn't be crazy enough to fly in a Muggle aeroplane in the first place, despite Cousin Fiona claiming it's perfectly safe," Ron said "And jumping out of it without a broom or a wand... they'd had to Imperius me to do that!"

Harry had been listening to them in silence. "I think Ron might be on to something."

"Hell yes... jumping out of aeroplanes with or without asparagus is mental," Ginny said.

Harry couldn't help himself. He burst into laughter and pulled his wife into an embrace, kissing the top of her flaming red head. "I didn't mean that, Gin. I meant the tactics of those troopers. I really think we could improve the Aurors' chances to..."

Ginny sighed. "We're on _holiday, _Harry."

Nothing more was said, but Harry would encourage Ron to learn more about the tactics... after the holiday. Ron was already sure that Hermione would help him study the history of this Muggle conflict so he could learn more about it. Hermione was thinking about the Wizengamot achives. Ginny was the only one fully enjoying the beautiful landscape, but once she sent a wave of love to Harry he wrapped his arm around her and was snapped back to reality.

"Hermione is really having a positive influence on my dear brother. I would never have guessed he would ever mention studying while on holiday," Ginny giggled.

"And you're really having an influence on me," Harry whispered and kissed his wife.

She pressed her body tight to his and understood immediately that the influence she had on him was certainly a positive one. "When we get back to the hotel, I'll show you just how influential I can be," she countered, capturing his bottom lip with her teeth.

When the quartet returned a few hours later, their senses were assaulted by an abhorrent sound in the Wizarding part of the hotel. Lucky for the village, the wards spared them the horror. George, Charlie, and Fiona sat in the hotel lounge nursing drinks. Percy was somewhere in close proximity, but out of sight.

"What _is_ that," Ron yelled.

"A hippogriff in heat," Charlie snorted as he took a sip of his drink.

George winced for the hundredth time that afternoon. "It's Percy. He's..."

"... singing," Fiona finished. "Or at least that's..."

"...what we think he's doing." George ended.

Ron's face contorted into composed fury as he couldn't get a word out. Hermione, Ginny and Harry broke into laughter.

"You... got him drunk," Ginny giggled.

Fiona looked at her. "Ginny, honey, he pretty much got himself drunk. Cain't hold his liquor at all."

"But if Mum and Dad see him like this..." Harry began.

"Don't worry, Harry. Didn't you see them at breakfast? They're pie-eyed in love as and barely noticed us," Charlie grinned.

"Oh yeah! We won't see them until tonight... if they have the strength to return," George added.

Percy apparently got to a refrain or so he thought because his... singing...increased in volume. Hermione sighed and cast a Silencing charm, reducing the noise to bearable levels.

"Are you saying that Mum and Dad are... at it," Ron asked with a pained expression.

"Like Gnomes, that's for sure," Charlie smiled, welcoming the opportunity to torture his youngest brother.

"But that's just... ew... I don't want to know!" Ginny buried her face in Harry's shoulder, shaking her head.

"So what do we do about Percy Warbeck in there," Harry asked pointing in the direction of Percy's concert.

"Aw, let him have his fun, "Charlie said, waving him off. "Too much tension at work, too much Calvados, too much sun...I think he needed to loosen up a bit."

"A bit," Ron said "He's worse than a horde of Trolls."

"Or hippogriffs in heat," Charlie snorted.

"Besides," George said wickedly, nudging Fiona in the side. "We can torture him about it tomorrow!" The others broke into laughter as Harry summoned the waitress and ordered a round of Calvados for the table.

A few hours later brought suppertime. Bill and Fleur had returned to be updated on the situation with Percy's musical talent—or lack thereof. Percy was still singing, and not even Hermione's Silencing charms were able to shut him out completely, but at least they could stay in the lounge and chat.

The elder Weasleys strolled into the hotel, so caught up in each other that they didn't hear Percy's caterwauling, and they most certainly didn't see the rest of their family sitting in the lounge, watching them with sadistic glee.

"Why, Mr Weasley," Molly cooed romantically kissing her husband firmly on his mouth. "You still have some moves."

"I certainly do," Arthur said and made a few daring twists with his hip.

"Watch it, Arty. You might twist something permanently," Molly warned playfully.

"Don't worry Mollywobbles," Arthur said doing an outright naughty move.

Charlie collapsed in new laughter, bringing his parents back to reality. Arthur froze in the middle of his pose and turned bright Weasley red. Molly looked mortified at her family. The only indication that she wasn't petrified was an increasing blush that crept from her neck to her face.

"Good evening Weasleys," Arthur said shakily, still frozen in his pose.

"Dad, did someone cast a Body Bind curse on you, because that looks uncomfortable," Bill asked, genuinely concerned his father might need a visit to the French equivalent of St Mungo's.

"Um...I was just...er..." Arthur stammered, straightening his stance.

"Did you have a good day," Hermione asked Molly and Arthur in an attempt to ease the somewhat strained atmosphere.

"More than good," Arthur replied with a goofy grin.

Ron leaned into Hermione's ear. "Bloody hell, Hermione. Did they... really?"

"They certainly did, Ronald," she whispered back. "And probably with as much fervour as we do."

"'Mione, that's gross. They're my parents," Ron sputtered in a whisper. "They don't do that!"

"Ron, they must have, because if they hadn't, you wouldn't be here."

Suddenly Molly looked sharply at them. "Where's Percy? And what is that... _sound_?"

"That's the sound of a man who had too many apples," Bill chuckled. "In their distilled form."

"Where is _Percy_," Molly asked again with a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

"He's..." George started in the hopes that Fiona would finish.

"... the one who's had too many apples, Aunt Molly," Fiona said haltingly.

"Apples...Calvados! Is he drunk," Arthur asked, realising what Bill had meant by _too many apples_.

"Not even close, Dad. _Besotted_ is a word I find appropriate to his condition."

"And the noise," Arthur asked.

"He's... singing..." Hermione said screwing up her mouth, trying to hold in a giggle.

"Singing? Is that what that is," Fiona huffed. "I've heard cattle harmonise better'n that."

"But this is outrageous! How much has he had," Molly fumed.

"At last count, a bottle and a half," George snorted.

"Our dear pompous brother has gotten himself properly sloshed," Charlie announced with a degree of pride.

"And you lot think this is funny," Molly stated looking at them all.

"No, Mum. We think it's hilarious. I mean, the rest of us I could imagine, but Percy..." Bill grinned.

"William Arthur Weasley, really..." Molly tried to discipline him, but when Arthur collapsed from laughter all the rest joined him.

"That...is...so…true..." Arthur laughed. "Oh come on, Mollywobbles! He's a grown man!"

"Bill or Percy," she snorted and burst into laughter.

Suddenly the singing stopped, very abruptly and with much panache. Percy appeared in the lounge and watched his family falling all over each other in laughter. "What did I miss?"

At this, the laughter stopped cold. They looked around at each other and then broke into laughter again.

Percy stood scratching his head for a few moments. "I need the loo." He said and made a quick path to the toilet.

"I'm sure you do, Cousin Percy," Fiona said after him sarcastically. "All that Calvados's gonna get through ya eventually."

"Or get a return ticket," Bill grinned.

"Return ticket," Arthur said thoughtfully. "Uh..oh. OH! Ew..."

"Did my father just say 'ew," Ginny asked her husband.

"I believe he did, Gin. I believe he did," Harry chuckled.

Soon they heard a weird sound, not singing, from the loo. Bill and Charlie got up and after knocking without an answer, they unlocked the door. Percy had fallen asleep, snoring heavily.

"Now that's a dragon on a bender," Charlie laughed. "C'mon, big bro. Let's put our young shortsnout to bed."

The rest of the holiday was a mix of family gatherings and continued exploration of Normandy and the historic battle sites. Percy had relaxed and Fiona made him promise never to sing in public again. All too soon, it was time to return to England and reality.

Reality for Harry and Ginny was a bittersweet affair. She was due at Harpies Training Camp at the end of the week and spouses were not allowed during the six-week training regimen—not even for a visit.

The night before, Harry and Ginny lay in their bed at the Burrow after a few hours' furious lovemaking. Ginny softly wept on his bare chest as she tried to draw comfort from the beating of his heart. That had always been a security blanket for her and tended to calm her nerves. Harry stroked her hair as tears stole down his own cheeks. They hadn't been apart for more than a couple of days since the Battle more than a year ago, and now the loneliness of six weeks' separation loomed before them. Neither slept much that night.

Before the sun rose that morning, Harry and Ginny left their bed and stole out of the house so as not to wake anyone. Ginny had said her goodbyes the night before in order to have her last moments at home with Harry. Hand in hand, they walked to the edge of the wards, embraced, and Disapparated to Wales. At the gate, they kissed tenderly and then Harry turned her around with her back to him. "Don't look back, Gin. I love you." And he was gone with a soft _pop!_


	5. Chapter 5 Trials & Tribualtions

**Chapter 5 - Trials and Tribulations**

"You look like hell, mate. Still can't sleep? It's been three days," Ron said as Harry slid into his seat at the table. "Tea?"

Harry hadn't eaten much since supper the night before Ginny left and he'd slept less. He began to take on that neglected look he had after a summer with the Dursleys. He had three days' growth on his face, black circles under his usually-brilliant green eyes, and his skin had taken on a sallow pallor. He looked like death warmed over. He placed his hand on Ginny's seat next to him. It felt cold and empty. "I feel like hell…no…I know…and I don't want any tea, thanks," Harry grumbled. "I want my wife."

"Come on, Harry," he said sympathetically. "It's only six weeks. You were away from her for ten months once," Ron added, trying to show Harry a silver lining behind his cloud.

"There's nothing 'only' about six weeks, Ron," Harry groaned. "I swore never to leave her again."

"But mate, you didn't leave her. She left you," Ron reminded him.

"I left her at the stadium. I turned her around at the gate and told her not to look back. Then I Disapparated," Harry snarled, pounding his fist on the table. "I abandoned her."

Hermione had been listening at the top of the stairs and she knew what was coming. A towering brood. That was the last thing Ginny needed. She descended the stairs in full lecture mode once again. "For Circe's sake, Harry! You wanted her to pursue a career in Quidditch if she wanted to," she argued. "What do you suppose she's feeling through your bond right now?"

That comment put Harry's depression into a whole new perspective. He knew she was crying—crying for his misery because she couldn't be there to console him. _Jackass. You're sitting here feeling sorry for yourself and sweet Ginny suffers for it._

Harry summoned up all the magic he could muster to send a tidal wave of the Unspoken Thing to his wife. He couldn't stand the thought that she might be in pain because of him. Almost immediately, a similar tidal wave crashed into him and could have sworn he heard her voice. "I love you, Harry. We'll get through this." He broke down and sobbed into his hands, silently begging her forgiveness for his selfishness.

Ron moved to Ginny's empty seat and laid a firm hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Let it out, mate. You haven't been apart for more than a couple of days in a year," he said softly. "I know it hurts."

"It's killing me, Ron! I'm…I'm not me without her…" Harry could speak no more as his brother-in-law enveloped him in a firm embrace. The Boy-Who-Lived sobbed like a child onto the other man's shoulder.

Arthur Weasley arose from his warm bed, opting to allow Molly a lie-in. She hadn't been able to do that since Bill was born. Now that all of their children were grown and essentially on their own, it was time for her to relax a bit. He would cook breakfast this morning.

At the first landing, he heard voices in the kitchen and what sounded like sobbing. He quickly descended the rest of the way down the stairs to find his son-in-law leaning on his youngest son. He knew immediately what the trouble was. Harry missed Ginny and it was breaking his heart. _Breakfast or no breakfast. That boy needs a bracer._

"Ronnie, I think Harry needs a little pick-me-up," Arthur said with a sigh. "A shot of Old Ogden's might be in order."

At first, he didn't appear to have heard his father as he watched his best friend and brother go to pieces before his eyes. Harry had brooded in the past—even cried—but nothing like this. He couldn't imagine the anguish the man was going through at that moment. Could you be separated from Hermione like that? _No. Been there, done that, didn't work._

"Ron!"

Ron started and turned around to find his father standing at the foot of the stairs. "What? Oh, right! Old Ogden's coming up," he promised, rising from the table. He couldn't help but run his fingers through Hermione's wild curls as he walked away.

"Mornin' folks," Fiona called as she and George stepped through the kitchen door.

"Where's Mum? We thought…" George halted his inquiry concerning the whereabouts of his mother. "What's with Harry?"

"Ginny," Hermione said, holding her surrogate brother's hand. "You know how it is."

"Yeah, I do," George said, his eyes flashing a haunted look. He must feel like I did when Fred…

Fiona sat down on Harry's other side and rubbed circles on his back. "Hang in there, Harry. It'll get better," she said softly. "I know it's easy fer me ta say, but it'll be all over in no time 'n' Ginny'll be back and you'll be just fine." She cast a worried look at Hermione and mouthed, "Is he eating?"

Hermione shook her head and mouthed, "He isn't sleeping either." "Ron, haven't you found that bottle of Old Ogden's yet," Hermione called over her shoulder. He grumbled his reply and kept shuffling things around in the special cupboard.

"Old Ogden's? Scotch? At this hour," Fiona asked.

"Firewhiskey," Hermione replied. "Old Ogden's Best Firewhiskey. The Weasley cure for catatonia and hysterics," Hermione offered with a sigh.

"Oh. Back home, we call that remedy moonshine," Fiona countered with a grin.

"But isn't that illegal," Hermione asked, still giggling.

Ron had been preoccupied with searching for the bottle of Firewhiskey his mother kept hidden in a special cupboard, so he really hadn't been paying attention to the continued conversation. He had just located it in the back of the cupboard behind a dusty bottle of mulled mead when he heard his cousin say something about moonshine and Hermione's question about its legality. _Moon shine illegal? Unhealthy for werewolves certainly, but I find moon shine rather romantic, especially when a certain brown-eyed goddess lies in my arms and... Slow down, there, Weasley. You don't want to get yourself all worked up now..._

"Only if ya get caught," Fiona quipped. The two younger women burst into fits of female mirth as Ron and George only snickered. "An' ya know what's funny," Fiona asked rhetorically.

_Wait. Caught? Well...I suppose if you're in a compromising position in the moon shine..._ Ron was thoroughly confused, but unwilling to voice it. He decided to listen instead, hoping to make some sense of it.

"What," Hermione, George, and Ron asked at once as Ron poured some of the burning liquor into a glass and set it in front of Harry. "C'mon, mate," Ron said just above a whisper, nudging him with the glass. "Drink up."

Harry took the glass with trembling hands and tossed the amber liquid back in one gulp while Arthur and Fiona held him up. Fiona regarded her raven-haired cousin with wariness. The Healer in her caused her to be cautious to make sure he was all right.

Once satisfied, she went on. "My sister's boyfriend, man, whatever, is a Federal Marshal and he loves the stuff!" While Arthur, Hermione and George laughed, Harry didn't even crack a smile. In fact, he hadn't even seemed to understand the discussion.

Ron was still baffled. He couldn't understand what was so funny. "What are you talking about? Why would moon shine be illegal?"

"Because there are liquor laws in the United States, Ron," Hermione answered with a huff.

"Well, there are here too, but what's that got to do with the moon," Ron asked, more exasperated.

Hermione stared at her fiancé as if he'd grown a second head. Then it dawned on her that he didn't know what moonshine was and that he was probably thinking of moonlight. "Ron, sweetheart-darling-love of my life, please sit and let me explain, all right?"

Harry's head snapped up. The whiskey had begun to take effect. He felt a bit lighter and more inclined to listen to the discussion, if not participate. In addition, it sounded like Hermione had launched into "lecture mode," for the second time this morning and for some reason, he didn't want to miss it, especially since she had used an excessive number of terms of endearment.

"Uh...okay, 'Mione, but..." He allowed her to tug him by the elbow into his chair. She placed a sweet kiss on his brow and then took his hand. "'Mione, what..."

"Baby, moonshine—one word—is another term for grain alcohol, usually produced from corn. Am I right, Fiona?"

"Yes, ma'am, that's right. It's called 'moonshine' because it's distilled in secret, bottled, and sold at night under the light of the moon to avoid the long arm o' the law. It's illegal to home-distill liquor of any kind—moonshine, white light'nin', whatever ya call it—and distribute it fer profit without a licence. The charges against a 'shiner' also include tax evasion because there's a tax on all alcohol manufactured in the United States. The health department tends to frown on 'shinin' as well because the...uh...facilities have not been inspected and in many cases are unsanitary. Let alone the fact that there's 'shiners out there that ain't respectable and produce rot-gut, which is sometimes poisonous."

Ron was still a little confused. "Okay, I understand now, but what brought that on?"

"Fiona asked what Old Ogden's is and I told her that it was the Weasley cure for catatonia and hysterics," Hermione explained.

"Right..."

"She said that back where she comes from, they call that remedy moonshine," Hermione said, gesturing at the bottle.

Harry had begun to snicker and then chuckle. "Ron, think about it."

"Oh. OH! Okay, I get it now. And since it's illegal...her sister's boyfriend is a Fed and loves it..." Ron burst into booming laughter so characteristic of him when he's really amused by something. "That's ruddy hysterical!"

"That's my cue," Arthur said, leaving his half-drunk tea on the table. "Breakfast anyone?"

"You're cooking, Dad?" Ron couldn't believe his ears. The last time his father had cooked breakfast was when Molly had sat up all night with Charlie who had been ill with the Dragon-pox.

"I'm letting your mother have a bit of a lie-in. She deserves a little pampering," Arthur said firmly. "So what'll it be? The standard or pancakes?"

"Pancakes, please," Hermione said respectfully. "Can I help?"

"No, no, Hermione. I rather enjoy this," Arthur assured her. "You just see to your brother." Hermione turned back to the conversation. She continued to watch Harry as he sat there. She was glad he was at least paying attention if not saying anything. She knew the separation from Ginny would be hard on him, but she never imagined it would be like this. He was less-morose living rough in the tent.

"Um…Fiona? What's a Federal Marshal," George asked as he wiped tears from his eyes.

Harry couldn't hold it anymore. He knew from his studies and training what a United States Federal Marshal was and so did Ron, but the way George asked sounded so innocently child-like, he couldn't help but let go. "George, they're something like Aurors, but on a grander scale. The States have several levels of law enforcement jurisdiction," Harry explained. He was in his element now. "It can be quite complex. On the federal level, they have the United States Marshal's Office and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, among others. Both have absolute jurisdiction, but they differ in the types of cases they work."

"Well, the dead has arisen," Fiona snickered. "That's right, Harry. Jayce works with a special magical division. The FBI has one too, but Jayce says they're too high-falootin' fer him. Most Feds are Aints, though. The magical division's pretty small, but fer good reason. Don't need too many wizards ta take out Aints."

"Aint? What's that," Ron asked, one hand on his mug and the other on his fiancee.

"Oh, what is it Momma used to say? Um...is it Muggle?" Fiona was sure that was it, but since she never used the word herself, having heard Aint all her life, it never really stuck.

"Why 'Aint,' Fiona," Hermione asked, clearly intrigued. "That's not even proper English."

"Honey, in the holler nobody talks proper English. And 'fore you ask, yes, I can when I need to," she said with a wink. "I can put them snot-nosed Virginians to shame. Anyway, 'Aint' just means 'ain't magical.' Either yer magical or you ain't."

"What about Squibs," Ron asked, finding himself mildly interested in the discussion.

"Squids? So far's I know they're like octopuses, ain't they," Fiona asked. "What's that got ta do with anything?"

"No, Fiona," Arthur interceded. "Squib. S-Q-U-I-B."

"Never heard o' that. What's a Squib," she asked, looking at each face around the table in turn.

"A Squib in a non-magical child born to magical parents," Hermione explained. "It's rare, but it appears to be becoming more prevalent among Pureblood families."

"Sounds like an inbreedin' problem ta me. Way up in the hills, there's some Aint clans that've been there since the Revolution. They rarely come down. They're tucked up there so far, they're still fightin' the War Between the States. Granny says they're so inbred they're related to each other seven ways ta Sunday, and crazier'n coyotes at the full moon!"

"That's just wrong on so many levels," Ron said quietly. He couldn't imagine for a moment himself, his father, or any of his brothers indulging themselves with his mother or his sister. He shuddered and even felt a little sick. "Disgusting, really."

Before the discussion could degenerate further, Arthur served a very hearty breakfast to those at the table. "Tuck in, children!" He took his place at the head of the table and began to serve himself. "You were talking about Squibs?"

"Yes…well, there has been some speculation that the Pureblood families are having genetic issues," Hermione mused.

"Do you remember what Hagrid said that day Malfoy called you a _Mudblood_," Harry asked her.

"Mudblood? What's that mean," Fiona asked, completely ignorant of the term.

"It means _dirty blood_. It's not a term one would hear in polite conversation," Ron said sadly. "There was a bloke in our class at school who was a real piece of work. He was a Pureblood snob who hated us—especially Hermione."

"Ron went to hex him for it, but at that time, his old wand was broken and patched up with Spell-O-Tape, so it backfired on him," Harry remembered.

Ron hated the word, _Mudblood_, now more than ever. It had hurt Hermione badly when Draco Malfoy spat that at her in their second year at Hogwarts. It was the second time he'd seen her bottom lip tremble before she cried, and it had made him angry then, but now, he would kill any filthy bastard who might be so foolish as to use that foul term in reference to his soon-to-be wife.

"I coughed up the most disgusting slugs on earth for a full twenty-four hours after that," Ron finished with a grimace. "The thought of it turns my stomach!"

"My poor Ronald," Hermione cooed, kissing his cheek. "But I remember that conversation in Hagrid's hut. He said that there's barely a family left that isn't Half-blood or less. Except for the Malfoys…"

"_And_ the Parkinsons, _and_ the Crabbes _and_ the Goyles…All those Slytherin fanatics we went to school with. Not to mention the DEs," Harry said. "Hell, the Potters were an old Pureblood family with a long history—until I came along. I'm the last Potter and a Half-blood—my mum was Muggleborn."

"The Weasleys and the Prewetts are Purebloods," Hermione reminded him. "There's nothing wrong with them."

"That's because we're not afraid to intermarry with non-Purebloods, Hermione," Ron added. "I mean, think about it, Love. Ginny just married a Half-blood and I'm about to marry the most beautiful, amazingly brilliant Muggleborn in the world."

"Then we can safely assume that the Potters, the Weasleys, and the Prewetts are strong stock for the next generation," Fiona said with a stern nod and a grin.

"Hear, hear," Arthur said, slamming his palm on the table. "A toast," he declared. "To our collective family—Sláinte!" The others raise their glasses of pumpkin juice, replied in kind, and drank.

As they ate and discussed further inbreeding issues among British Wizarding families, a rather large brown owl flew through the window and dropped a rolled newspaper in front of Hermione and flew off again. She put down her fork and unrolled it. "It's the _Prophet_ and guess what's in the headlines?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Tell me it isn't more about…"

"No, Harry," Hermione said, interrupting her surrogate brother's whinging. "It's about the trial."

"Oh this should be good," Ron muttered. "Well, read away."

"_**Prewett's Prosecution**_

_Shacklebolt Shall Shake?_

_The recently arrested and charged disciple of Voldemort, Mafalda Prewett, will stand trial for her crimes against the Wizarding community. This trial marks a test of the politics of our newest Minister for Magic. So far Kingsley Shacklebolt has worked to reform the laws and reform the Ministry. However, the list of crimes against Mafalda Prewett are severe and the penalties harsh."_

"A test of Kingsley's politics?" Harry didn't quite understand. "I think he's more than proven himself over this past year."

"Of course he has, Harry," Arthur answered. "But mostly what he's done is clean up Voldemort's mess…with your able help, of course. The people are grateful for that and he's got a high approval rating as a result, but this is a real issue."

"But Dad, why would anyone question him, then," Ron asked, equally nonplussed.

"Hermione, read on," Arthur said. "I think we'll have our answer."

She nodded and continued to read. _" A few years ago, conviction of the crimes with which Miss Prewett is charged, would certainly lead to the Dementor's Kiss, but now we can't be so sure. Will the Wizarding community accept any sentence other than either life-long imprisonment in Azkaban or the Kiss? So far, convictions against tried Death Eaters have resulted in sentences far lighter than in the past._

"Dementors are evil, pure and simple. They were in Voldemort's camp and have no business in our legal system," Harry declared solidly. "Hell, Kingsley won't even allow the use of Veritaserum without an argument. Of course he's not going to allow the damned Dementor's Kiss!"

"'Scuse me, but what the hell is a Dementor," Fiona asked. "And what's this about them kissin' folks?"

"Fiona," George said a bit shakily. "A Dementor is a soulless, evil…being…that feeds off the happiness of their human victims."

"They're nasty things," Ron added. "When one is near, you begin to feel as though you'll never be cheerful again."

"They used to guard Azkaban, the Wizard prison somewhere in the North Sea," Harry continued. "They're loyal to anyone who provides souls for them to feed on. The Kiss is a horrible thing." Harry remembered all too well the night in third year when he learned that Sirius Black was his godfather and innocent of the deaths of his parents. He was nearly kissed until Harry's Patronus drove the foul creatures away.

"So…what's the Kiss do," Fiona asked, horrified.

"Dementors have no real face. They're about 10 feet tall and they have gray scabby skin. No one really knows about their faces, though. They're cloaked and only reveal their faces when their about to Kiss their victims," Arthur explained. "I've never seen it, but it's said that they have openings where their mouths should be. The hold their victims down and cover their mouths with their own and suck their souls out." He paled a little at the mental image he was sure entered the minds of his listeners.

Fiona's eyes grew wide as she drew her hand to her own mouth. "Sweet Merlin!"

"You're just about right, Dad," Harry agreed. "I…the night they nearly got Sirius, they nearly got me too. They have no eyes, just that gaping hole for a mouth. Their breath rattles and they smell like death."

The group went quiet for a few moments while Fiona digested the awful information. "So…how do we know…"

"…when they're near? The air grows cold, lights go out, and Harry…well, Harry tends to pass out if he doesn't cast his Patronus fast enough."

"What's…" Fiona began.

"A Patronus is the only thing that can drive them off. As far as we know, they can't be killed," Harry said stonily. "Obviously, if you hadn't heard of Dementors, you haven't learned to cast a Patronus either, am I right?"

"No, but I'd sure like ta learn if them things is still roamin' around," Fiona said a little frightened.

"I think we should teach her, Harry," Hermione said with conviction. "They're still out there and she needs to be able to protect herself." Hermione turned to Fiona with a serious expression on her face. "Fiona, it's highly-advanced magic and not everyone can do it, but it's worth a try. Are you game?"

"I'm a fair hand with a wand, but I'll admit I could stand some lessons if yer willin' to give 'em," she agreed. "I'm willin' ta learn anything ya wanna teach me."

"I can work with on the stuff we learned in the DA," George offered enthusiastically. "I'm sure Angelina wouldn't mind either."

"We can discuss that later," Arthur interjected. "Meanwhile, is there more to that story, Hermione?"

"Y-yes," she answered and continued to read. "_Although Minister Shacklebolt has loud and outspoken support, there are also voices questioning his reign. Is Minister Shacklebolt's known friendship with Head Auror Harry Potter an advantage or has he won easy votes now coming to __stab him in the back? Will the previous mild verdicts increase the pressure for a harsher punishment for Mafalda Prewett?_

_However the trial of Mafalda Prewett ends, Kingsley Shacklebolt's judgement will most likely be questioned, so this is as much a trial of Mafalda for her crimes as of Minister Shacklebolt for his leadership._"

"Is that it," Arthur asked as he stuffed a bite of pancakes into his mouth.

"That's it," Hermione confirmed. "The trial begins on Monday and I have a bad feeling about it."

"Why," Harry asked, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

"Because, mate," Ron began. "This isn't just about Mafalda Prewett. This is about Kingsley's leadership and very likely, yours and mine."

"I don't get it," Harry said, furrowing his brow.

"I think I do," Fiona interjected. "From the sounds of it, whatever this Mafalda Prewett did—Prewett. Hell, she could be related ta us, couln't she?"

"She is related to us," a voice said from the stairwell. "She's our second or third cousin."

"G'mornin' Aunt Molly," Fiona smiled. "How ya feelin'?"

"Good morning, dears. I'm fine and well-rested. Thank you, Arthur, for letting me sleep in," Molly cooed, kissing her husband's bald spot. "Something smells wonderful. Who cooked breakfast this morning?"

"Dad," Ron said, winking at his father. "And it was excellent. Tuck in—there's plenty."

"Absolutely," Harry declared. "It should still be warm. Dad cast a warming charm over everything—yes, Dad, I saw that." Those around the table chuckled as Molly took her place and poured herself a cup of tea.

"My sons, the Aurors," Arthur muttered with a cheeky grin. "Can't put anything past them."

"So what were you all talking about," Molly asked as she served herself.

"Mafalda's trial starts Monday," Hermione answered. "There's some conjecture about exactly who's really on trial—Mafalda or Kingsley. Crime versus politics."

"Oh for Merin's sake," Molly said in mock annoyance. "What's politics got to do with it?"

"Unfortunately, everything," Arthur replied, handing her the Prophet. "Just read the article." The conversation held until Molly finished reading. "This is…"

"Ridiculous, yeah," Harry said with a heavy sigh. "But Fiona was just saying…"

"Well, I was jus' sayin' that her crimes sound pretty serious if that Kiss thing y'all were talkin' about is or has been the usual penalty. But it sounds like yer Mr. Shacklebolt isn't for something that…I dunno…harsh."

"He isn't," Harry said. "Like we said before: Dementors are foul, evil creatures and have no place in our legal system."

"Unfortunately, Harry, there's folks in this world who take a lot of pleasure in somebody else's pain. Back home, we call 'em vultures," Fiona said.

"Vultures. That's what we call them here, too," Molly supplied. "Most of them can dish it out, but can't take it."

"Ya hit the nail on the head, Aunt Molly. So that said, the cooler heads may prevail here and that might reflect badly on the Minister, since he must be one of them cooler heads. The trouble is, I get the distinct impression that the hotheads hold a majority?"

"This article certainly suggests that and I think that's the issue," Hermione added. "She wanted to expose our world to the Muggles, which would have created a war of sorts that would have destroyed us all. What she's accused of beyond kidnapping and murder is sedition."

"Oooh, that's some pretty heavy stuff," Fiona said, wincing. "What'd she want?"

"She was Voldemort's apprentice, Fiona," Harry began. "He was the bastard that tried to take over our world and make slaves of all of us. He killed my parents and caused his followers to maim and murder countless others before Ron, Hermione, and I stopped him."

"How…"

"We'll talk about it later," George said into her ear. "Harry doesn't like to discuss it. Angie and I will tell you all about it tonight over drinks at the Leaky, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed. She turned back to the others and continued. "So what this paper is sayin' is that the Minister's handlin' of this trial and sentencing might have some kind of impact on his political future, right?"

"That's about the size of it, yes," Arthur said with a sigh. "And it could have an impact on Harry and Ron and all of our family in the end because we're so closely-associated with the Minister and the Ministry." Arthur began to tick a list off on his fingers. "Harry and Ron lead the Auror Office, I'm the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Hermione and Charlie work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Bill is a highly-skilled curse-breaker for Gringotts Bank, George has a business that depends on the general public, and Percy works close to the Minister—we think—doing only Merlin knows what."

"Oh my…and I might go to work at the school," Fiona added and blew out a heavy breath through puffed cheeks. "Damn."

"Exactly," Harry said.

"Whatever happens, we're going to need to stick together," Molly advised. "This is liable to become ugly and we're going to need each other more than ever."

Harry considered his mother-in-law's words. _She's right. Merlin, Ginny…I need you so badly._

Hermione leaned her head on Ron's shoulder as she too considered Molly's words. The Weasley mettle was about to be firmly tested over the next week or so, but she knew that this family's love for one another and its unwavering support for the right would carry them through. She took Ron's hand and squeezed it.

"What is it, Love," Ron asked, kissing the wild curls on the top of her head.

She looked up at him with intense eyes that conveyed the need for private time. When she was frightened or apprehensive, Ron knew how to help her through it. He arose from the table and pulled Hermione's chair out to allow her to stand. He took her hand and led her to the stairs. "We need to talk," he said to his family.

Harry's face broke into a half-grin. He knew what kind of talking they'd be doing. Then, a heavy feeling filled his chest. He needed to "talk" to Ginny too, but she wasn't there. He stood and made for the door. "I think I'll go for a fly. It helps me clear my head."

"All right, kids," Arthur replied. "I'll see you at the Ministry this afternoon, yes?"

"Yeah, Ron and I have a load of paperwork to catch up on," Harry said. "Besides, I have to rattle the monkeys' cages once in a while." He smirked as he turned and stepped out the door.

He strode over to the broom shed to retrieve his trusty Thunderbolt. A fly would make him feel a little better, but he wanted some alone time too. He took to the air and headed for the makeshift Quidditch pitch in the orchard. He took a few laps and then found himself heading for his and Ginny's property. _I really must get with that firm Bill suggested. What was it again? Forbes? Fellowes? Phelps. That's it. Phelps Brothers. I think I'll contact them from work this afternoon._

Harry landed in the grassy area he'd hoped would become the back garden of their new home and sat down. The weather was clear and warm, but not too hot. He eased back on the sweet green grass with his arms under his head and let the gentle breeze caress his skin. He imagined lying here on lazy summer days with Ginny in his arms listening to the wind in the trees and the birds in their nests.

"_Ginny, this will be our special place—our own shelter from the storm. We'll make wonderful memories here."_

"_And a few babies too."_

"Ginny," Harry said, sitting up, wand out. He looked around frantically, hoping to find his wife standing there, but there was no one. _Get a hold of yourself, Potter._

"_Harry? Can you hear me,"_ the Ginny-voice in his head asked. _"Harry, please say you heard me. I heard your voice…"_

"_Gin? Is…you heard that? I heard you, Baby. I heard you. Please tell me you hear me!"_

"_Yes, my love! I hear you. But how," _Ginny's voice asked.

Harry sent a wave of the Unspoken Thing through their bond before he answered. _"I've missed you so. It's got to be another aspect of the bond manifesting itself."_

"_This is more than I could have ever hoped for, but…"_

"_Gin, it makes sense!"_ Harry thought back to the day he defeated Mafalda. _"Ginny, remember the day we arrested Mafalda? I called to you and you came right to me!"_

"_Harry, you're right! It's got to be the bond!"_

"_Do you realise what a load off it is being able to talk to you? I've been miserable, Ginny. I miss you so badly that I can't eat or sleep well. This morning…"_

"…_was the first real food you've had in days, right?"_

"_Yeah, how did you know?"_

"_I could feel it through the bond. I could feel your despair and your heartache. When you left me at the stadium, I could feel your tears…"_

"_Oh Gin, I'm so sorry. I never meant to put that on you. I want you to succeed and play. It's your dream…"_

"_I know you don't mean to hurt me or anything, but I am rather gratified that you miss me so much."_

"_If I sent you what I'm thinking right now…"_

"_I know what you're thinking and I have a few little thoughts of my own…"_

"_Hey, aren't you supposed to be training?" _As much as Harry would have liked to indulge in a little long-distance romance, he really didn't think it was a good idea. He knew they'd need time to adjust to this new facet of their bond before they took it that far. The last time they tried to do too much too soon through the bond, they nearly killed one another.

"_We had a team breakfast meeting this morning. We have drills after lunch. Why aren't you at the Ministry?"_

"_Ron and I are going in this afternoon to rattle the monkeys' cage. Besides, King decided I should take a little more time off to adjust."_

"_What a guy. Really, love, you should be keeping yourself busy so you don't brood. I know you have been, so don't try to deny it."_

"_What's the point? Unless I close the bond, I can't hide anything from you and you know I wouldn't do that. I don't think I could live…"_ Tears began to fall from his eyes as he stifled a sob. He so wanted to touch her and hold her, but for now, just being able to talk to her—overwhelming as that was—would be enough to get him through.

"_Then let's promise one another never to shut each other out. The pain would be too immense."_ She sent a wave through the bond and with it, her tears.

"_Done. I, Harry James Potter, promise on my…"_

"_Harry, no!"_

"_What's wrong?"  
_

"_No Wizard's Oaths. We're husband and wife, not business partners. A simple_ I promise _will do."_

"_Okay, I promise never to shut you out or close the bond on you."_

"_I promise never to shut you out or close the bond on you either."_

"_I love you so much, Gorgeous Girl. I miss holding you in my arms, kissing you, making love to you, laughing with you…"_ Tears began to fall again. Talking was one thing, but physical contact was quite another.

"_I know, Gorgeous Guy. I miss lying in your arms, your kisses, your…"_

"_I get the picture." _He could hear the chimes in her giggle and he couldn't help but chuckle himself, even though his trousers had become a bit tight.

"_But I miss reading your mum's diary too. That was so precious to me."_

"_We should've read some of it the night before you…had to go…but I was too preoccupied. There was this gorgeous redhead crawling all over me and I just couldn't keep my mind on things."_

"_Make sure you're conscious at about 11 o'clock tonight, okay?"_

"_Okay…why?"_

"_Thoughts."_

"_Ah. Thoughts. Gotcha. I'll look forward to it."_

"_If you want to read the diary, we can…"_

"_No. Not without you in my arms, Love."_

"_Okay, that's fine. I just thought that if you wanted to, we could."_

"_No, that's okay. I haven't even thought about it. Mafalda's trial starts Monday."_

"_I know. I saw the article in the _Prophet_ this morning. I want you to know that the Harpies support you and Kingsley all the way. I'm sure Puddlemere does too. You know Oliver…"_

"_Yes, I do. Thanks, Gin. That means a lot. Your mum says this could get ugly."_

"_Mum's usually right, you know. But I don't think it'll be that bad. You're still a pretty popular wizard, Harry. People listen to you and if you back Kingsley, it'll be fine."_

"_You're good for me, you know that?"_

"_I know. That's why you married me."_

"_I married you because you're my obsession and I'm in love with you."_

"_Mmmmm…I'm very in love with you too, Baby." _She sent an intense wave of the Unspoken Thing through the bond again, but with a few pictures attached.

"_Why you little minx! Two can play that game."_ Harry returned the wave and then sent a few pictures of his own.

"_Harry, we'll take this up tonight."_ She could feel the heat of his arousal as it linked with her own. _"If we continue now, I won't be worth Flobberworm spit this afternoon."_

"_Flobberworm spit? Do Flobberworms even have spit?" _Harry couldn't help but laugh. Ginny truly was good for him and this conversation through the bond had begun to work wonders on his sagging spirit.

"_They have mouths and eat, don't they? Of course they have spit!"_

Laughing with Ginny again felt so good, even though she was hundreds of miles away. He was glad to have her in his mind as well as his heart now. It would make facing all the hell of the trial that much easier.

"_Gin?"_

"_Yes, Harry?"_

"_Let's keep this our secret…just for now."_

"_It's our secret, then…just for now."_

"_I love you so much."_

"_I know, Harry. I love you too."_

"_Want to fly back to the Burrow with me, Chaser Girl? It's almost lunch time and I'm sure Mum's fixing lunch."_

"_I'd love to fly with you, Seeker Boy."_

"_Hold on, then." _Harry leapt up from the grass and straddled his Thunderbolt. _"We're off!"_ He sent his exhilaration through the bond as he soared skyward and shot toward the Burrow.

"_Harry, I can almost feel this!"_

"_I can almost feel your arms around me, Gin! Hold on, we're going to roll!"_

"_Go on, then!"_

Harry executed a perfect Sloth Barrel Roll. Ginny's screams and laughter echoed in his mind. _"Fantastic, my love!"_

"_Thank you! Thank you! It's more fun in person, though."_

"_Yes, it is, but I'd better go. I don't want to be late for lunch and have to face a lot of questions from the girls. And I need my wits about me for drills this afternoon."_

"_I know, Love. But you know the bond is open, so…"_

"_I'll be here. I love you."_

"_I love you too. Be careful out there. Play safe."_

"_You too, Auror Potter."_

Harry landed in the garden. Shouldering his broom, he made his way toward the shed and then the house. He was just in time for lunch, but Ron and Hermione were not at the table.

"They're still upstairs," Molly said as she set the table. After seven children, she'd become quite an old hand at reading faces. She answered Harry's question before he could ask it. "Tuck in, dear."

Rod led Hermione up the stairs to the room they now shared. It was still decked out in the garish day-glo orange and black of the Chudley Cannons. As sunny as the morning was, had the curtains been open, the brightness might have blinded them the moment they opened the door.

"'Mione, Love, what is it? You look like you're about to cry," Ron asked, stroking her soft cheek, tan from their sunny days in Normandy.

She didn't answer. She merely stepped into his arms and slid her hands under his shirt. "Kiss me, Ron."

Raising his eyebrows at her seeming abruptness, he leaned his shaggy red head down and captured her lips with his own. She pressed her body to his as if she were hoping to weld them together. He deepened the kiss as she plunged her tongue into his mouth.

"'Mione…what…"

"Shhhh," was all she said as she ground her hips against him. "I need you so much, my Ron. Make love to me."

Ron didn't need to be asked twice. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, burying her face in his muscled neck. "'Mione, are you all right?"

"No, but I will be," she breathed, crushing her lips against his. "Take me! Take me now!"

Ron carried her to the bed and gently set her down. Planting gentle kisses all over her face, he began to undress her, his lips never leaving her skin for more than a fraction of a second. He kissed her deeply as her blouse fell free and slid down her shoulders. She freed her arms and fisted her hands into his thick red hair.

He deftly unbuttoned her shorts and slid the zip down. He placed his palms inside the now-loosened waistband and slid them down. She raised her bum just enough to free them, allowing Ron to slid them down her lightly-tanned legs. He groaned as he pulled her close to him again.

"Your turn, 'Mione," he breathed into her lips.

She grasped the hem of his tee-shirt and began to pull it over his head. They broke their kiss only long enough for it to clear his face before they began to explore one another's mouths again. She had become quite adept at unfastening Ron's belts—even his most difficult ones—and this one was no exception. In seconds, she had managed to unbuckle it and pull the snaps of his Levi's 501s open. "I love when you wear these," she moaned. "They're so easy to get off you!"

"Anything for you, my love. You bought them for me, after all," he chuckled as she slid them down his legs. He stood up to allow them to fall to the floor. He kicked them and his shoes away, tackling Hermione down onto the bed. "Tell me what you want, Goddess," he growled.

"I want you," she hissed. "I want you out of those boxers and I want me out of this bra and knickers! That's what I want!" She slipped her thumbs under his waistband and eased them down over his erection. "Great Circe," she sighed, taking hold of it.

At the same time, he reached behind her with one hand and with a snap of his fingers, he released the clasps that held her bra in place. He gently grasped the fabric between her breasts with his thumb and index finger, and pulled it free. "So beautiful," he breathed as he took a nipple into his mouth, tossing the garment off the end of the bed. He then took hold of the waistband of her knickers and slid them down. He had to let go of his pacifier long enough to completely divest her of the lacy panties.

"Ron, please," Hermione moaned as she released him and ground herself against him. "Please, take me."

"Are you sure that's what you want," Ron asked, teasing her and caressing her with large and calloused hands.

"I want you to shag me senseless, Ronald Weasley, and I want you to do it now…before I burn up," she snarled. "I'm on fire for you, my Ginger God!"

This was odd. She'd called him her ginger god dozens of times, but there was something in her wanton desire that was new. He had to admit it was exciting, but he didn't have a clue where it had come from all of a sudden. "I can't have you burning up, my phoenix," he teased some more. "But I fear I may be adding fuel to your fire."

"I burn only for you, Ron. Only for you," she whimpered, freeing her legs to wrap them around his waist again. "I can't describe it! I must have you _now!_" She raised herself up to crush her lips against his, throwing all of her love and lust for him into it.

Ron adjusted himself in order to place his now-completely-erect member against her heat. "With a little guidance from his right hand, he positioned himself and pushed. She was wetter than she'd ever been before, so he was able to glide into her with little effort. He slid his arms under her and wrapped her in a tight embrace as he began to move.

She met him thrust for thrust, first slow and sultry, but in minutes, the pace had become torrid and frantic. "Oh gods, Ron, that's…just like that," she panted. "That's so…oh gods, yes, Ron!" She screamed his name as he drove her closer to the abyss. "Love me like the god that you are!"

He obeyed her commands, although she'd never been this vocal or wanton before. Not that he was complaining, but he still had to wonder what had gotten into her. He wondered until his own body began to build to climax. "Hermione! My sweet Hermione," he cried as he kissed her again, his tongue nearly plunging down her throat. "My Goddess, my Phoenix!" _Phoenix? Where the hell did that come from?_

"Ron! I'm…it's…Rooooooooooooooooooon!" Hermione screamed as her release slammed through her. Her muscles clamped down on her lover, carrying him over the edge and down into the abyss with her. The intensity of the experience caused them to lose consciousness as they lay there in one another's arms, surrounded by a faint blue glow.

_Mafalda's Trial – Day 1_

Alastor Gumboil awakened with a renewed hope. The trial began today. Mafalda Prewett would surely get the Kiss; he was certain about that.

Gumboil was a Hit Wizard. His squad had been involved in the fight against Mafalda and her Death Eaters. No one on his team had been killed, but there had been several close calls. If it hadn't been for the Aurors, there was no telling how the battle might have turned out. They had suffered a few injuries, some of them severe, but then the Aurors arrived—three of Harry Potter's people from Dumbledore's Army. What Alastor saw that day was a kind of duelling beyond anything he'd ever imagined before. Three wizards fought like ten, cooperating, coordinating, and firing spells in precise sequences, subduing and defeating their opponents in a heartbeat.

He had seen Aurors fight before, but this was something new. He had heard a rumour that Harry Potter had fought and won against three Aurors in his test in order to become one himself. After witnessing the phenomenon in the former members of Dumbledore's Army, he was convinced it was no rumour. That day, Alastor Gumboil became a believer—Harry Potter was indeed the new Dumbledore.

Whistling to himself, he donned his plum robes and Apparated to the Ministry, prepared to take his seat on the Wizengamot. His was an elected seat because he didn't belong to one of the old Wizarding families that held seats by inheritance. Alastor Gumboil didn't like the system, but yet he was a part of it. He believed all seats on the Wizengamot should be elected. Why should some families have a seat just because they had money, and in some cases, because they considered themselves Purebloods? He thought that Hermione Granger and Harry Potter had proven that both Muggleborns and Half-bloods were indeed very powerful as well. He left his office at the Departement of Magical Law Enforcement and headed toward Level 10 of the Ministry of Magic, where the Wizengamot held court. _They hold court all right. The bloody Purebloods think they're bloody royalty._

Mr Gumboil took his seat and at the appointed time as Percy Weasley, serving as usher announced the arrival of the Minister for Magic. "Honoured witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, please rise for the Minister for Magic."

Everyone rose as Kingsley Shacklebolt entered the courtroom. He looked a bit uncomfortable with all the pomp and ceremony focused on him. As the Minister walked toward his seat, Mr Gumboil turned his attention to the witnesses' booth. The Aurors were there to give their testimonies; Hermione Granger would testify and Draco Malfoy would present his role as a double-agent.

Mr Prewett, Mafalda's father, sat among the witnesses as well as the arrested Death Eater scum who had done her bidding. Some of those Death Eaters would also stand trial for their crimes, such as the murders of Gawain Robards and Auror Williamson. The witnesses currently under arrest were held in a separate section of the witness booth equipped with bars. One witness wasn't present, Ginny Potter. She was in training camp with the Harpies and when the time came, she would be Portkeyed in long enough to give her statement and then returned to camp, as per the agreement between the Ministry and the team.

Kingsley took his place at the podium. He cast his gaze across the Wizengamot, the witnesses, and the gallery where Gumboil sat. "Honoured witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, we are here today to begin the trial of Mafalda Prewett, accused of numerous crimes against the people of Wizarding Britain. Bring in the accused."

From the floor a cage appeared with Mafalda inside. She looked completely indifferent, as if she didn't care whether she was sentenced to the Kiss or any other punishment. Kingsley picked up a parchment and looked at the young witch.

"The Wizengamot is hereby in session," Kingsley boomed, striking his gavel against its pedestal. "We begin!" Kingsley turned to Mafalda, holding a scroll of parchment in front of him. "Are you Mafalda Prewett?"

"Sod off," she said coldly.

"_Yes_ or _no_ will do," Kingsley continued as if he hadn't heard her.

"Yes, I'm Mafalda Prewett," she sighed.

"Miss Prewett, these are the charges against you: Violation of the Secrecy Act, the use of all three unforgivable curses, murder, attempted murder, kidnapping, and resisting arrest. How do you plead?"

Mafalda looked at him as though he were a gnome. "I have never given my allegiance to the Wizarding community of Great Britain, therefore I do not consider myself subject to its laws. I therefore plead not guilty to all of those charges."

"It is my duty to clarify to you that if found guilty your plea may result in a more severe penalty."

"Whatever," Mafalda spat. "Why do you perpetuate this charade anyway? We all know everyone wants me thrown to the Dementors. Let's bring one in and be done with it, so I at least will have the pleasure of all of you watching the Kiss. I hear it's almost unbearable to witness. I bet at least a third of you won't be able to stay in the room, another third won't be able to watch if they do, and the last third will regret watching it and have nightmares for the next fifty years!"

Her speech elicited mumbling and hissing among the Wizengamot. They were not used to a defendant—or any witness for that matter—acting so hostile in court. The last one to do that was Bellatrix Lestrange when she was convicted of torturing Frank and Alice Longbottom to insanity, among other hideous crimes, back in 1981.

Alastor Gumboil rose unbidden and spoke right from his heart. "Give her to the Dementors! Let that twisted bint get the Kiss right away! She wants to have it, and has so declared before the entire Wizengamot!"

Mr Gumboil's challenge turned the mumbling into a real discussion. Another member rose and spoke loudly. "We are not barbarians! We follow procedure, and let justice be done!"

Kingsley watched the increasingly irritated Wizengamot, and listened as every member stated his or her opinion at once. Some favoured Mr Gumboil's position, others wanted order and the continuation of the trial. Still others opposed the Dementor's Kiss altogether and engaged in an argument with the closest witch or wizard speaking their support for Gumboil's position.

Kingsley sighed and muttered _Sonorus_ as he put his wand to the side of his throat. He drew himself up to his full and considerable height, his dark eyes blazing in their sockets. "Silence!Come to order," his magically enhanced voice boomed, shocking the members of the Wizengamot into silence as they returned to their seats.

_Quietus._ "This is a trial and not a legislative session with the outcome fodder for open debate," he reasoned. "We shall comport ourselves as a reasonable body with an eye single to hearing the evidence and forming our verdict based on that evidence!"

Mafalda looked very pleased with herself as the Wizengamot returned to order. She had managed to create another scene of chaos, small and contained as it was. Still, it was fun while it lasted.

Kingsley began the questioning of the arrested Death Eaters who had been present when the Unforgivable curses had been cast, leading to torture and murder. Hundreds of questions were answered as the hearings continued for the rest of the first day. Kingsley finally adjourned at 5 p.m., declaring that the trial would resume at 9 a.m. the next day, beginning with testimony from the Aurors.

That night, Alastor Gumboil felt less confident about his convictions concerning the outcome of the trial. Mafalda was young, yes, but her own associates had witnessed her vicious use of the Unforgivables, several of whom having been tortured under the Cruciatus curse for so much as questioning her. They reported how she ordered them, under pain of death for failure, the murders of any and all who opposed her and for the kidnapping of David Beckham, although she had not specifically ordered it at the time it had taken place. They also revealed each of their parts in the plan to expose the Wizarding world. She _had_ to get the Kiss for this. She ruddy well deserved it.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to the Burrow in silence. The first day of the trial had nearly become a circus. How could such an august body like the Wizengamot come apart like that because of the snarkiness of a 15-year-old defendant?

"Unbe-freakin-lievable," Ron snorted. "In a courtroom?"

"I couldn't believe it myself. I was embarrassed for them," Harry sighed. "Did you see Mrs Longbottom?"

"I thought she was going to throw up," Ron said with a grimace. "Neville just sat there shaking his head."

"So much for Pureblood supremacy," Hermione smirked.

"Mafalda was certainly enjoying herself for a moment there," Ron said, picking at some lint on the front of his maroon Auror robes.

"Yeah, I saw that," Harry said with a little snort. "It sure doesn't take much to set the Wizengamot on their collective ear, does it?"

"Is that a surprise? Honestly, Harry, you know what they're like. You've dealt with them before. You sat in the very seat Mafalda's sitting in right now. And then there was the session the day we took the locket…"

"Yeah, I know 'Mione, but both of those so-called trials were complete farces. This one is legitimate and without the likes of Dolores Umbridge and the other dishonest fools that sat on that panel. I guess I expected better," Harry said sadly.

"Well, I think Kingsley made it clear that he wouldn't tolerate any more of that and besides, we got a feel for the opinions about the Kiss right from the lot that'll sentence her," Ron said thoughtfully.

"Yes, but at what cost? This could seriously damage the credibility of the entire Ministry," Hermione warned. "The Minister's going to have a hard time keeping control of this trial. There are going to be a lot of controversial witnesses and that includes you, Harry."

"Why me?"

"Because your opinions are so valuable. You're the Chosen One, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, the new Dumbledore…"

"Please don't, Hermione. I'm not Dumbledore. I'm Harry—just Harry," he said in a low growl.

"I know you're _just Harry_, but to them…" Hermione paused as if searching for the right words. "You're a brand-new incarnation of Albus Dumbledore. The people value and often act on your example. If you're opposed to the Kiss, they will be too."

"Dammit, that's politics," Harry snarled. "I don't do politics."

"Like it or not, mate, you work in a Ministry office and you're Head of that office. You're going to have to deal with politics and politicians," Ron reminded his best friend. "I don't like it any more than you do, but we're stuck with it."

"So…what?" Harry buried his face in his hands.

"So we deal with it and try and keep our hands clean the best we can," Ron replied with a sigh. "We're stuck _in_ the politics, but we don't have to be _of_ them."

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning, you do the best you can to maintain your own identity and stick to your own values. It's been the thing that's driven you to do what you do all your life. Just be _Just Harry_ and let the chips fall where they may," Hermione said, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze. "We'll always be here for you and we'll do anything we can to help you just like we always have."

"So in the meanwhile, I use popular opinion to further my agenda," Harry asked sarcastically.

"So long as that agenda is just and right. And Harry, yours almost always is. If you step out of line, we'll be in your face so fast your head'll swim," Ron said with a smirk.

"Huh. Get in line, bro. Ginny'll be there first, you can count on that," Harry said with a chuckle.

"I have no doubts about that," Ron said, winking at Hermione. "Not a one."

"Speaking of Ginny," Hermione began. "Have you had any owls from her?"

"No, not for a few days now. She's pretty busy with all that training. They do a lot more than fly around tossing a Quaffle around," Harry answered, looking as grim as he could. He hadn't had any owls from Ginny since they'd begun to communicate through the bond, but Ron and Hermione didn't know that and he wasn't going to tell them just yet either.

"What do you mean," Ron asked, genuinely curious.

"I mean that there's a lot of physical exercise on terra firma, my friend. They run laps around the pitch and have a full hour of callisthenics before breakfast. I mean, we did our exercising for the Gryffindor team, but nothing like this!"

"Since when do magical people exercise," Hermione asked. She had a swift mental picture of the sagging, middle-aged loudmouth she knew as Ludo Bagman as he swaggered around the campground that the Quidditch World Cup five years before in his faded and ill-fitting Wimbourne Wasps robes that barely covered his paunch. She shivered violently.

"What's wrong, 'Mione," Ron asked, concerned.

"Oh nothing. It's just that when Harry was telling us about all the physical training Ginny does at training camp, I thought of…" Hermione stopped and swallowed before she retched. "I thought of that ridiculous Ludo Bagman in those horrid yellow and black robes."

"The village idiot of Quidditch," Harry snickered. Soon, he and Ron were laughing uproariously at the memory of the overblown ponce strutting around like he owned the place. "Did you know that prize prat tried to help me win the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Of course he did. He had a fortune on you. But you knew that," Ron declared through his laughter.

"But you wouldn't take his help, would you?" Harry shook his head. "Of course not. That's the kind of man you are. I wonder what happened to old Ludo, though," Hermione mused. "I mean, after fourth year, we never really heard from him again."

"Did you know he'd been arrested for consorting with Death Eaters," Harry asked his friends. He remembered once again the trip into the headmaster's Pensieve in which he witnessed Bagman's hearing before the Wizengamot.

"Bagman? A DE," Ron asked with wide eyes.

"No, he wasn't, but he'd been caught _consorting_ with a couple of them. He claimed that his dad was friends with Augustus Rookwood and had unknowingly passed information to Voldemort through him. Bagman, being the celebrity he was, had contact with a few of the DEs, but claimed ignorance." Harry explained. "I saw it all in Dumbledore's Pensieve one day during fourth year."

"There's certainly no doubt about his ignorance!" Ron snorted again, trying to hold back his laughter. "But…how did he prove his innocence. A lot of people went to Azkaban on less evidence. Like Sirius," Ron argued.

"Sirius didn't even get a trial, Ron. But Bagman—he got off because some star-struck Wizengamot bint congratulated him on his most recent Quidditch victory and that was the end of it. He was immediately exonerated and set free." Harry shook his head at the very stupidity of the whole situation. "But more likely than not, the only thing Ludovic Bagman has ever really been guilty of is supidity and shady gambling."

"Speaking of which, according Fre—George, he's in pretty deep shit with the Goblins and you know how they are. Lee Jordan also said Bagman was into his dad for a load of Galleons too," Ron offered. "Beyond that…nothing."

"Language, Ronald," Hermione warned. He shot her an annoyed look only to find her smirking at him. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Remember, we'll have children someday and you don't want them to repeat that do you?" _But I'll take a repeat of the other night, if you don't mind._

"Of course not, Love. I'm sorry," he said quietly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear and gazing into her cinnamon eyes. They were beginning to blaze with raw passion again. _Honestly, woman! What has gotten into you these days?_

"He's probably run off to Siberia or somewhere that remote," Harry said with a chuckle. "He's probably not safe anywhere else. Who knows how many others he's welched on?"

"I don't know, but _he_ sure does and wishes to avoid them at all costs—no pun intended," Hermione giggled.

"How did we go from the trial to Bagman," Ron asked, suddenly realising how the conversation had turned. "I mean, first we were talking about the trial and Harry's opinions and the next thing we know, we're talking about the…how did you say that Harry? _The Village Idiot of Quidditch?_"

"I have no idea, mate," Harry replied. "I'm hungry. Anyone for Chinese?"

"Chinese as in food," Ron asked, looking askance at Hermione. "I've never eaten Chinese food before."

"Oh it's quite nice, Ron. You'll love it. Where to, Harry," Hermione asked, completely enthralled with the idea. "I love General Tso's Chicken! It's a little spicy…just like Ron!"

Ron's ears turned bright red as the heat rose up from his navel to his neck. "'Mione!" Ron liked just about any food, so if Hermione liked the general's chicken, he'd try it.

"I'm a Sweet and Sour Pork man, myself. There's a little place off Diagon Alley—The Black Dragon, I believe. Cho recommended it one day at work. Her uncle owns it."

"What are we waiting for? Let's go," Ron said, rising from his seat at the table. "But we'd better leave a note for Mum so she doesn't wait supper for us."

Hermione scribbled a little note for Molly and left it on the table. "_Orchideus_," she murmured, and conjured a lovely pink orchid and laid it next to the note.

"That was nice of you, Love," Ron said, pulling her into a warm embrace. "She'll like that."

A few hours later, the three of them returned to the Burrow, laughing at Ron because he'd eaten entirely too much. To ensure that the three of them would have enough to eat, they'd ordered Dinner for Six, which included eggrolls, deep-fried Rangoon, egg-drop soup, and several entrées—two from Column A, two from Column B, one from Column C, and rice pudding for afters. Harry carried the leftovers in containers in a paper sack with handles.

Ron groaned and held his stomach. "'Mione, I ate too much!"

"As if that's possible," Harry snorted. "No worries, mate. In an hour, you'll be hungry again."

"No way. I'll never eat again," Ron moaned.

"What's the matter with Ronnie," Molly asked as she entered the kitchen from the sitting room. "Is he all right?" She began a full inspection of her son beginning with touching his forehead with the back of her hand, looking into his eyes, and putting her head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat. He belched again as his stomach gurgled.

"He's okay, Molly," Hermione answered. "He's just discovered Chinese food and he likes it—a little too much."

"Never again…" Ron moaned once again and then belched loudly.

"Oh, dear. Well, never mind, Ronald," Molly said, caressing her youngest son's face. "You'll be hungry again in an hour. Meanwhile, I'll make you some peppermint tea to settle your stomach."

Harry and Hermione fell all over each other with glee. They had all they could do to keep from falling to the floor as tears of mirth streamed down their faces. Hermione buried her face in her surrogate brother's chest as they snorted and guffawed. "Did I not just tell him that?"

"You did, Harry! You said he'd be hungry in an hour and so did Molly. I've got five Galleons that say he'll finish off the leftovers, _and_ chase it with a pitcher of pumpkin juice," she declared, digging into her beaded purse.

"You still have that manky thing," Harry asked her, wrinkling his nose.

"I'll have you know it's been washed several times and it's quite handy," she said, sticking out her tongue. "Oh bother! _Accio_, coin purse!" The beaded purse shook and then expelled Hermione's coin purse. She drew out five Galleons and set them on the table. "Molly, you hold the stakes."

"All right. I have ten Galleons that say he won't," Harry countered. "He'll barf!"

Ron groaned into his tea. "Please don't talk about barfing," he moaned.

"Fine. Ten it is, then," Hermione agreed and fished out five more gold coins. "Molly?"

"Ten Galleons each, right? At midnight, the wager ends. If Ron doesn't eat all of the leftovers or vomits after he does, Harry wins. If he eats all the leftovers and drinks a pitcher of pumpkin juice with it, and keeps it down, Hermione wins. Correct?"

"Correct," Harry and Hermione said together.

"No pressure, mate," Harry said, patting his friend on the back. "Don't feel like you have to eat any more on my account."

"Don't you listen to him, Baby. If you want to eat the rest, you go right ahead, and you can have all the pumpkin juice you want," Hermione cooed, nibbling on his ear.

"Shut it, you two," Ron grumbled. "I'm not going to be a pawn in your sick game of Chinese Checkers."

"Ronnie, dear," Molly gasped. "You made a joke! I'm so proud of you!"

"There's hope for me yet," Ron grumbled again and sipped his tea. In truth, the peppermint was working to settle his stomach. He might just win that bet for Hermione and let her take him out to The Black Dragon for another go. Chinese food was fantastic and that General Tso's Chicken was just spicy enough to get his attention and still taste good. _Just like Hermione_.

**Mafalda's Trial – Day 2**

As the denizens of the Burrow sat around the breakfast table rehashing yesterday's events at the trial, another brown owl swooped in and dropped the Daily Prophet onto the table in front of Hermione. "Ah. Here we are. Let's see what the honoured press has to say about the trial."

"Do read on, dear sister," Harry encouraged her.

"_Mixed Feelings About the Kiss_

_The first day of the trial against Mafalda Prewett, accused of various crimes including murder, the use of Unforgivable curses and the violation of the Secrecy Act, was for the most part uneventful. However, early on, a debate broke out concerning the Dementor's Kiss. We have learned that some members of the Wizengamot wish it abolished, while others would see Miss Prewett sentenced to the Kiss._

_Today's session will be followed closely as Head Auror Harry Potter will enter his personal testimony._

"That's it," Arthur asked. "The way you talked, the Wizengamot went barmy!"

"They did, but since the _Prophet_ is careful not to cross Kingsley, the reporters glossed over it," Harry admitted. "It's not like the shouting match was Kingsley's fault, it's just that it might suggest he had no control over the proceedings."

"Yes, and since it was the Prophet that suggested his administration might be on trial here as well, it may have decided to back off a bit," Hermione added. "You should have seen him, Arthur. Our gentle Kingsley looked like he could have cursed the lot of them with his stare." She had to smile to herself as she envisioned a cartoon she had watched as a child. _Care Bears, STARE!_

Harry and Ron sat in their joint office waiting until it was time for them to join the others in Courtroom 10. Harry looked miserable.

"C'mon, you...is it the Wizengamot thing or Ginny," Ron asked.

"She misses me...I miss her," Harry sighed, sending a wave of his love to Ginny.

Harry smiled moments later. "She loves me too."

"She _married_ you, remember? She's been in love with you from the womb." Ron sighed. "Look, I know you miss her, but we have a trial to focus on. That's what I did last year when I was separated from 'Mione. I focused at work... But...I had a _funny_ job inventing new things to drive Filch mad."

"Yeah, and I have to sit in that room while a lot of bickering drives _me_ mad... They all seem to think I'm the New Dumbledore. I'm just Harry."

"Bro, we talked about this yesterday. Use that influence of yours if the debate about the Kiss triggers again. Like Hermione said: Kingsley would gain a lot of support if you spoke your mind."

"Bloody politics," Harry snarled. "But then again, we don't want Mafalda or anyone else sentenced to that either. Until it's illegal, I guess Kingsley could use the support."

Ron smiled as Harry focused on fighting for the good cause and a better community. An abolishment of the Dementor's Kiss would be a great improvement and a solid start.

Once court was called to order, Harry was the first witness called to the stand that day. He spoke in great detail about the investigation leading to the arrest of Mafalda Prewett. After his statement, he was obliged to answer questions directly from the Wizengamot. Alastor Gumboil listened closely to Harry's statements, but he was more convinced than yesterday that the Kiss was the only reasonable sentence. He signalled to the Minister that he wished to question the witness. Kingsley granted him the floor.

"Mr Potter, your statement is compelling. Your thorough investigation of this case has been very helpful for us to get the whole picture of Miss Prewett's criminal activities. However, I have another question," Gumboil began and continued without pause. "Is it your opinion that Miss Prewett's plan would have succeeded?"

Harry thought about it for a moment. His opinion would be nothing but speculation, but it would carry a lot of weight and possibly affect the outcome of the trial. "Mr…?" Harry asked Alastor Gumboil.

"Gumboil. Alastor Gumboil," he replied.

"Mr Gumboil. As I said in my report, Miss Prewett tried to reveal our world to a Muggle audience of 50,000 at Anfield, and to the countless millions watching it on television. If the Aurors hadn't been there, it is my belief she would have presented with the biggest threat against our secrecy in history. I can't say for certain if her plan would have succeeded, but I'm sure she would have damaged our community almost irreparably."

"Mr Potter, what is your opinion of the Dementor's Kiss," Gumboil asked next.

"My opinions are hardly relevant to this trial, Mr Gumboil My function here is to give my testimony of Miss Prewett's activities and my investigation into them," he countered, looking tot Kingsley for advice.

"You are this country's foremost expert on fighting the dark arts, Mr Potter. In order for the Wizengamot to reach a fair verdict should Miss Prewett be found guilty, your viewpoints are of great value."

_Is this jackass trying to manipulate me? _Kingsley nodded slightly, so Harry thought for a moment about his reply. "No matter how severe the crime, I don't think anyone should receive the Dementor's Kiss. My godfather almost got it despite his innocence. That alone is reason enough to abolish such a barbaric punishment."

Harry had everyone's attention. Ron noted the tone of Harry's voice as it filled the room with that Dumbledore-like authority that held so many in thrall for so long. "I also think it's our responsibility to rehabilitate criminals—if possible—rather than condemning them to a living death. I will, of course, respect whatever decision the Wizengamot makes concerning Miss Prewett, if she is found guilty. But it is my opinion that sentencing her or anyone else, for that matter, to the Kiss is wrong."

Harry sat down and all but glared at Gumboil. Slowly, applause began somewhere in the chamber, spreading throughout as the gallery rose to a standing ovation.

"No further questions," Gumboil said, clearly disappointed once the chamber had returned to order.

The Minister asked if anyone else had any questions for the Head Auror. As no one did, the trial continued with the other Aurors, beginning with Seamus and ending with Goldstein. Neither Ron nor Hermione had been called to the stand that day.

Mr Gumboil tried to garner support for the Dementor's Kiss from all of them, but Harry proudly observed as each one of them spoke against it. There were several members of the Wizengamot who openly shared Mr Gumboil's position, but Kingsley stopped any further debate by bringing the proceedings to a close for the day. "This court is adjourned until 9 a.m. tomorrow. Good evening," Kingsley intoned as he rapped his gavel on its pedestal.

Harry and Ron left the courtroom and made their way to the Apparition point in silence. It was abundantly clear to the two top Aurors in Britain that this trial had truly become as much about the Dementor's Kiss as about Mafalda Prewett's guilt or innocence. They looked at each other, took deep breaths, and Disapparated home to the Burrow and a welcome home-cooked supper.


	6. Chapter 6 Law & Disorder

**Chapter 6 – Law & Disorder**

_Mafalda's Trial – Day 3_

"'Mione." Such a soft voice. "'Mione, Love." A tickle behind her ear, a small kiss on her brow. "'Mione, we've got to get up. Court today." A caress on her bare shoulder. "'Mione!"

"What," she cried, nearly jumping out of her skin. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, you nearly scared me to dea—" She could say not more. Ron's lips captured hers in a passionate "good morning" kiss. She pretended to fight him, but she couldn't hold on to the ruse. Her arms snaked around his thick neck, her fingers tangling themselves into his red locks. _Gods, he's beautiful_.

After what seemed like hours, he released her lips and her body from under his own. "Come on, Love. Court today."

"Oh yes. I love the circus," she said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "But at least I'll have a handsome escort."

"Sorry, Love. I'm on duty with Seamus today," he said regretfully. "We get to babysit the gallery today."

"But you're a witness, Ron. So is Seamus. You may get called to the stand, right," she asked with a knitted brow. "I mean, how can you…"

"I didn't make the rules, Hermione. Besides, Harry'll be there. He's already given testimony, so if need be, he can take over while I'm on the stand. We don't even know that I'll be on the stand yet. It might not even come to that."

"Oh, it'll come to that. You and Cho were kidnapped, remember? You'll be called to the stand before this is all over," she assured him. "And so will I—for a couple of reasons. One, all the research we did with the Muggle tabloids and two, because of the raid to rescue you and Cho."

"I really don't want you to have to take the stand, 'Mione. I mean, what can you tell them? You came on the raid, there was an explosion, and you were knocked out for a week," Ron said in a simplistic tone of voice.

"Well, yes, but there was a bit more to it than that," she said as she climbed out of bed. "They're going to want to know how we found you, Ron. That could be messy."

"What's the big deal? You altered a Patronus spell and it worked," Ron reasoned. "I think they'd be thrilled."

"Ron, that kind of thing is highly dangerous and quite regulated. The defence is liable to have a field day with us over that," she retorted.

"You mean it might blow our case? Tell me that's not possible," Ron moaned. "We busted our arses on that!"

"No, I don't think it'll blow the case, but it might get us—Harry, Lavender, Seamus, and I—in some hot water with the Department of Mysteries."

"The Depart—You're worried about the Department of Mysteries? Oh please, Hermione," Ron scoffed. "_They_ don't know what they're doing! How are they going to criticize what _you _were doing, especially since what you were doing actually _worked?_"

"Ron, you know that, I know that, Harry knows that—hell, the entire Magical Law Enforcement division knows that, but you know how those old fuddy-duddies at DOM are. Charm and spell creation and modification are their bailiwick and they become very snarky if someone muscles in on their territory. They're going to raise a fuss, I promise you," Hermione insisted. "My calculations and alterations weren't examined and approved before we did it." She gathered her clothes and made for the shower.

"There wasn't time," Ron argued. "How can they…"

"Ron, you saw for yourself how this three-ring circus is progressing—or digressing. In the ring to our left, we have a divided Wizengamot—to kiss or not to kiss? That is the question. In the ring to our right, we have the defence, looking for loopholes in the law to get her off. And in the centre ring, boys and girls, we have a recurring ethical drama that keeps finding its way into the proceedings. So far, it's been the Kiss; eventually, it could be the investigation itself."

"So…"

"See you in the centre ring, my love," Hermione said, rising on her toes to kiss her fiancé's nose. "Now, I need to shower so I can eat something before we go. And by the way, thanks."

"Thanks for what," Ron asked confused.

"You won me fifteen Galleons. I love you," she said, disappearing into the bathroom.

Ron stood there for a few moments shaking his shaggy red head before the smell of breakfast wafted up the stairs and assaulted his senses. He pounded down the stairs to the kitchen, where he plopped down at the table across from Harry.

"I thought you were my best mate," Harry growled.

"I am! What'd I do now," Ron asked, looking horrified. "What?"

"You won her the bet, you sod," Harry growled again.

"What's going on? Hermione just said I won her fifteen Galleons," Ron said, slightly irritated. "What bet? What fifteen Galleons?"

"Ronnie, dear, Harry and Hermione made a wager over your ability to eat all the leftovers and keep them down. Hermione had five Galleons that said you could; Harry had ten Galleons that said you couldn't," Molly explained, as she poured some pumpkin juice for her youngest son. "I held the stakes and Hermione won."

"Honestly, mate. You know me better than that," Ron chided his best friend. "You know about Weasleys and food! How could you make such a stupid bet?"

"You're the one who ate almost half of a Chinese dinner for six," Harry reminded him. "You insisted you'd never eat again. I took you at your word."

"Honestly, Harry. I can't believe you're all worked up over a paltry ten Galleons," Hermione said, taking her seat next to Ron.

"That's not the point," Harry grumbled. "He's my best mate and partner. He's supposed to be on my side." Harry had to work very hard to stifle the smirk that kept trying to play across his lips.

Ron's ears grew redder by the moment. Had he let his friend down—again? "Damn, Harry. If I'd have known it meant that much to you, I'd have…"

Harry had just taken a swig of juice when Ron began to apologise. He couldn't hold it in for the laughter that had been fighting its way from his chest since the entire exchange began. Immediately, Harry did a spit-take and showered his best friends with pumpkin juice. "Sorry," he snickered.

"Harry James Potter," Molly scolded. "How could you…how…oh for goodness' sake! _Scourgfy!_" Instantly the mess was cleaned up and with a quick _Tergeo_, she was able to clean her son and surrogate daughter's robes as though nothing ever happened.

While they ate, another brown owl flew through the open window over the sink and dropped a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet in front of Hermione. She placed a two Knuts in its pouch and it flew off through the window and into the morning sky.

"Well, let's see what words of doom and gloom the Prophet has for us today," Hermione said with a heavy sigh as she unrolled the paper and smoothed it flat.

"_Harry Potter: Abolish the Dementor's Kiss_

_The heat was turned up another notch at the Prewett trial yesterday. In an attempt to gain support for the Dementor's Kiss, Wizengamot member and Hit Wizard Alastor Gumboil turned to Mr Potter. Our nation's greatest hero did, however, state his stern conviction that further administration of the Kiss should be abolished. Despite Mr Potter's position, it is obvious that the Wizengamot are not in consensus. Many are openly supporting the Kiss, but will not reveal whether or not they would consider such a sentence for Miss Prewett. 'I'll await the conclusion of the trial,' one witch states. Today's big event will certainly be the testimony of Mr Draco Malfoy."_

"They're keeping their comments pretty close to the vest," Molly observed. "I expected more from them."

"Part of it is that the editor is a friend of Kingsley's, Mum," Ron said, taking a bite of toast.

"I think that's most of it," Harry agreed. "They don't want to wind the public up too much. The last thing we need is rioting in the streets."

"Perhaps that's what Gumboil is hoping for," Hermione mused. The others looked up at her with raised eyebrows. "Well, think about it. He wants the Kiss for heinous crimes. In the past, Death Eaters were let off for claiming the Imperius Curse. Others, like Lucius Malfoy, bought their way out of trouble. Then the ones who were sentenced to life in Azkaban didn't stay there, did they?"

"But what does that have to do with the Dementors' Kiss, dear," Molly asked, a bit confused. It wasn't that she didn't understand the issue. She understood it very well. The Death Eaters who murdered her brothers had been broken out of Azkaban to destroy other families, Wizarding and Muggle alike.

"Molly, Mr Gumboil wants Mafalda to be kissed to ensure that she isn't able to somehow escape Azkaban or whatever other sentence they may pass on her and return to her life of crime," Hermione explained.

"That's awful! She's just a child," Molly said incredulously.

"An emancipated child, Molly," Harry said. "She's being tried as an adult."

"But she's so young," Molly argued. "Harry, they can't do that to her. She's got her whole life ahead of her. Can't they try to rehabilitate her or something?" Tears began to fill her eyes. As the mother of seven children, she couldn't fathom any one of them condemned to such a fate, let alone commit a crime worthy of it.

"That's my point and Kingsley's point concerning the Kiss all around. We are of the hope and belief that criminals can be rehabilitated to become productive members of society," Harry assured her.

"But what about lifers," Hermione added, just for the sake of argument.

"They can still be rehabilitated if they want to be, Hermione," Ron replied. "It's just that they could be trained to do something productive in prison. Right, Harry?"

"Something like that, yeah," Harry said. "I really never thought of that, mate. You'll have to bring that up to Kingsley." Harry happened to glance down at his watch and his eyes flew open wide. "Great Merlin! We've got less than twenty minutes to get to the Ministry!"

"Bloody hell! See you later, Mum! 'Mione?" Ron pulled Hermione's chair out for her so she could stand.

The three of them raced out the door to the edge of the wards so they could Apparate to the Ministry. Harry and Ron didn't have to check their wands, but since Hermione was not an Auror, she had to. They skidded to a halt in front of Eric, who checked her wand and let them pass.

"Hurry up," Harry cried. "Ron, you know where to go. Hermione, you're with me!" Ron made it to his post and Harry and Hermione to their seats with barely ten minutes to spare. The three of them stole looks at each other as they panted, trying to catch their breath. They even shared a few laughs at their own expense and were able to calm down just as Kingsley entered the room.

"All rise," Percy called.

The assembly rose for the Minister. Kingsley strode into Courtroom 10 and took his place at the podium. "You may be seated. Please escort the accused into the courtroom." Thompson and Boot escorted Mafalda to her seat. The chains magically wound around her arms and legs, holding her in place, but not cutting into her skin.

Kingsley then nodded to Percy. "Oy ye, oy ye! Court is now in session before the Honourable Wizengamot, Minster for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt presiding! Call the witness!"

"Draconius Abraxas Malfoy!" Draco winced at the use of his full name. _It's Draco, damn you!_ He truly hated it and planned to have it changed as soon as he could, preferably before his wedding to Astoria. He took enough teasing from her as it was; he certainly didn't want to hear it from anyone else.

The double doors to the right of the seated Wizengamot opened, admitting him to the courtroom. The last time he'd been in this room, he was a defendant, seated with his parents in a chair just like the one Mafalda sat in today. The memory invoked a slight shudder, but he kept his composure as he took the stand. As much as he hated to admit it, if not for Harry's testimony at his own trial, he might be wasting away in Azkaban with his father right now.

Once in session Draco, like Harry the previous day, reiterated to the Wizengamot mostly what he already had written in his reports. His answers were concise and straightforward to the best of his recollection.

Once the opportunity to cross-examine Draco was presented, Mr Gumboil raised his hand. He regarded Draco with disgust and turned to address Kingsley. "Minister Shacklebolt, we have heard Mr Malfoy's vivid tale of serving the Ministry in a futile attempt to remedy for his crimes and try to rebuild some honour to his tainted family name. I challenge the validity of his testimony. The Malfoys are known practitioners of the Dark Arts and perpetrators of Pureblood ideals. I contend that his motivation for being here is not justice, but personal gain."

With this, Gumboil sat down and dared anyone to respond. A rumbling of low voices rose in the chamber and soon it was an all-out debate that wouldn't come to an end despite Kingsley's attempts to bring the Wizengamot to order.

Harry stole glances at Ron who blew out a puff of air that fluffed his fringe. He rolled his eyes and shrugged his broad shoulders. The look he shot at Hermione was one that said _as usual, my brilliant goddess, you were right this morning._

While the Wizengamot argued amongst themselves, Hermione leaned over to Harry and told him what she had told Ron that morning about the _centre ring_.

"You've got the measure of it, Hermione. It's a bloody circus," Harry sighed. "Look at her. At least Mafalda's entertained." Harry gestured toward Mafalda, which drew Ron's and Seamus' gaze as well. Seamus looked sick as she slowly shook his head in shame.

"Order, please or I'll instruct the Aurors to deal with the situation," Kingsley's magically-amplified voice boomed over the din. This had an immediate effect and a fuming Kingsley glared at the Wizengamot. "The Wizengamot is adjourned until after lunch! Those of you who cannot follow protocol might just as well not bother to return to this room. I will not tolerate any more such outbursts."

"Court is adjourned until after lunch," Percy called, shoving his notebook into his satchel.

Kingsley stormed out of the chamber and signed for Harry and Ron to follow him. The Wizengamot was in a collective state of confusion and tension was high. Harry and Ron accompanied the Minister to his office.

Once the door was closed, Harry waved his hand and sealed with with a squelch. Kingsley invited them to sit and conjured some tea. "Sir?"

"This is bad." Kingsley said. "Alastor Gumboil and his supporters are a problem. They're using this trial to make politics. It's got to stop! If this keeps up, Mafalda might end up with a Kiss for political reasons rather than the result of a fair trial. By the way, thank you for stating your opinions in favour of abolishment. Gumboil's attack against Malfoy doesn't bode well for the investigation part of this trial. I have a bad feeling about this."

"Me too," Ron said. "_Pureblood ideals_...by the Gnomes of Glasgow's gutters, I don't like the way that Gumboil character is talking. I mean, he doesn't like DEs for sure—who does—but he sounds like a bloody fanatic."

"All I know about him is that he's a Hit Wizard," Harry said. "Did he lose someone in the war? This all seems pretty personal for him."

"I don't know him personally," Kingsley replied. "But I checked his file. He's a Half-blood wizard, been working for the Ministry for 21 years performing admirably, and Harry—he was on the team that arrested Sirius Black."

Harry hitched in a breath. _He worked with Fudge then_. The thought that Gumboil had anything to do with Cornelius Fudge was enough to put him off the man. Cornelius Fudge was a staunch proponent of Pureblood ideals, almost fanatical about them himself. Now, it appears, that Gumboil is a staunch opponent to them and leaning heavily to the opposite end of the spectrum.

"Harry? You okay," Kingsley asked darkly.

"Oh yeah. Sorry. I just remembered something. Please go on," Harry said, waving off his friend's concern.

"What did you remember, Harry," Kingsley asked him. Ron sat up from his slouched position, removing his feet from the coffee table.

"Nothing important, really. When you said that Gumboil was on the team that took Sirius down, I thought about something Sirius told me about that," Harry said, massaging his own neck. "He said that Fudge headed up that team."

"Indeed he did. Is that a problem?"

"No, it just kind of flashed into my mind, that's all. Please…go on," Harry encouraged the Minister. He didn't want to give voice to his thoughts just yet, because he really wasn't sure they had any bearing on anything. He'd talk to Ron and Hermione about it later.

"Very well. During the war, he went into hiding because of his history of opposing Death Eaters in the first war and arguing against Pureblood ideals."

"So, he's loyal to our cause. But why don't we feel comfortable with him," Harry asked.

"Because he's using Mafalda," Ron suggested. "Just like Tom Riddle used people and events to further his agenda, Gumboil tries to use Mafalda to promote his agenda concerning Pureblood ideals. Sure, I don't like that crap any more than he does, but I can't say I like the way he's making his point."

"I think your right Ron," Kingsley said.

"He's turning this trial into a political circus and it has to stop, Kingsley! I lost two good men bringing her down and I'll be damned if some fanatical bastard on the Geezergamot is going to flush it down the loo," Harry almost shouted, pounding his fist on Kingsley's desk.

"_Geezergamot?_ Harry, that's brilliant," Ron said with a chortle. "Where did you get that?"

"Finnegan," Harry snorted. "He was in a right state after yesterday."

Kingsley couldn't help but laugh himself. There were lots of old duffers on the Wizengamot who lived in the past, that was for certain, and _Geezergamot_ summed them up perfectly. "Give Finnegan my regards, but please be careful not to use that term in public and especially while you're in uniform."

"No problem, Sir," Harry and Ron said together, still trying to collect themselves. "We'll make sure the Geezergamot stays in the Dark…"

"Ages," Ron added with a snort.

"All right, that's enough you clowns," Kingsley chided. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he began to laugh his booming laugh. "Circus! Clowns!" All three men howled again and the tension in the room dissipated. The laughter felt good after the frustration during the morning session.

"That was a good one, King," Harry declared, still wiping his eyes. "But if we're the clowns, what's the Geezergamot?"

"Um…the menagerie," Ron asked with another chuckle.

"Enough, already," Kingsley said. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"But you can't be Sirius. You're Kingsley," Harry howled again and the three of them fell all over themselves with glee.

"Give it a rest, Potter. It's been done," Kingsley coughed.

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir," Harry blushed.

"Now, then. I hope that by adjourning court for lunch, the Wizengamot understand my intent that this trial be a fair one and that the remainder of it shall be conducted with the utmost decorum. Now gentlemen, I thank you for helping collect my thoughts. Get some food. Court comes to order in thirty minutes."

"Any time Kingsley," Harry assured him. The Head and Assistant Head Aurors shook the Minister's hand and left for the cafeteria.

"Ah...fish and chips plus a Butterbeer," Ron sighed, gazing at his plate before digging in. "Food and nectar of the gods!"

Harry ordered the same, and it came in its traditional wrapping—newspaper—only it wasn't a sheet from the _London Times_, rather a spread of the _Daily Prophet_. There was a team picture of the Chudley Cannons on Harry's wrapping. They didn't appear pleased that there was grease soaking through the paper, ruining the picture.

"It's strange," Harry said between bites. "Even if Mafalda is found guilty, it won't feel like we've won if she gets the Kiss."

"I t'tlly 'gree," Ron said, stuffing five chips into his mouth at once.

"Huh," Harry asked. "Should I just use Legilimency for communication while you're eating?"

Ron choked and coughed before bursting into laughter. "Please Harry. I can talk while I eat, but don't make me laugh."

"You call that talking?"

"All right... I agree. No one should get the Kiss," Ron declared before shoving an entire beer-battered and deep-fried fillet into his mouth.

"By the cursed Cornish Pixies, I feel I've been dragged into politics Ron. I don't like it at all. Gumboil wants my support, but I just can't endorse him. He's stumping for the Kiss and I've already stated my opinions on that. On the other hand, his other opinions seem all right. He's against the whole ridiculous dogma of Pureblood ideals, he's been fighting DEs, he wants them stand trial for their crimes, but yet...I don't feel comfortable with him."

"I know what you mean, Harry," Ron sympathized, careful to have finished his bite this time. "You've done well enough so far, so let's hope Kingsley can hold things together in court."

The two friends finished lunch, remotely aware of the other employees giving the two celebrities a curious glance from time to time. With a sigh, pleased from the delicious lunch and concerned about the resuming trial, they headed for the circus in Courtroom 10.

"I call the Wizengamot and this court to order," Kingsley declared and struck the gavel. Before he allowed the proceedings to continue, he passed glaring eyes across the chamber. "My dear colleagues of the Wizengamot and those who witness or take part in these proceedings, I charge you to keep in mind that we are holding a trial here. A young woman's life may hang in the balance. Any legislative matters will be posted according to the procedures for such an errand. This courtroom is the venue for that trial and shall not—I repeat shall not—be used as a forum for the discussion or debate of political matters. Is this clear?"

Kingsley paused to allow his words to sink into the minds of all present. Harry, Ron, and Hermione silently applauded the Minister before he continued.

"Any more outbursts of that calibre will force me to clear the courtroom and deem the Wizengamot incapable of competently hearing this trial. I will summon the Board of Ministers and we shall take matters in hand independent of the panel!"

The ensuing mumbling and grumbling in the chamber sounded to Harry to support Kingsley. He glanced up at the primary agitator and could see Gumboil's dismay and disappointment. Percy recalled Draco to the stand and was given the opportunity to repeat his testimony without interruption from Alastor Gumboil or any other disruptive member of the court. After that, Kingsley called it a day and adjourned the trial until the following morning. That morning, Thursday, would be the hardest day of the trial for Harry Potter.

_Mafalda's Trial – Day 4_

Completely out of character for him, Ron rose early. He slid out of bed, careful not to wake Hermione. She looked so peaceful—so much like an angel—he just didn't have the heart to disturb her. He even resisted the urge to kiss her forehead as she was still a bit jumpy even a year after their ordeal and could awaken with a jolt, wand in hand, ready to curse anything that moved. No, he'd let her sleep a while longer this morning.

He crept from the room in his bare feet. He cringed at the squeak the bedroom door made as he opened it. He looked back over his shoulder to find his goddess still lost in her dreams. _Dream on, my beauty._

As he softly padded down the stairs, he heard noise in the kitchen. It was far too early for anyone to be up yet. Even Molly wouldn't rise for another hour at least. The Auror in Ron caused him to draw his wand and crouch down in case he might encounter an intruder.

"Morning, Ron," Harry voice called.

"Merlin, Harry! Why are you up so early? I thought…"

"Can't sleep. Ginny…"

"Is she on the court docket today," Ron asked, suddenly concerned.

"She is. I'm worried, mate. I'm worried Gumboil might go after her," Harry confessed. "Tea or coffee?"

"Coffee. It's too early for tea," Ron grunted as he stretched his six-foot-five frame to the ceiling. "Thanks," he said with a yawn. "So is it Gumboil that's really got you worried or is it something else? Like…you won't be able to talk to her?"

"Did you have to remind me? No, I can't talk to her. They wouldn't even let me be her court escort. Something to do with the agreement the Ministry made with the Harpies," Harry moaned. "But I'm still worried, Ron. What if Gumboil goes after her like he went after Malfoy? Or even like he went after me?"

"I don't see that happening, Harry. I mean, she's Harry Potter's wife. He's not stupid enough to attack her," Ron assured him.

"He attacked me, didn't he, and I'm actually Harry Potter," he argued.

"Yeah, but I don't think even Gumboil's fool enough to go after a woman like that," Ron countered. "But if he does, I know of at least three Aurors who'll be ready to take him down."

"Three? Hermione's not…"

"Not Hermione, mate. Seamus. He's got a lot of respect for her since she wiped the floor with him in a duel…_twice_." Ron was immensely proud of his younger sister and pulled no punches when it came to warning people about her awesome magical prowess. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was the first to her side before either one of us."

"I suppose, since she won't be allowed her wand in the courtroom," Harry said. "Still, if that bastard even looks like he's going to badger her…"

"Easy, tiger. It won't come to that," Ron promised. "All she'll have to do is give him _The Look_ and that'll be it."

Harry began to chuckle. "You know you're right? That'd strike terror in the heart of Merlin himself! She is one amazing witch, isn't she?"

"That she is, mate. Now, about her presence in court…"

"That's going to hurt," Harry sighed, running his hands through his tangled raven locks. "Promise me you'll conjure chains to keep me in my seat."

"Hermione'll just put you in a full body-bind if you try to go to her. I have it on pretty good authority that she's quite good with that jinx."

"Neville," Harry snickered. "That poor guy. At least we apologised."

"You do realise that that's going to come back to haunt us, don't you," Ron smiled, sipping his now-drinkable coffee. "He's going to get us for that."

"That was seven years ago, you prat. If he hasn't done anything by now…"

"Neville's a patient man, Harry. Like Fiona says—every dog has his day. Neville's just waiting for his," Ron smirked.

"Right. Tell you what: if Neville gets back at us, I'll do all your paperwork for a month," Harry offered.

"And if he tries and we catch him…?"

"You do mine."

"For a month?"

"For a month."

"You're on, mate," Ron snickered, as they shook hands on it. There would be no Wizard's Oaths between them. They had been through too much together to even consider the necessity, let alone the carrying out of such a thing. They trusted in one another's honour with no doubts and no strings.

"Boys," Molly said as she bustled into the kitchen. "What on earth has you two up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep, Mum," Harry yawned.

"Ginny takes the stand today," Ron told his mother. "Harry's worried about Gumboil taking her apart."

"He wouldn't dare," Molly huffed. "Not my baby. Not with my baby's husband and brothers in the court!"

"Brothers?"

"Yes, dear. Percy's acting as court clerk, Bill's there to represent the bank although I can't imagine what for, and George wouldn't miss it for the world," she told them. "I do hope George behaves himself."

"He will, Mum," Ron assured her with a smirk. "He may be a git, but he's not a stupid git. He knows how to act in a courtroom. If he doesn't, I'll drag him out by his…"

"Ronald," Molly warned.

"What? I was going to say _by his ear_," Ron lied.

"Liar." Harry snickered into his coffee.

"Shut it you," Ron grumbled.

"Who's a liar," Arthur asked, sitting down at the table with his sons.

"Ron."

"Oh. We knew that," Arthur said with a wink.

"Thanks for your vote of confidence, Dad," Ron grumbled.

As the three men chatted, Molly began to bang frying pans and baking sheets around the kitchen. Soon, the air was filled with the lovely odours of a full-on Weasley breakfast. The smells wafted up the stairs and into the nostrils of an almost-awake Hermione. She argued with herself as to whether she would have a lie-in or drag herself out for a good breakfast with her lover, her surrogate brother, and her surrogate parents.

"Good morning, my love," Hermione mumbled, draping tired arms around Ron's neck from behind. She gave him a lingering kiss on his neck before she dropped herself into her seat next to him.

Blushing, Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close for a sweet kiss. "Good morning, beautiful."

"Oh yeah. I'm sure I'm simply gorgeous right now," she huffed. "I need coffee…"

"A lovely sight to see in the morning," Arthur said brightly. "All of our girls are right beauties at any given time!"

"Right you are, Dad! Our Hermione looks perfectly ravishing this morning," Harry teased.

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said. "But I think you need your prescription adjusted."

"Nonsense, dear," Molly soothed, placing a mug of coffee in front of Hermione. "I don't have any ugly children."

"Thanks, Molly," Hermione smiled weakly. "You're a sweetheart."

Twenty minutes later, the denizens of the Burrow dug into a scrumptious breakfast prepared by their beloved matriarch. Ron ate enough for three men, while Harry ate only half of his.

"Worried about Ginny, son," Arthur asked. As the Head of the DMLE, he already knew Ginny's name was listed on the court witness docket for the day.

"Yeah, but I suppose she'll be all right," Harry sighed.

"Of course she will. With her husband and an army of Weasleys to look after her, she'll be fine," Arthur assured his son-in-law with a bracing slap on the back. "Besides, she's got her mother in her. She can take care of herself."

"I know. I just…" Harry didn't continue. He and Ron had already had this discussion and he really didn't want to go into it again.

"Hang in there, son," Arthur intimated. "Only three weeks to go and she'll be home again." There was no fooling Arthur Weasley. He knew very well what was really bothering Harry. He missed Ginny terribly and today he would see her, but not be able to touch her or talk to her. The agreement the Ministry had to make with the Harpies was that she was to come to court, give her testimony, and be returned immediately to camp. The rule was "no spouses or significant others during camp," and that had to be observed without fail.

Just as Molly began to clear the table, another brown owl flew through the kitchen window and deposited a newspaper in front of Hermione. She paid the owl and opened the paper. "Well, what have we today," she said in a sarcastic sing-song voice.

"_Rioting Members of the Wizengamot_

_Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt had to adjourn yesterday's session of the Prewett trial in order to restore order to the court chamber. A debate erupted once again, this time during the testimony of Mr Draco Malfoy. Wizengamot Member, Alastor Gumboil accused Mr Malfoy of appearing solely as a spokesperson for Pureblood ideals rather than in the interest of justice. In retaliation, Minister Shacklebolt brought the court to order and threatened to post Auror guards to keep order. Following an adjournment for lunch, the trial resumed without Auror guards, and without further disruption."_

"A bloody disgrace, that was," Ron said.

"Language, Ronald," Hermione chided her fiancé.

"Well, it was," Harry defended his friend. "Is there more?"

"Just a line," Hermione replied and read on.

"_If this trial has taught us nothing else, Pureblood ideals and the Dementors' Kiss are questions the Minister will have to deal with in the very near future."_

"That's all we need," Arthur groaned, running his hands down his face. "It's not enough that we're cleaning up the Ministry and recharging our batteries, as it were. Now we have to contend with a lot of political blood-status nonsense to boot!"

"Well, I suppose we'd better put ourselves together," Hermione declared, rising from the table. "I've got dibs on the shower first. The rest of you lot can fight over it when I'm finished."

"I was first up," Harry whined playfully. "I should get the shower first."

"No way, mate. Ladies first," Ron argued. "Then it's mine by right of inheritance."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Harry laughed, pretending to gag. "Inheritance?"

"Yeah. Inheritance," Ron countered. "You got a problem with that, Potter?"

"Shall we duel for it, Weasley," Harry snorted.

"Bring it on, Scarhead," Ron said in mock anger.

Harry drew his wand and brandished it under Ron's nose. If a stranger were to walk in on the situation, he or she might be alarmed, but Molly, Arthur, and Hermione all understood that Harry and Ron were having a bit of a lark. "It's all for you, Carrot top!"

"Must I referee," Molly sighed in mock resignation. "Hermione, you shower first. Harry, you were up first, so you go next. Ron…"

"Damn," Ron huffed. "Even my own mother's against me."

"Never, dear," she cooed as she brushed his fringe aside. He was too tall to peck on the cheek anymore, so she just squeezed his hand. "You'll always be my Ronnie."

"Thanks, Mum," he said, bending down to kiss her cheek. "I love you too."

Harry sat anxiously next to Ron in the chamber of the Wizengamot. From the moment he'd woken up this morning, he'd been worried about Ginny, but now he had a smile plastered across his face. Ginny was coming. Harry barely heard the ceremonial opening of the session and the announcement of the agenda for the day, but he was brought out of his reverie as the usher called the first witness.

"Mrs Ginevra Potter," he declared. The door opened and Ginny entered, escorted by Cho and Susan. She looked beautiful in her Harpies robes. She appeared to seek out his face in the room. He couldn't call out to her or wave, so he was content to allow the sight to fill him. His heart skipped a beat and then the feeling of a flower opening up its dew covered petals yearning for the first morning light filled his chest.

Suddenly, she found him. Their eyes met and the entire room drew in a sharp breath as they were touched by the powerful emotion between the two. The hostility and tension from the previous days literally evaporated away. But still, he felt that her apprehension, so he opened the bond full force and sent her all the support and love he could. He wished he could have been right next to her to hold her hand and give her a kiss for courage. But he could send her a message no one else could hear. "_Ginny, my reason for being, how I love you."_

"_Harry, I'm scared."_

"_There's nothing to be afraid of, my love. Just hold your head up, put on your best Molly Weasley, and tell the truth."_

"_But what about Mr Gumboil…"_

"_No worries, Love. There's a room full of Aurors and Weasleys here for you."_

Harry felt an overwhelming response from her and now he finally was able to look at her and really see her. Up to that point, their emotions filled them both completely. Ginny wore her hair in a pony tail, she was fresh from a shower, and Harry could perceive her flowery scent. That and her Harpies robes most definitely strengthened her position as _Witch Weekly's_ Most Beautiful Witch.

Suddenly, all sound muted and Harry's mind was yet again filled with Ginny's emotions. Through the residual buzz, he heard Ginny's voice inside his mind. "… _love you..."_

Harry had all he could do to restrain himself from flying out of his seat. She was so close, but out of reach. Ron murmured calming words into his ear. "Easy, mate. You can do it. Just breathe." He lightly massaged his friend's shoulder, hoping to keep him on an even keel.

Harry wanted to cry. His beautiful Ginny was only a few feet away and he couldn't hold her. He couldn't kiss her. His body ached for her as his heart began to feel like lead in his chest. He could barely breathe for want of her.

Harry didn't realise it, but Bill and George had positioned themselves directly behind their brother-in-law just in case he lost control. It had been a long time since Harry had lost control, but in the face of the situation, they feared it was entirely possible. Still Harry held on, though his body shook and sweat poured from his brow.

"Hang in there, bro," Bill whispered. "Hold on."

"Yeah, mate. We're here for you—both of you," George added.

Ron stole a glance at Percy, who sat at the clerk's desk taking notes. Every so often, he would steal a look at Ron and nod as if to ask how Harry was holding out. Ron would nod back and squeeze Harry's slumping shoulders. "You're doing fine, mate. Use that bond."

Ginny gave her testimony. Harry had already read it and knew what it contained, but despite that, he didn't hear a word of it. He only listened to her voice, looking at her as she spoke noticing every little detail in his pain—where she looked, when she blinked. He gazed longingly as her lips moved. She could have recited the economical projections for the replacement of worn-out Wizengamot robes as far as Harry was concerned and it would have been poetry to him. She was poetry in motion—a living sonnet.

Before Harry knew it, Ginny was excused and rose to be escorted from the chamber. Their eyes met again and spoke all the words they couldn't say aloud. She sent him another wave of an undying and eternal love and she was gone. _"I love you, Harry."_

Harry felt empty and alone in a chamber full of people—devastated. He was struck again by guilt for leaving her—not once, but twice. He had put her through this, but a lot worse, he abandoned her after Professor Dumbledore's funeral, and then left her with no promise of ever seeing her again shortly after that passionate kiss on his seventeenth birthday.

He imagined what he was feeling at that moment had to be something akin to what she felt when he left her behind to hunt the Horcruxes. He fully appreciated the agony she must have been in not knowing where he was or whether he was alive or dead for nine whole months. This paltry six weeks was killing him. _My poor, sweet Ginny, what hell I put you through_.

Of course, Harry knew she was only off to Quidditch training and he wanted her to be there. This was her dream and he was so proud that she had become a professional Chaser in a starting position. But best of all, she was his wife, his lover, his best friend. His. Forever. But it still didn't assuage the heartache, the longing, or the guilt. He had to muster all the discipline he had developed to cope with bearing the fate of the Wizarding world on his shoulders to avoid breaking into tears right there in the chamber. But it was no good. A few tears had escaped and trickled down his face. Ron noticed and signalled to his brothers that they should take him out in order to collect himself. The brooding was sure to come later, but for now, they would comfort their brother. "Come on, mate. Let's get a drink, yeah?"

"No. Hermione's next. I want to be here for her," Harry sniffled.

"All right, mate. After that, then," Ron agreed, turning to be sure his brothers heard. They nodded their assent and turned their attention back to the trial.

Hermione was called to the stand and surprisingly enough, there were no questions about the altered Patronus charm or that there had been any record of it. Following Hermione's testimony, court adjourned for a two-hour lunch. "When we resume we will hear Mafalda Prewett. After that we will adjourn until tomorrow morning when the Wizengamot will return its verdict," Kingsley announced, slamming his gavel down on the block.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Bill, and George ate their lunch in silence. They could see the torment in Harry's eyes. "I know, Harry," was all Ron said. His friend's anguish was almost more than he could bear. He couldn't imagine being separated from Hermione for six weeks. The five days he was held in captivity alone nearly broke his heart, and then to sit by her bedside day after day while she hovered on the brink of death after the explosion...he couldn't bear it. He had to blink back tears as he allowed himself to hurt for Harry and Ginny.

Having the emotional width of a teaspoon, Ron still made the most of it. Well, Hermione would maybe have to adjust her assessment and he might graduate to serving spoon. Bill and George ordered a couple of rounds of Old Ogden's Best. He especially encouraged him to throw them back in succession. "Go on, mate. It'll help," George promised.

Harry relaxed, but the pain was still there. Not just his, but Ginny's too. He could feel her tears through the bond and knew she was lying on her cot sobbing her chocolate-coloured eyes out. He opened the bond again and sent her a wave of the Unspoken Thing, promising they'd survive this and be together again.

That afternoon, the trial resumed. Mafalda sat there with an air of indifference as she had done throughout the whole trial.

"Mafalda Prewett, you have heard the accusations and the testimonies against you. Do you have anything to add?"

"No," Mafalda said blandly.

Following her all-time record-breaking shortest defence speech, Kingsley struck the gavel and called an end to the proceedings. Gumboil had behaved himself with Ginny and Hermione, but he was seen talking animatedly to other Wizengamot members, obviously hoping to drum up support for a guilty verdict on all charges.

But that wasn't what worried Kingsley Shacklebolt, former Auror and Minister for Magic. What worried him was the sentence they would hand down for her crimes. _Great Merlin, let it not be the Kiss. She's only fifteen!_

Harry was in no shape to Apparate. The day's events weighed heavy on his heart and mind. Seeing Ginny that morning tore his heart out. The two shots of Firewhiskey got him through the afternoon, but now he could barely stand. Bill offered to Side-along with him to get him to the Burrow in one piece and together, he and Ron would put him to bed. Hermione offered to go to Arthur's office to tell him about Harry while George volunteered to fill their mother in. Bill sent his Patronus to Fleur to let her know he would be late getting home and not to wait supper for him.

"Come on, Harry, lad," Bill encouraged Harry. "Just a little bit further and we'll be in the house." They were afraid he'd lose control in court, but they never imagine a catatonic Harry Potter. Even on the run at his darkest moments, Harry never shut down like this. Ron fought to tamp down rising panic that perhaps his sister's husband had taken leave of his senses.

Ron and Bill wrestled Harry to the kitchen door where they were met by George, Molly, and Fiona. As soon as George had arrived at the Burrow, he alerted his mother and then Flooed Fiona at the flat. She came right away, her rucksack loaded with potions and herbs she would need to bring Harry around.

"Put him on the sofa," Molly instructed. "Well get some restorative draughts into him and then put him to bed."

"Right, Mum. Come on, Harry," Ron groaned as he and Bill sat their raven-haired brother on the sofa and began to undress him.

"That's it," Molly coached them. "Right down to his boxers. Shirt off. That's it."

Fiona moved forward with a restorative. Ron held Harry up, allowing her to carefully pour it down his throat. "Let him lay back now, Ronnie. He needs ta soak that up. He been drinkin'?"

"Just a couple of shots of Old Ogden's at lunch," Bill answered. "We didn't get him pissed or anything. We still had to go back for the afternoon session."

"Was it that bad," Molly asked.

"The trial? No. Harry? Yes," George replied. "Kingsley laid down the law this morning before they called Ginny to the stand. Mum, she was brilliant, but Harry…"

"The poor dear," Molly cooed, brushing the hair from Harry's troubled brow. "Did he get to talk to her?"

"No, Mum," Bill said, shaking his head. His dragon's fang earring danced from the end of its metal setting. "Dad said there was some agreement between the Ministry and the Harpies saying that Ginny would be allowed to come in, give testimony, and then be taken back to camp immediately."

"Oh no. I was sure they would have let them have a word or two," Molly sighed. "The poor dears. Is Ginny all right?"

"Dunno, Mum," Ron answered. "She looked okay when they took her out, but who knows with her? She's not one to cry no matter how bad she feels."

"But what about their bond," Molly asked.

"Bond," Fiona asked, looking up from her place at Harry's side. "What bond? What're y'all talkin' about?"

"Onie, Harry and Ginny are magically bonded soul mates," George replied. "It started years ago and finished at the end of the war. It's not really our tale to tell."

"Course it ain't, Georgie, and I won't ask ya to," Fiona replied. "Aunt Molly, should we give him another shot of the restorative?"

Molly gave Harry the once-over. His face still showed a pallid grey, but not as bad as before. "I think one more should do it, dear. Ronnie, lift him up," she instructed. "Once this dose settles, we'll levitate him to his bed. So what about the bond?"

"They were using it, that's for sure. His eyes never left her. For a while, he was pretty calm, but then he began to shake and the sweat ran off him like a river," Ron reported. "We were afraid he was going to lose control of his magic, but he didn't. He just began to shut down instead."

While Fiona and Molly fussed over their patient, Ron, Bill, and George gave a full accounting of the day. They told their mother that as much as they wanted to bring him home at lunch time, as Head Auror and chief investigator, Harry had to stay for the whole trial. "He has to be there tomorrow for the sentencing. If they go for the Kiss, Harry just might lose it altogether," Ron warned.

"Well, that just won't do," Molly stormed. "I'll have a few words with the Minister this instant!"

"Mum, don't," Ron groaned, holding her back from the fireplace. "If you interfere, Kingsley'll give in, but the press and Gumboil's people will eat Harry alive."

"Ron's right, Mum. Harry has to be there. There's no other way," Bill agreed.

Just then, the kitchen door banged open. Hermione, followed by Arthur and Kingsley stepped into the kitchen. "Molly? Ron," Arthur called.

"In the sitting room, Dad," Ron called back. "Mum and Fiona are working on Harry right now."

Bill stopped them in the doorway and shepherded them all back into the kitchen, leaving Molly and Fiona with Harry. Bill, Ron, and George brought them up to speed on Harry's condition. "Mum wanted to Floo you, Kingsley," he told him with a smirk. "She was all set to demand you excuse Harry from court tomorrow. Ron stopped her though."

"Oh yes, the last thing we need is a media circus to go with our political circus," Kingsley commiserated. "Arthur, what do you think?"

"Well," Arthur began. "I think we should take a wait-and-see attitude. Harry's a tough young man and he'll bounce back from this. He's just overtired and overtaxed. A good night's sleep should do the trick. Some of Molly's special tea and a light supper should put him right."

Molly entered the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. "Ron. Bill. Levitate our Harry upstairs to his bed and let him rest while I make dinner. I've got some good rich chicken stock just begging to be poured down that boy's throat. Kingsley, would you care to stay for dinner and join Potterwatch '99?"

Bill and Ron rose to pack Harry off to his bed, with Fiona right behind them. George's eyes lit up at his mother's invitation. "Does my ear deceive me or did our dear mother just make a joke?"

"I believe so, son," Arthur replied with a wink. "There's hope for her yet!"

"Oh you," Molly laughed, slapping her husband's shoulder. The three remaining men at the table indulged themselves in conversation about the trial and tomorrow's sentencing. Molly busied herself with a glorious dinner of roast chicken with new potatoes, mixed vegetables, and hot rolls. For afters, there was lemon torte with whipped cream.

Fiona kept a vigil by Harry's bedside, monitoring him for any complications. She didn't really expect any, but he had been in such bad shape, she wanted to be sure. "You just rest yourself now, Mr Harry Potter," she whispered as she mopped his brow. "Yer little wife needs ya and so does this family. Just hang in there, baby. It's almost over."

There was a soft knock on the bedroom door. Molly sidled in with a tray for her niece. "Any change," she asked.

"No'm," Fiona answered in a soft voice. "He's just restin' now. The poor man's heart's been through the mill."

"He's had such a hard life," Molly sniffled as tears rolled down her cheeks. "His parents were murdered when he was just a baby, stuck in a loveless home with abusive Muggle relatives, and then he carried the weight of the entire Wizarding world on his shoulders. Oh, Fiona, the stories we could tell you about our Harry."

"And how old is he," Fiona asked, aghast.

"He just turned nineteen," Molly sighed. "He and my Ronnie—and Hermione, of course—have been friends since they met on the Hogwarts Express their first year. They've been by his side through most of it. They all had to grow up so fast." Try as she might, Molly couldn't stifle the sob that escaped from her throat. Whenever she thought about what Harry had been forced to endure in his young life, she couldn't help but weep for him.

"Ginny…"

"Harry? Harry, dear, can you hear me," Molly said softly as she dabbed at her eyes.

"Ginny… Mum… Where…you…"

Fiona laid the back of her hand against Harry's forehead. "Lord o' mercy, Aunt Molly, he's burnin' up! We need a tub of cool water and about four strong men. Hurry!"

Molly tore out of the room and ran down the stairs. "Boys! Arthur! Come quickly! Kingsley, conjure us a tub of cool water right here in the kitchen!"

"Right," Kingsley answered her. "One tub of cool water coming up!" He drew his wand and began his incantation while the others made for the stairs.

"What is it, Molly," Arthur asked, following her and his sons up the stairs.

"It's Harry! He's running a fever! He's delirious," Molly cried over her shoulder. "Oh my poor Harry! What have they done to you."

"Dad, just pull the sheet out from under the mattress. We can carry him down the stairs as if he were on a stretcher," Bill said, taking charge.

"When ya get him down there, don't drop him into the water right off. The shock could stop his heart," Fiona warned. "Just lower him down slow-like."

"Why don't we just levitate him again," George asked.

"Because if we do that, we'd have to drop him right in and we can't do that. Besides, he need the sheet under him so we can wrap him loosely with it while he's in the tub…just in case somebody shows up, ya understand."

"That makes sense," George allowed.

"All right, lads," Arthur said. "On three, then. One…two…three! Up!"

The four of them lifted Harry up, two on a side, and carefully carried him out the door toward the stairs.

"Ginny… Mum… Can't find you…"

"Aunt Molly, talk to 'im. He's callin' fer 'is momma. Yer the closest thing to a momma he's got. Answer 'im," Fiona urged.

"I'm here, my son. Mother's here," Molly cooed as they made their way down.

"Mum…can't find her… Ginny…"

"It's all right, dear. Ginny's all right. She's just at training camp, remember? She's all right," Molly continued to sooth her surrogate son.

"Ginny… Need…my…my…"

Finally, after a very slow go, the Weasley men were able to get Harry down the stairs. Kingsley stood by, offering another pair of hands as the manoevered him over the tub.

"Real slow, now," Fiona reminded them. "Real slow."

The five of them slowly lowered Harry into the tub, with Kingsley at his feet to make sure they cleared the edge. Harry's breath caught for just a moment as his fevered body touched the cool water. As soon as they had him settled and his head cushioned to stay above water, Fiona and Molly wrapped the wet sheet over him.

Ron stood a few feet away as his mother and cousin ministered to his best friend. He hadn't noticed Hermione step to his side until she slid an arm around his waist. "He'll be all right, my love. Molly and Fiona will see to that."

"Why does he have to go through this, 'Mione," Ron asked through his tears. "He's been to hell and back and still it isn't enough." The tall redhead began to sob into his fiancée's hair. "Tell me, Hermione! Why?"

"I don't know that there's an answer to that, Ronald," she replied softly as her own tears began to fall. "But that which does not kill us only makes us stronger. Harry's a strong man. He'll get through this. He's just had a very hard day and his magic is rebelling."

"Mum…where's Ginny? I can't find her…I…I left her…somewhere…"

"Ginny's fine. She's at training camp, remember? She's a starting Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. Ginny's in Wales, dear," Molly reassured him as she held his hand. His lips began to tremble and his body to shiver.

"Fiona, he's shivering," Molly observed. "Is he all right?"

"That's a good sign. His body temperature's comin' down." Fiona placed the back of her hand against Harry's brow again. "Almost normal," she said, rising up from her knees. "We best get him outta this tub and into some warm sleepin' duds."

"I'll go up and find his pyjamas. I know where they are," Hermione volunteered.

"In the meantime, let's lift him out of this tub and put him on the sofa," Molly declared, taking charge again. "When Hermione comes back with his pyjamas and a pair of boxers, Arthur, you and Bill dry him off and dress him." Molly turned back to the bottom of the stairs and asked Hermione to grab a fresh pair of boxers and a couple of towels.

"All right, lads. Just like before. On three. One…two…three…Up!" Slowly, the men lifted Harry out of the tub by his sheet and carried him to the sofa. Molly moved behind them, drawing the puddles on the floor into her wand as she went, leaving the floor dry. Hermione appeared with towels and fresh clothes for her surrogate brother.

"All right now. Anyone who isn't me or Bill—out," Arthur ordered. "Molly, perhaps you'll want to make up Harry's bed?"

"Of course," Molly replied and climbed the stairs to the room Harry and Ginny shared. She and Hermione worked together to fix the bed and pull down the blankets.

"Fiona, is Harry going to be all right," Hermione asked when they were finished.

"I think so, Hermione. He's just had a hard day—really a hard week—and it took its toll," Fiona assured her. "I think if he and Ginny hadn't been separated like this, what with that bond 'n' all, this probably wouldn't've happened a'tall."

"But surely this can't continue to happen everytime they're apart. Harry's Head Auror and there are going to be cases…"

"Hermione, from what I understand, they ain't been apart for more'n a coupla days in over year. Am I right?"

"Yes, that's true," Hermione admitted.

"Well, there you go. This is one helluva case o' separation anxiety, if ya ask me," Fiona said.

"You know, you may be right," Hermione agreed, nodding her head thoughtfully. "Harry was orphaned as a toddler and raised in a…"

"I know all that. Molly told me already," Fiona cut in.

"Did she tell you about Sirius Black or Remus Lupin," Hermione asked her.

"No. Can't say as she did. Who're they?"

"Sirius Black was Harry's Godfather. To make a long story short, he and Remus Lupin were James' and Lily's—that's Harry's parents—best friends. Sirius was falsely accused of betraying Harry's parents to Voldemort and then killing the real traitor, Peter Pettigrew. He spent twelve years in Azkaban while Harry lived in hell with his mother's sister's family. Remus lived as an outcast on the fringes of our society, unable to find decent work."

"So what happened," Fiona asked.

"In our third year, Sirius escaped. Professor Dumbledore, our then-headmaster, hired Remus as our Defence teacher that year. He was the best DADA teacher we ever had," Hermione explained.

"So why did Remus have such a hard time finding work if he was such a good teacher," Fiona asked.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears as she thought of her recently-killed former professor and his wife. "Remus was…Remus was a…a Werewolf, Fiona."

"That's why he couldn't find work? That's all? He was a Werewolf," Fiona said in disbelief.

"Y-yes. Werewolves aren't treated well in our…"

"Of all the cockamamie things I've heard since I come ta England, that has got to take the cake," she fumed. "Deny a man a livin' because he's a Werewolf? Have you people ever heard of Wolfsbane Potion?"

"Of course we have, but it's very expensive and Remus…well, while he was teaching, Professor Snape—our then-Potions Master—brewed it for him every month, but before that…well, you know." Hermione seemed embarrassed and in a way she was. She knew her country wasn't kind to creatures classified as "dark," as Werewolves were.

"In the states, Lycanthropy is treated like a disease among our folk. They're treated kindly and with respect. If they cain't pay for the Potion, we take in out in barter. They cain't help what they are," Fiona fumed again.

"I know, Fiona, and we've been working hard to make things better for them, but we have to take things one step at a time," Hermione said. "I start with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures next week with Charlie. House-elf rights are a priority, but I'm beginning to think maybe I should turn my attentions to Werewolf rights."

"That might not be a bad…"

"GINNY!"

"Holy Hippogriffs," Hermione cried.

"I think Harry's awake," Fiona smiled.

"Thank Circe," Hermione breathed. "Oh dear. If he's awake like that…"

"We'd best go see if we can help," Fiona said as they dashed from the bedroom and down the stairs.

Some 300 miles away, in the Welsh countryside, a young woman paced in agitation. "Ginny, what's gotten into you," her roommate asked. "You were fine when you went to court this morning, but you've been absolutely barmy since you returned."

"There's something wrong with Harry. I just know it. I can't feel him. He…at the trial," she grumbled. "I've got to go home!"

"You know you can't go home, Ginny," Gwen reminded her. "Camp rules."

"Oh sod your bloody rules! There's something wrong with Harry! Can't you understand that?" Ginny let out a wail and fell to the floor in a pool of tears.

"What makes you think something's wrong with Harry? What do you mean you can't feel him," Gwen asked, trying to console her friend. Just in case, she sent her Patronus to Gwenog Jones, Harpies team Captain and friend to Ginny and Harry Potter.

"What's going on—Ginny? What is it, love? What's wrong," Gwenog cooed, pulling Ginny to her chest. She looked to Gwen for answers as Ginny's body was so wracked with sobs that she could barely breathe let alone speak.

Gwen explained to the older woman how Ginny had returned from court clearly upset and how she'd been pacing all afternoon insisting there was something wrong with Harry and that she needed to go home.

"Ginny. Ginny. Ginny, listen to me!" Gwenog lifted the redhead's face and shook her to get her attention. "Ginny Potter, you listen to me. I'm going to try and get you a pass to go home for the weekend. You've worked hard and you've earned it. Do you understand?"

"A pass? But…but isn't that against the rules," Ginny said haltingly.

"In some cases, we've had to make exceptions. This appears to be one of those cases," Gwenog assured her. "Now…you take this evening off. We're working the Beaters tonight anyway. We don't need three Chasers to do that. Okay?"

"Are…are you sure? I mean, I don't want to skive off…" Ginny wiped her eyes and blew her nose with the tissue Gwen had given her.

"Not at all, Gin. You've had a hard day anyway," Gwenog said, hugging her shaking friend.  
"You rest up. We'll have drills in the morning and then you'll be on your way. From what I understand, court will be done before you even get to the Burrow."

"Thanks, Gwenog. You're the best. I swear I'll make this up to you and the team," Ginny promised.

"There's no need for that," Gwenog replied.

"But Harry'll insist on it," Ginny giggled weakly. "It's just his way."

"We'll argue with Harry later. Meanwhile, take a hot bath and calm down. I'll have a tray sent up so you don't have to eat with the unwashed masses. How does that sound," Gwenog smiled.

"Sounds wonderful," Ginny replied. "I just hope Harry's all right…"

"Gin, I'm sure Harry's fine. He's just had a hard day too," Gwen replied. "Now up you get. I'll draw your bath and tuck you in. I'll even tell you a bedtime story if you wish."

"Good idea," Gwenog replied with a chuckle. "I'll send a dinner tray up for you, too. See you on the pitch, then."

"Sure. Come on, Gin. Let's get you into that hot tub, shall we?" Gwen ushered her young teammate into the bathroom they shared and turned on the tap.

Soon, water vapour filled the bathroom and Ginny lowered herself into the warm depths. "Oh that's fabulous," she groaned.

"I'll leave you to it, then," Gwen said as she left the bathroom. "Just call if you need me. I'll be on my bunk reading the playbook for the zillionth time."

"Thanks, Gwen. You're the best," Ginny said, new tears trickling down her cheeks. She lay there in the warm water and tried to relax. She was still worried because she couldn't feel Harry through the bond. She sent wave after wave of her love, but there was no reply.

After about a half hour, the water began to cool and her skin began to wrinkle. _Time to get out of this tub and into some pyjamas. It's almost suppertime._ Ginny grabbed hold of both sides of the tub and pulled herself to standing position. She reached for her towel began to dry herself off while the water drained away. Once she had herself dressed, she stepped into the bedroom. Gwen was already gone and there was a tray kept warm with a heating charm waiting for Ginny by her bedside.

She brushed out her thick flaming tresses and ate her dinner. Then she climbed into her bed with her playbook and began to revise. She'd gotten about halfway through when she felt a jolt of…something. "HARRY" she screamed and fainted dead away.

Gwenog had been in the corridor outside Gwen's and Ginny's room. She had managed to wangle a weekend pass for Ginny, insisting that there was a problem at home Ginny was needed for. She was about to knock on the door when she heard Ginny scream. _Bloody hell! What was that?_ Gwenog yelled for help and drew her wand, throwing the door open before her. There, she found Ginny sprawled out on her bed unconscious, her playbook on the floor.

"Ginny! Ginny Potter," she shouted, lightly slapping Ginny's cheeks. "Ginny, talk to me, love!"

"H-Harry," Ginny groaned.

"No, Ginny. It's Gwenog."

"H-Harry. Is he all right?"

"I don't know, Love, but I got your pass. You're going home for the weekend after lunch tomorrow. You don't have to be back until 7 o'clock Monday morning."

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. "You mean it? I can be with Harry…all weekend?"

"All weekend. And you better take care of him while you're there. We need our Head Auror," Gwenog commanded her.

"Yes, ma'am," Ginny replied. "Thanks so much. I really appreciate it."

"No problem. Now get some sleep," Gwenog said as she left the room. Ginny turned down the flame on her lamp and settled in. Suddenly a warm feeling flowed over her and she sighed contentedly.

"_Ginny? Are you there?"_

"_I'm here, my love. Are you all right? I couldn't feel you for the longest time. I was afraid…"_

"_I'm all right, Baby. I had a bad day."_

"_It was horrible for me too. I wanted to feel your arms around me and your lips…"_

"_Me too, Gin. It killed me to watch you today just a few feet away from me, and know I couldn't touch you or kiss you. I couldn't take it, Gin. I…I shut down, I guess."_

"_I was so scared, Harry. I couldn't feel you through the bond. I sent wave after wave, but got no response. I thought…I thought…"_

"_I just had a bad go of it this afternoon. Ron says you were brilliant, though. I was so busy loving you in my mind, I didn't hear a thing."_

"_I was a little nervous because of what I'd read in the Prophet. That awful man… He kept staring at me like he wanted to shout at me or something."_

"_Gumboil? He was staring at you?"_

"_Yes, but oddly enough, Percy was staring at him."_

"_Good ol' Perce. There's hope for him yet."_

"_Are you sure you're all right?"_

"_I'm fine. Honest. Fiona says I had a weird episode of separation anxiety that caused my magic to shut me down, but raised my body temperature. I had quite an interesting bath in a tub of cooll water Kingsley conjured."_

"_That's funny. I had a hot bath because I couldn't settle down. I paced and paced, knowing there was something wrong. I had a breakdown. Gwen and Gwenog were here, though. Gwen looked after me. They sent a dinner tray up so I didn't have to face the rest of the team and the staff."_

"_Are you all right now?"_

"_I'm fine now that I know you're okay and that I can't talk to you again. I miss you so, my Harry. I love you so much."_

"_I miss you too, Baby. I love you more now than ever. You're the very breath in my body, Gin, and what happened today only proves that. I'll be so relieved when you can come home."_

"_Me too, Harry. Me too."_

"_We'd better get some rest. I think I hear your Mum coming up the stairs. I don't want to be fussed over."_

"_Oh let her. She adores you. You've been sick and she wants to look after you. Let her have her fun."_

"_All right, but we'd better get some sleep. I promise my dreams will be filled with you."_

"_Mine too, my darling. I love you. Goodnight."_

"_I love you too, my heart. Goodnight."_

_Mafalda's Trial – The Verdict_

Harry awoke just as dawn began to break over the horizon. He felt as though he'd slept for a month. Today was it. Today, the Geezergamot would deliver its verdict and with it, Mafalda Prewett's fate.

He arose and shuffled to the loo where he took care of business and showered. He padded back to his bedroom and got himself dressed, then headed downstairs to greet the day. He arrived at the table to smiles and greetings from his family.

"Looking good there, mate," Ron said. "A far sight better than last, I'd say."

"Harry, dear. You do look so much better," Molly smiled, setting a hearty breakfast in front of him. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a baby in his mother's arms, Mum. Thanks," he said, kissing her hand. "I guess I owe you all an apology for last night."

"Certainly not," Arthur protested. "What would you have to apologize for?"

"All that drama…"

"Harry, that wasn't your fault. Your magic took over, that's all," Hermione said.

"I know that. Fiona told me before she left, but…"

"Forget it, mate. You've nothing to apologise for, so give it up," Ron scolded him with a smirk.

"So today's the day then," Molly asked, sitting down next to her husband. "The verdict and the sentencing, yes?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Ron said, sipping his coffee. "Then we're done for the day. It's Friday!"

Right on schedule, the customary brown Post Owl flew in through the kitchen window and dropped its parcel in front of Hermione, who placed two Knuts in its pouch. It gave her a satisfied hoot and flew off into the sky.

"Well, what's it say today, 'Mione," Ron asked. "Anything juicy?"

"No, not really. It's just a blurb about the impeding verdict. See," she said, passing the paper to Ron.

"Hmmm. Let's see," he said.

"Well read it already," Harry prompted his best friend. "We wait with bated breath."

"_A Nation Hold Its Breath_

_Later this morning, the verdict will be returned from the Wizengamot on the final day of the trial of Death Eater Mafalda Prewett. If she is found guilty, Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt will sentence Mafalda Prewett according to the laws of our World. The question on everyone's lips is: Kiss or no Kiss?_


	7. Chapter 7 Fits & Starts

**Chapter 7 – Fits & Starts**

"All rise for the Minister for Magic," Percy called from his place near the podium. The assembled participants, spectators, and reporters stood as Kingsley entered the chamber.

"This is it," Ron whispered to Hermione. She nodded and watched as Kingsley took his seat.

"Please be seated." He then struck the gavel, calling the Wizengamot to order and opened the session. "Is the Wizengamot ready to return its verdict for Madalda Prewett," he asked.

"Aye," the panel answered in a perfect monotone.

"How about that," Harry snickered. "They were at least able to agree on a single pitch to answer with."

"Will wonders never cease," Ron snorted back.

"Hush, you two. You're the two top Aurors. Act like it," Hermione scolded.

"Killjoy," Harry grumbled.

"Hush," she insisted. Other than the exchange between the Golden Trio, the assembly had held its silence and seemingly, its breath in anticipation of what might be described as the verdict of the century.

"Those in favour of guilty for violation of the Secrecy Act, raise your hands," Kingsley called.

As one, every member raised his or her hand.

"Against," Kingsley sighed, because of the irony of the question in this case.

"They all voted guilty," Ron whispered to Harry. "Why even ask?"

"Procedure," Harry replied. "He has to ask. It's just how it's done."

"Mental," Ron said under his breath as Kingsley repeated the guilty verdict against Mafalda for violation of the Secrecy Act.

Kingsley continued with each charge. For each one, Mafalda was found guilty by a unanimous show of hands. The Minister then turned to the accused. "Mafalda Prewett, you have been found guilty of all charges," he began, taking a breath to continue with her sentence. "You are hereby placed under a lifetime ban from ever performing magic. Your wand shall be snapped before your eyes and before the Wizengamot according to our law. Because of your young age, you shall be remanded to the custody of your father forthwith."

The defendant showed no emotion. She didn't even smirk at her light sentence, as Kingsley expected. She just sat there looking like a fifteen-year-old girl who'd been simply grounded for breaking curfew.

Two people entered the chamber, one an Unspeakable and the other an usher carrying Mafalda's wand in a box. Kingsley presented the wand to the assembly and with a distinct _jerk,_ he snapped it in two and returned the pieces to the box. He nodded to the Unspeakable who performed a series of complicated wand movements and an unknown non-verbal spell. A blueish light shot out from his wand and struck Mafalda, who passed out.

"Mafalda Prewett's powers are hereby bound. She is officially a Squib from this day forth," Kingsley declared.

For a full minute, the chamber lay in deafening silence. _That was it? No Kiss and no Azkaban?_ Angry grumbling spread like fire and random shouts of displeasure flew across the chamber. Kingsley struck the gavel and declared the trial adjourned.

"This is outrageous," Alastor Gumboil snarled loudly as Kingsley exited the chamber, most of the Wizengamot behind him. Others remained with Gumboil, equally displeased with the sentence.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, although he and Ron kept on their guard. On Harry's orders, the team of Aurors assigned to the day's proceedings had spread out strategically around the chamber to keep order in case of violence. Although there were verbal assaults against the Minister and the members of the Wizengamot who had left the chamber, no punches or spells were thrown and soon the courtroom emptied. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the last to leave.

"Well, that was relatively painless," Ron sighed, wrapping his long arm around Hermione's waist. "She didn't get the Kiss…"

"No, but I have to wonder about getting her having avoided serving time. I mean, I know she's young and everything, but…I don't know. Maybe she should have been required to check into St Mungo's psych ward or whatever they call it," Harry said softly. "I'm glad they didn't push the Kiss, but I still have to wonder if justice was really done here today."

"Harry, no system is perfect," Hermione said, rubbing her surrogate brother's back. "Legally, she's not a child, but chronologically, she still is. She's certainly disturbed…"

"Disturbed? Mione, she's barmy," Ron exclaimed just above a whisper. "I'm with Harry. She needs to be locked up somewhere where she can't hurt anyone again."

"Or herself," Harry added sadly. "Her mind's been warped by pure evil, Hermione…"

"But that doesn't mean she's unredeemable…" Hermione started to argue, but Harry cut her off.

"Of course it doesn't and I wasn't going to even imply that. It's just that having that bastard in your head for a prolonged period does…things…that don't just fade away," Harry insisted. "Ginny and I were lucky. We had other support—other influence in our lives that kept us, well, sane."

"Ginny had a hard time of it, Harry. That whole summer after our second year, she had nightmares and kept mostly to herself. Mum took her to St Mungo's once a week to see a Mind Healer and they were able to sort her out…"

"She still has nightmares, Ron. They're just not as vivid—at least _those_ nightmares aren't," Harry said, realising as soon as he spoke that he'd said too much.

"What do you mean, Harry," Hermione asked. "What kinds of nightmares?"

"Hermione, I really shouldn't have said anything," Harry backtracked. "If Ginny wants to tell you, she will."

"Harry, are you sure? She went through a lot that year," Hermione insisted.

"Mione, I think it's more than that…isn't it Harry," Ron asked pointedly, his sapphire blue eyes locking on emerald green. "Stuff happened to her and the others while we were hunting Horcruxes, didn't it?"

"Ron…"

"Harry, I'm her brother. I have a right to know," Ron interjected. "And I know she's told you things."

"Bugger it all! I'm not going to go into it now, all right? It's just not my tale to tell," Harry said, frustrated. "I think I'm going to head back to the Burrow. Suddenly, I'm dead knackered," Harry said with a heavy sigh. "I'll catch you up later on, yeah?"

"Sure, mate. Do you need me to hang around," Ron asked, suddenly concerned. After what Harry went through the night before, he worried that his friend might have a relapse.

"Just make sure everyone's paperwork is up to date—including your own—and then check in with Dad," Harry replied. "Other than that, Seamus and Thompson are on duty until six, then Boot and Susan, followed by Cho and Tony on graveyard. It should be pretty quiet now that all this trial nonsense is over."

"Right then. Mione? Care to hang out with the long arm of the law this afternoon," Ron asked, waggling his ginger eyebrows. "I could make it worth your while…"

"Well, I-I guess so. But I need to duck into the RCMC Office for a bit. I start on Monday and I want to make sure I know where I'm supposed to be," she said with a pretty smile and a blush.

"Then you shall have an Auror escort, Milady," Ron assured her with a half-bow. "Allow me." He chivalrously offered her his arm, which she took with a slight curtsy.

"And a gallant Auror you are, sir," she giggled.

"I'm out of here," Harry growled with a smirk. "See you two at home later." Harry turned and made for the lifts, shaking his raven head in mock disgust. _Are Gin and I that sickening?_

Harry pressed the call button for the lift and waited for it to descend. He barely heard the female voice as it announced its floor, opened, and admitted him. Harry pressed the button for the Atrium and the gates closed with a clang. He thought again about the verdict and what possible repercussions DMLE might expect once the _Prophet_ printed it. He imagined rioting in the streets and then chastised himself for an overactive imagination. _Potter, your brain must've fried last night._

"Atrium," the female voice purred. Harry ignored it, exited the lift and walked swiftly to the Apparition Point. On his way, he acknowledged several greetings, including that of Eric, the wand checker.

"Have a good weekend, Chief Potter," Eric called.

"Thanks, Eric," Harry answered with a weak wave as he breezed by. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming need to get to the Burrow post-haste. _Get a hold of yourself, Harry, m'lad. It's not even noon yet._ The moment he passed through the door leading to the Apparition Point, he turned and vanished without so much as a pause.

hphphphphphphphphphphphp

"RCMC is on Level Four," Ron said as he escorted his fiancée toward her new department. "Do you know which division you'll be in?"

"No, I don't. That's what I'm hoping to find out by visiting today," she said. "I'm actually a little nervous. I've never had a job before—at least not out on my own. I mean, I've done babysitting, but…"

"Never fear, Love. You'll be brilliant," Ron assured her, pressing the button to summon the lift. "You're the brightest witch of our age, remember?" While they waited, he took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. "I love you, you know."

"I know. I love you too…" she replied, staring into the vastness of his eyes. "And you're no slouch yourself, you know."

"I owe what I am to you, Love," he whispered into her chestnut curls. "Only you."

She was about to reply when the lift arrived and opened to admit them. "Level Ten," the voice said. Ron pressed the button for Level Four and took Hermione into his arms once again. She rested her head against his broad chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. _I could stand here like this for hours, just breathing him in. Lavender Brown, eat your heart out._

"So what do you say," Ron asked. "RCMC, a quick bite in the cafeteria, and then dessert… in my office?"

Hermione broke from her reverie when Ron's deep bass hummed through his chest onto her face. She loved the tone of his voice, so warm and comforting. "Mmmmm, sounds yummy. Are all Aurors as smooth as you, Mr Weasley," Hermione flirted. _Or as yummy?_

"Nope. For all his fame and gold, Potter doesn't even measure up," Ron said huskily, capturing her lips once again. "I'm one of a kind."

"That, Assistant Chief Weasley, you are," Hermione agreed against his lips. She flicked her tongue across them as if to punctuate her last statement just as the lift ground to a stop.

"Level Four. Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," the voice said. Although no parchment aeroplanes had followed them into the lift, a couple dozen of them zoomed in as Ron and Hermione exited the lift car.

"Is it always like this," Hermione asked.

"Is what like what, Love?"

"Parchment aeroplanes darting everywhere. You've got one following you right now," she laughed.

"Unfortunately, yes. You ought to be trapped in the lift with them. They buzz around your head like Glumbumbles on nettles. It's enough to drive a bloke mad," he replied, suddenly annoyed with the offending projectile. Finally, he ducked in frustration, allowing it to zoom ahead, only to be replaced by a few others.

"At least excessively tall blokes," Hermione snickered. They walked on to the end of the corridor where they found a set of frosted double doors labeled DEPARTMENT FOR THE REGULATION AND CONTROL OF MAGICAL CREATURES, Main Office.

"Ah, here we are," Ron said brightly, opening the door for Hermione. "After you, my beauty."

"Chivalry is not dead," she giggled softly as she entered the office with her fiancé right behind.

There was a large mahogany desk that reminded her of the one in the Headmistress' office at Hogwarts. A middle-aged witch sat organizing a pile of parchment to file. Behind her, several interns swarmed about pulling, updating, and replacing dozens of files. The witch at the desk didn't appear to notice Ron and Hermione standing there, until Hermione softly called attention to herself. "Pardon me. I'm Hermione Granger…"

The witch started and then looked up from her work. "Oh! Goodness me, I didn't notice you there," she cried, clutching her chest. "Welcome, Miss Granger. And Auror Weasley! What brings you to our little corner of Paradise today?"

"I-I start on Monday and I…"

"…need to know where and to whom to report, am I right," the witch finished for her.

"Y-yes, ma'am," Hermione answered respectfully.

"Now, now, dear. None of that. I'm Selma. Selma Dorsett, Receptionist and Intern Keeper," she chuckled with a broad smile and a twinkle in her dark eyes, extending her hand to Hermione and then to Ron.

"Then it's Hermione and Ron, Selma," Ron replied. If this woman had red hair, she could have been easily mistaken for his own mother, such was her countenance and demeanour. _I'll bet she bakes biscuits and other goodies for the office._

"All right. Selma. So…any idea what I should expect on Monday morning," Hermione asked, now at ease.

"Chaos, no doubt," she replied with another chuckle. "There's never a dull moment in RCMC, dear, and Mondays are quite…_busy_." Selma had already risen from her desk and began to bustle toward the two young people. "Anyway, you're in luck. Mr Diggory is in his office and he'll be able to help you better than I can." She began to shepherd Hermione toward a side office to the left.

"Mr Amos Diggory," Hermione asked with a little trepidation in her voice. Her memories of the man were not exactly fond. After the disturbance at the Quidditch World Cup, he had been rather unkind to Winky, a frightened House-elf employed by the Crouch family. Diggory had all but accused her of stealing Harry's wand and casting the Dark Mark over the devastation. And just before the third task, she recalled how rude he'd acted toward Harry, which infuriated Molly Weasley.

"Yes, that's right. Is something wrong, dear," Selma asked guardedly. She knew that while Amos Diggory wasn't a hard man to get along with, he could be quite gruff, especially since the death of his only son, Cedric, a few years ago.

"Oh, n-no. It's just that I'd forgotten that Mr Diggory worked here. King—Minister Shacklebolt interviewed me, you see," Hermione explained.

"Well, I'm sure Mr Diggory will able to clue you in at any rate. I have no doubts he'll be impressed that you stopped by today to orient yourself ahead of time," Selma assured her. "Follow me."

Hermione allowed the motherly witch to lead her toward Amos Diggory's office. She looked back at her fiancé as if she would never see him again and mouthed, "_Wait for me?"_

Ron nodded his assent and leaned against the wall, crossed his arms and began to take in the office. He noticed how it was arranged and how the workers moved through it. He tried not to notice a few of the female interns stealing glances his direction. While the distant attention embarrassed him, he still liked the idea that he could turn a few heads without Harry anywhere near. _Not bad, Ron. Not bad at all._

Several minutes later, Hermione reappeared around the corner with Selma and made her way to the front of the office. Ron stood up to take her hand. "Thank you, Selma," Hermione said when she reached Ron's side. "I'll see you bright and early Monday morning."

"I'll be here," Selma said with a resigned sigh. "Have a nice weekend. Auror Weasley."

"Ms. Dorsett," Ron replied. He opened the door for Hermione and they stepped out of the office.

"Okay, why do I feel the need to protect you?"

"I'm in for a long haul, Ronald," Hermione breathed shakily. "Amos Diggory has got to be one of the snarkiest men I have ever met!"

"What happened?"

"Well, he welcomed me to RCMC of course, and then proceeded to inform me that I was to start at the bottom, Order of Merlin or not," she snarled. "Which is fine, but it's what he calls _the bottom_ that irks me."

"Okay…what's the bottom?"

"Being Division—Goblins and House-elves. _Damn_ him! Ron, you remember how he treated poor Winky at the Quidditch World Cup," she huffed.

"But Mione, that's perfect. You've always had a soft spot for House-elves, in general, and Winky, in particular. Think of the good…" Ron tried to encourage her.

"Yes, I know, Ronald, but just how much good is Diggory going to allow me to do? So far, all they do is shuffle the poor things around without much regard for their safety _or _well-being." Tears began to well up in her cinnamon eyes. "What they need is a defence, Ronald. They're treated as slaves and it's just not right."

Ron stopped her in the corridor and turned her to face him. "Hermione, we've been through this a dozen times, Love. You know House-elves need to bond to a family to survive."

"I _understand_ that. I do, but what I'm concerned with is how they're treated by the families they're bonded with. Look at what the Malfoys did to poor Dobby and…and how Barty Crouch treated little Winky. It's just wrong! It's cruel!"

"And that's where you come in, Love. Look, you're good with words. Draft a few proposals for some real regulation. If Muggles can protect animals, we should be able to protect House-elves. SPEW was a start, but now you're better-informed about House-elves and can do some real good for them. Call it _Dobby's Law _or something_._"

Suddenly, a broad smile lit up her face. "_Dobby's Law_…Ronald Bilius Weasley, you're a genius," she cried and kissed him full and hard on the lips. "Harry'll endorse it for sure and that'll—oh _Ron_! I want you _now!_"

Grabbing hold of her hand, Ron turned toward the stairs. He wasn't interested in waiting for the lifts. No, he would grant her wish with as little delay as possible. They raced up the four flights to the DMLE level, bursting into the corridor on their way to the office Ron shared with Harry.

With a swish of their wands and couple of muttered spells, the door locked and sealed itself against intruders, also blocking any noise from inside or out. Ron even thought to put up a repelling charm that would preclude any potential interruptions.

Hermione quickly transfigured the conference table into a full-size bed and threw herself into Ron's arms. In a trice, they had divested themselves of every stitch of clothing. The moment Ron picked her up, their frantic pace slowed and he gently laid her on the soft duvet with a tender kiss. "I love you so much," he whispered. "You're just so beautiful, Hermione."

"Show me," she breathed as a single tear stole down the side of her head into her wild curls.

Ron lay next to her on the bed and took her in his arms as though she were a precious and rare doll. For a mountain of a man, he could be incredibly gentle and with Hermione, he could be nothing else. She was his world, his reason for living. If it hadn't been for the brilliance and talent of the witch he now cradled in his arms, he might not be there in this moment.

He caressed every inch of her body, leaving tiny kisses in his wake. "My beautiful, beautiful goddess," he whispered as he worshipped her with his hands and mouth. "Have you any idea how much I love you?"

She moaned deeply, and without missing a beat, he rose up to balance himself over her, staring into her cinnamon pools. She shifted her body and legs to create a cradle for his hips in order to receive him completely. His sapphire eyes had darkened to cobalt with desire, her cinnamon eyes to chocolate. Their parted lips met and tongues began an impassioned tango as he slipped inside her. Together, they moaned their pleasure as Hermione wrapped her slender legs around his muscled torso. With a few languid strokes, they found their rhythm and began the ancient dance of physical love.

The moments passed into oblivion as they moved together, professing their undying love and passion for one another for all eternity between kisses. They gazed into one another's souls until a powerful force from within built to a blazing crescendo. They cried one another's names as a symphonic wave of love, lust, and desire crashed over them, driving them further into the depths until their bodies found sweet release. As they lay spent and panting, a bluish glow encapsulated them for a few seconds—unnoticed—and faded.

"Ron, I…that was…there are no words…"

"Shhh, Mione. Don't think. Just be, Love," he said placing his index finger against her lips. He couldn't find words either and decided that it wasn't really worth the search. Loving her was all that mattered and certain feelings simply have no words to describe them. He just wanted to hold her in the silence and share his energies, kissing and caressing her as she reciprocated.

They lay together in the transfigured bed for what seemed like hours, but they knew they would have to leave it soon before they were missed. A slight growling from Ron's stomach sealed the deal, so they reluctantly shared a gentle kiss before they climbed out of the bed and dressed. Hermione transfigured the bed back into a conference table while Ron removed the charms from the door.

"I'll be back in a few minutes, Love," he promised. "And then we'll have lunch with Dad and Percy, yeah?"

"I'll be here," she replied, checking her appearance in a small mirror she'd taken from her beaded bag. She still carried it underneath her robes. She had become so attached to it while the three were on the run, she just couldn't bring herself to give it up, ragged as it had become. Ron had chastised her several times before about it. In truth, it worried him that she carried it everywhere like a child would carry a security blanket. It didn't seem healthy to him.

"Mione, you really need to let go of that thing," Ron groaned.

"Why? It's useful. I can carry a lot of things in it and you never know what you might need and when," she argued.

"Then get a new handbag and charm it like you charmed that," he countered. "I mean, I'm not suggesting you throw it away, Love. I know what it meant to you—to us all those months, but it's time to put that all behind us."

Of course, she knew he was right, but she felt almost naked without it. She jumped a little as the office door opened and Ron stuck his head in. "Ready, Love? Dad and Percy said they'd meet us in the cafeteria."

"I'm ready," Hermione squeaked, tucking the beaded bag back into her robes, hoping Ron hadn't noticed it.

He held out his hand to her and she took it. As they walked toward the lifts that would take them to the cafeteria on Level Eight, the Atrium floor, she resolved to go into Muggle London on Saturday and pay a visit to Harrod's to purchase a proper handbag befitting a Ministry employee. But still a tiny voice niggled at the back of her mind. _Buying the new bag is one thing; using it is something else, isn't it?_

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A grim-faced group of men entered the Leaky Cauldron and took a table in the back of the inn as far away from other patrons as possible. Among them sat Alastor Gumboil and Arnold "Arnie" Peasegood.

"This is _outrageous_, I tell you," Gumboil thundered, slamming his fist on the table. "But isn't that just like the Wizengamot? Still mollycoddling Pureblood criminals!"

"But Alastor," Arnold interjected," She's just a girl of fifteen! Surely…"

"Fifteen or a hundred and fifteen, she knew what she was doing. A ruddy apprentice to that dark bastard, she is! Hell-bent to expose our world and destroy it in his filthy name," he snarled. "She should have had the _Kiss_, dammit, and nothing anyone—including Potter—can say to convince me otherwise."

"But what can we do now," another wizard asked as he took a swig of ale. "What's done is done. She's as good as a Squib now, and she's been sent back to her father. It's over."

"Over? Oh I think not, my friend," Gumboil replied with a smirk. "If I have anything to say about it, it's just begun."

"What are you saying, Alastor," Arnold asked his friend. "What recourse do we have?"

"Arnie, my friend, the Ministry has catered to Death Eaters and their Pureblood policies long enough. It's time for the majority of us to be heard," Gumboil declared. "I've given this a lot of thought and I've got an idea."

"I'm intrigued," another wizard answered. "What do you have in mind?"

"The Equality and Liberation Federation," he said proudly. "ELF."

"And what exactly does that mean," another asked.

"Simple. An advocacy group for the benefit of Half-blood and Muggleborn wizards and witches. For far too long, our Pureblood _brethren_ have treated us little better than House-elves. Our lot have been driven out of our own homes and into Azkaban by Pureblood fanatics who run the Ministry and more specifically, the Wizengamot."

"But Alastor, _you're _a Half-blood and _you're_ on the Wizengamot," Peasegood argued.

"Only because there was a spot left open by Death Eater scum and they needed a warm body to fill the spot. The Ministry appealed to me because of my DMLE affiliation, not because he felt I was particularly worthy." That was only half true. The Minister approached Gumboil due in part to his DMLE affiliation, but more importantly the veteran Hit-wizard had an outstanding record as a fair and conscientious law enforcement agent.

"If they just needed a warm body, why didn't they go to Arthur Weasley or Harry Potter," another argued.

"Arthur's a good man, but the Weasley family vault doesn't house enough Galleons to suit those money-grubbing fools, and Potter wouldn't touch politics with a 10-meter broomstick," Alastor snorted. "Besides, Arthur's Head of DMLE and quite happy there, while Potter's still saving the world from evil running the Auror Office with Arthur's youngest boy."

"_Humph_. There's no nepotism on Level Two is there," the first wizard snorted.

"Ah, but you forget," Gumboil said with an air of superiority, "That Potter is the richest and most-respected Half-blood in the world, and he's married to the only daughter of the most-infamous family of Blood-traitors in Britain. In addition, our esteemed Assistant Head Auror is engaged to marry the famous Muggleborn, Hermione Granger, the smartest and most-clever witch of her age!"

"So? Everyone knows this, Alastor. What's your point," Arnold pressed. "What interest does this hold for your proposed advocacy group?"

"Influence, Arnie. The Potters and the Weasleys hold Wizarding Britain in the palms of their hands. If we could get them on board…" What Gumboil couldn't admit was that he strongly admired the Weasleys for their loyalty and tenacity, Potter for his power and nobility, and Granger for her fantastic…brain.

"But _could_ you get them to join us," Arnold asked. "I mean, we're all with you, right?" The others nodded.

"It really doesn't matter if they openly join us or not. We appeal to them with our pledge to support and promote the advancement of the downtrodden Half-blood and Muggleborn. Hell, Arnie, Potter's third-in-command is a Half-blood Irishman. It's perfect!"

"Hey, I just thought of something," another man said. "Weasley's oldest boy."

"What about him? He's a Curse-breaker for Gringotts, right," Gumboil asked.

"Yeah, but that's not what's interesting. He's married to a quarter-Veela, Alastor. A Demi-human," he grinned. "If we want the Weasleys full-on, we need to appeal to Fleur Delacour-Weasley's _plight _in our society as well."

"Brilliant," the second man interjected.

"Yes…yes, that's good," Gumboil agreed, scratching a stubbly chin. "Good thinking."

"So what now?" Arnold Peasegood certainly agreed with the basic tenets of Gumboil's new organisation, but he was still a bit wary of its implications. Gumboil proved himself an agitator during the trial and had long been bitter about how he'd been treated by the Ministry over the years and especially during the war. All of them had seen rough treatment, but for Gumboil, it seemed more personal.

"So we draft a charter outlining our objectives, then create a Board of Directors and create a set of By-laws governing ourselves. Then we raise funds to support our efforts and go to work recruiting new members," Gumboil innocuously explained. "If we play our cards right, we might be able to establish ourselves as non-profit and escape a lot of Ministry sanctions."

"Well then," one of the other wizards said pushing his chair back, "I suggest we get to work."

"Where are you going," Gumboil asked him.

"Flourish and Blott's. We need parchment, ink, and quills. Call it my first contribution to the cause," he chuckled.

"Done. Meanwhile, I'll order us some food and drink as my first contribution," Arnold declared.

"Excellent, gentlemen," Alastor Gumboil grinned. "Let this be the death-knell for Pureblood tyranny."

"Hear, hear," the rest mumbled, draining their mugs. As the self-declared recording secretary left for Flourish and Blott's, Peasegood approached Tom with a massive food and drink order for the group. He returned with a bottle of Old Ogden's Best and a corresponding number of shot glasses to toast their new endeavour the moment their companion returned.

"To equality and liberation," Gumboil called.

"Equality and liberation," his friends replied. They all threw back shots until the bottle was empty and then they set to work hammering out their charter. By nightfall, ELF was born with elections to take place at the next meeting, which would take place at the Gumboil home the following Monday night.

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Harry made his way up the path to the Burrow, his thoughts still reeling with the events of the past week and the culmination of them that took place just an hour before. He opened the door and stepped into the deserted kitchen. "Molly? Anybody home," he called, but received no answer.

Since the door had been left unlocked, he drew his wand and carefully made his way throughout the house, inspecting each room for potential intruders. He then made his way through the back garden and down to the orchard, checking the chicken coop and the shed as he went. Still, nothing.

Satisfied that Molly must have just stepped out for a bit, he returned to the house to make some tea. As he passed the scrubbed oak table, he found a note from Molly.

_Dears,_

_I'm at Shell Cottage helping Fleur with Victoire, as she could use a bit of a break. There are plenty of leftovers in the cooling cabinet. I should be home late this afternoon when Bill gets home._

_By the way, Percy Flooed me with the verdict. I'm so glad that poor girl won't be Kissed or locked up in that awful place. I only hope they can find her the help she needs._

_Love,_

_Mum_

While his tea steeped, Harry rummaged around the cooling cabinet and found some leftover beef, a bit of cheese, and some bread rolls. He set to work assembling a couple of sandwiches when a welcome voice entered his head.

"_Harry…"_

"_Gin…"_

"_Look outside. There's something you need to see."_

"_I was just outside about ten minutes ago. There's nothing there."_

"_Humour me?"_

"_Okay, Love. I'm walking to the kitchen door right…now…"_

Harry burst through the door and tore off down the path to the edge of the Wards where the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen stood before his eyes. He skidded to a stop about ten paces from her. "GINNY! How…" He slowly approached her, not believing his own eyes. He reached out for her hand as tears began to fall down both their cheeks. "Oh, Baby…"

Ginny leapt into her husband's arms, pulled out the leather thong that held Harry's ponytail, and buried her face in his thick ebony locks. He wrapped his arms around her tiny body, waved his hand at the house, and turned on the spot. Seconds later, they appeared in a grassy clearing about a mile from the Burrow.

Still locked in an embrace, they fell to the ground laughing through tears and kissing furiously. "My Ginny. My sweet, sweet Ginny," Harry sobbed. "I wanted to die yesterday for need of your touch. I wanted you so badly in that courtroom…it was too much." He buried his tear-stained face in her luxurious locks of flaming hair, breathing in her scent of wildflowers and strawberries.

"Hold me, Harry. Hold me close," she sobbed in reply. "I was so scared. We promised never to close the bond and when I couldn't feel you, I thought I'd lost you. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't leave Holyhead."

"I know, Baby. I'm sorry. I didn't do it on purpose, I promise…" he cried, caressing her tear-stained face. He kissed the first wave of tears away to make way for the next.

"I know you didn't, my love. That's how I knew something was wrong. Gwen and Gwenog… Harry _hold me_!" She began to sob into his shoulder, still fisting handfuls of his hair. She couldn't believe she was in her husband's arms again after what felt like an eternity.

"I'm holding you, Gin, and I'll never let go," he promised desperately. He rained kisses all over her face and neck, running his hands up and down her back, pressing her body into his.

"I can't feel it! Harry, please…hold me!" She all but climbed his body in her furied attempts to meld her own with his. She captured his lips in a searing kiss full of longing and desire.

Harry opened the bond up as far as he could and let his love for her flow through like a dam bursting. If he held her in his arms any tighter, he'd have broken her. "I'm here, Baby. I'm holding you as tight as I can."

"I-it's not enough, Harry. I…" Suddenly they found themselves naked in the fragrant green grass holding desperately to one another. Ginny grabbed two handfuls of his hair and pulled him into another searing kiss, her tongue snaking around his in passionate need.

"I love you so much, Ginny," he whispered, trailing kissed down her neck to her chest and across each breast. "I need you, Baby. I've missed you so."

Grasping her wand, she cast a Notice-Me-Not charm around them and tossed it aside, clutching her husband's muscular body to hers. "Take me, then," she groaned. "Take me now!"

In one fluid motion, Harry positioned himself between her thighs and sunk himself deep into his wife's warmth. They moved together in athletic frenzy as fire coursed through their bodies and through the bond until they climaxed together as their love exploded over them like a volcano. Covered with sweat, they lay still and momentarily unconscious as the bond that sustained them through the hardest weeks of their lives strengthened again and drew them into its embrace.

"Harry?" Ginny's eyes fluttered open.

He lay beside her gazing down at her, having awoken only moments before she did. He lowered his face to hers and tenderly kissed her swollen lips, flicking his tongue as the kiss broke. "Yeah, Gin?"

"Where are we? What happened," she asked, a bit dazed.

"Home," he breathed against the graceful curve of her neck. "_Ionúin Bhaille_."

"What?"

"Ionúin Bhaille. It means _Dear Home_. This is where we're building our house," he explained, his face buried in her flaming tresses. "We made love and passed out for a few minutes. The French call it _Le Petit Mort—_the Little Death."

"I remember the lovemaking—you were brilliant—but we passed out? _Little Death?_ Harry, where do you get this stuff," she asked. "Since when do you speak Gaelic or French?"

Harry continued to stare at his beautiful bride. "Well, when I first heard the toasts Bill and Gwenog made, I kind of liked the sound of the words, so I had a chat with Seamus. It turns out he's quite fluent. He helped me come up with _Ionúin Bhaille._"

"It _is_ quite lovely. And the French…?"

Harry snickered and kissed her lips chastely. "I'll give you three guesses and two don't count."

"Fleur. So she told you about this _Petit Mort_ thing too," she asked slyly, running her hands across his defined chest.

He shuddered slightly and caressed her hip. "Well, yes and no. I heard her giggling with Angelina at the shop last week," he confessed. "She'd been telling Fleur something about fainting and Fleur said…well…"

"Fainting, in general, or just…" Ginny asked, her hand wandering further south.

"I'd like to think it means the kind of thing that just happened to us," Harry suggested. He leaned down once again and took her breast in his free hand. "And I wouldn't mind it happening again." He took her into his warm embrace and began to kiss her lips sensuously. She responded in kind and soon they were lost in one another's passion and desire once again.

Harry and Ginny decided to walk through the village of Ottery-St Catchpole back to the Burrow. There was no rush and it would allow Ron and Hermione some alone time without a houseful of activity to interrupt them. On the way, they stopped for an ice cream cone they could share as they walked arm-in-arm past the quaint shops that lined the walkway.

"Harry, what happened to dear Cousin Mafalda," Ginny asked. "I hadn't heard anything, since I left right after Chaser practice."

"They snapped her wand and bound her powers," Harry replied. "No Kiss—thank Merlin—and no Azkaban. They released her to her father's care."

"Oh. That's good, I guess. How did Mr Gumboil…"

"Not a happy camper, Gin. He and his cronies went spare after Kingsley handed down her sentence," Harry sighed, shaking his head. "But there was no violence, other than a few choice words."

"I was worried about you lot, you know," Ginny confessed. "I was afraid there'd be trouble and you and Ron and the teams would have to stop it. I was afraid you'd be hurt and…"

"No worries, Love. It's not like Ron and I would have stood alone. Between a dozen Aurors, Hermione, Kingsley, and most of the family, we'd have had the situation well in hand."

"You'd think I'd know better than to worry," she smiled. "But I do because I love you."

"I know, and it's your love that keeps me safe, Gin," Harry intimated with a kiss to her temple. "And my love keeps _you_ safe so _I_ don't have to worry."

"How is that you know just the right thing to say to me, Harry James Potter?"

"It's a gift," he replied with mock snobbishness and kissed her again.

As they approached the house, they heard voices from the kitchen. "Sounds like Ron and Hermione are home," Harry observed. "Stay behind me and we'll surprise them."

"Harry, I just remembered," Ginny said, slapping her own forehead. "I left my bag at the Apparition Point!"

"No worries, Love. I banished it to our room as we Disapparated," he assured her.

"You think of everything, Auror Potter. What would I do without you," she breathed.

"Probably go live with crazy Aunt Muriel and pine for me for the rest of your days," Harry smirked.

"I'd marry Goyle first," Ginny snorted. "No, I wouldn't. I'd pine…just not at Auntie Muriel's."

They stifled their merriment as they reached the door. Harry nudged her behind him. He opened the door to find his brother-in-law and surrogate sister seated at the table poring over what looked to be a book of some kind. "Oi, you two," he called to them. "What are you reading now?"

"Hey, mate. It's a book about House-elves. Hermione's been assigned to the Beings Division, more specifically, House-elves and Goblins."

"Right up your street, Hermione," Harry replied. "You ought to feel right at home." Harry tried to stifle his smirk, but it just wouldn't go away.

"It's not funny, Harry," Hermione huffed. "I have to work with Amos Diggory."

"Oh. My condolences then," Harry said, still smirking. He hadn't forgotten the man's disdain for what he considered _lower creatures_ and the way he treated Winky that terrible night at the Quidditch World Cup, among other things.

"Harry, why are you smirking like that," Ron asked, slightly irritated. "This is going to be hard on her you know."

"He's not smirking about that, you prat," a female voice called from the porch.

"GINNY!" Hermione launched herself out of her chair and ran to embrace her soon-to-be-sister-in-law. "How did you…What…"

"Simple. Gwenog talked management into giving me the weekend," she said as she moved to her brother and hugged him.

"Why? I thought training camp was closed and no one could leave unless there was an emergency…" Ron argued, but then stopped when he realised what really happened. "It was the bond, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Ginny confessed. "Sit down and I'll tell you." They all sat down at the table and listened while Ginny recounted the events of the day and night before.

"Blimey! So you were both in a right state at the same time, then," Ron asked to clarify.

"I guess so, mate," Harry said. "While you lot looked after me, the Harpies looked after Ginny."

"Well I have to admit, you look loads better today," Hermione assured him. "I mean, compared to last night, you're almost…normal."

"That reminds me. Fiona said she'd stop by later to look in on you," Ron told him. "She said so when she left last night. I just now thought of it."

"Oh good! I'd like to see her again," Ginny said. "Besides, maybe she'll let me help examine you." Her eyes took on a mischievous twinkle at the prospect.

"Gin, please. I just ate," Ron groaned.

"You always _just ate_. Prat."

"Witch."

"I love you, big brother," Ginny teased.

"Yeah, I've heard that before," he teased back.

"So…what's with the book, then," Harry asked.

"Well…I need to find out as much as I can about House-elves in general," Hermione explained. "I know now that most of them need to bond with a family to survive, but I need to understand them more before I can do what I hope to be able to do in RCMC."

"And that is…"

"Dobby's Law," Hermione said, looking Harry straight in the eyes.

"Dobby's Law? What do you mean by _Dobby's Law_," Harry asked. Whenever his little friend's name came up in conversation, his heart would break a little for his loss. Truth be told, as annoying as Dobby could be at times, Harry truly loved the brave little House-elf and missed him terribly. He owed the little fellow his life and the lives of his friends.

"I want to draft a few proposals that would regulate House-elf ownership, much like the Muggle RSPCA," she explained. "You know how the Malfoys treated Dobby and their other chattel. I want to ensure that House-elves are afforded the same protections Muggles offer dogs and cats."

"What's RSPCA, Hermione," Ginny asked, having little understanding of the Muggle world.

"It stands for the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals," Ron explained. "There are very stiff penalties for mistreating animals in non-magical Britain, so Hermione wants to see the same in Wizarding Britain for House-elves and other magical creatures wizards tend to mistreat and demean."

"Yes. All sentient beings deserve some modicum of respect. Since House-elves traditionally have no representation, like common house pets, they need the protection Dobby's Law would give them. Harry…"

"Hermione, you have my full support," Harry promised. "I'll do anything I can to help get Dobby's Law passed. It's the least we can do."

"This way, he'll never be forgotten," Ginny said wiping her eyes. "Dobby never knew how many lives he saved that night."

"Thanks, you two. I really owe you…" Hermione began, but Harry cut her off.

"You don't owe _us_ anything. This is for Dobby and others like him, Hermione, Harry insisted.

The four of them engaged in more discussion of Dobby's Law and its implications, and how Hermione should go about drafting it and eventually pushing onto the docket. "I'll have to be very careful how I write this," she said to no one in particular. "Those old goats on the Wizengamot love to tear bits of legislation apart looking for loopholes."

"How about Dad," Ron suggested. "He's been around those gits for years. He knows what makes them tick."

"That's not half-bad, brother-of-mine," Ginny replied. "If he doesn't know the answers, I'll bet he knows someone who does."

"Hey, Weasleys," George called. "I've brought the great white healer to check on our…GINNY!"

Ginny leapt from her seat and the table and threw herself into her brother's arms. "Hey, Georgie!"

"Uh…aren't you supposed to be in Wales right now, Gin-Gin," George asked, releasing her from his bear-hug.

"Special leave," she said, stealing a look over her shoulder at her husband. "They let me come home for the weekend for a…erm…family emergency."

"Well, it was some emergency, lemme tell ya, Gingerbread," Fiona smiled, giving her cousin a hug.

"Is he all right, Fiona? He isn't…" she whispered into her American cousin's ear.

"He's just fine, honey. Don't you worry. He was just over-stressed with the trial and all." The two women broke apart. Fiona removed her rucksack from her shoulder and crossed the floor toward Harry. "So Cousin Harry, how're ya feelin' this afternoon? Better?"

"I'm…was is it…fit as a fiddle," Harry grinned, his green eyes twinkling as he looked into his wife's eyes.

"Any headaches?"

"No, not since last night."

"Blurry vision?"

"Only when my glasses aren't on my face," he replied with a smirk.

"Dizziness?"

"He's always dizzy," Ron snorted.

"Ronald, stop it," Hermione giggled, nudging him in the ribs. "This is serious."

"No, this is Fiona, that's George…"

"Just curse me now," Harry groaned. The Sirius joke had been worn out over the past year, but since it had become such a part of their family dynamic, it was never marked as taboo.

"Idjits," Fiona muttered. "I'm surrounded by idjits."

"Welcome to the family, Cousin Fiona," George snorted. "This is normal everyday conversation."

"Face it, Fiona," Hermione interjected. "We're doomed."

"Yeah, but what a way to go," George snickered. "You know you love it, Granger."

"Shut it, you," Ron growled, winking at his fiancée.

Fiona poked and prodded Harry, checking his pupils and vitals. "Well, it looks like you are fit as that fiddle, Harry. But you did give us a right scare last night with all that…"

"With all that what," Ginny demanded. "What happened to him? Harry, what are you not telling me?"

"Gin, it's all right. I just had a bad day. I…"

"Harry, she needs to know," Hermione said, threatening lecture mode.

"Harry…?"

"I…I don't really remember much, other than I wasn't feeling very well after the trial. I…you testified, but I don't really remember what was said. All I knew was I could hardly breathe and that Ron, Hermione, George, and Bill sat with me. Then they took you out."

"We went for a drink, but Harry wasn't really there," George added. "We wanted to bring him home, but he wouldn't let us, because he had to be there for the afternoon session, since Hermione was set to testify and he wanted to be there for her."

"Y-yeah. I remember Hermione's testimony. Something about the rescue and the explosion…"

"Right, but they didn't ask for any specifics, thank Circe," Hermione added. "That could have been messy."

"After that…nothing. I woke up in our room with Fiona and Mum sitting there with me," Harry said, running his hands through his hair.

"So… Fiona, what happened that he doesn't remember," Ginny asked as she sat herself down in her husband's lap. She was worried. She knew what she had experienced the night before indicated that something happened to him. She ran her fingers through Harry's hair as a mother would do with a sick child.

"Well, Billy 'n' Ronnie brought 'im back here, then George Flooed me to come right off and to bring my kit along…"

"You and Bill carried me home," Harry asked incredulously. "I don't remember that."

"Yeah, mate. You were in a right state," Ron said, nodding.

Fiona, Ron, and George, and Hermione gave Ginny a detailed play-by-play of Harry's ordeal from the moment Bill and Ron arrived with him on. Ginny registered all of this in her mind and began to piece the story together, based on the telepathic conversation she and Harry had later in the night.

"_You didn't tell me this because you didn't remember it, did you?"_

"_Honest, Gin. This is all news to me."_

"So…then what," Ginny asked, still stroking her husband's hair.

"Well, Mum took a tray up with some supper for Fiona and a bit of broth for Harry," Ron reported. "Next thing I knew, Mum was shouting for us to come upstairs and for Kingsley to conjure a tub of cool water."

"He was delirious with fever—about 104 F. He kept calling for you…and his mother. Your Mum answered…" The raw memory brought tears to Hermione's eyes as she thought about how frightened she had been for her surrogate brother.

Fiona continued to explain to Harry and Ginny about the bath, how it worked and that it was a common home treatment Fiona had learned about as a little girl when Taya had come down with a fever. She remembered how Granny had drawn the cool bath and watched as her mother wrapped her sister's naked body in a sheet and placed her in the water until she shivered.

"Mum didn't want you to go to court today," Ron said shaking his head. "She was all set to Floo Kingsley and demand that you be excused. But since you were almost normal this morning, she decided to let it go."

"How long was I out of it," Harry asked.

"About four hours, give or take," Fiona replied. "Miss Hermione and me was talkin' about werewolves while you slept. We knew you'd come back to us when you sat up and bellered Ginny's name at the top of your lungs."

"_That_ I remember," Harry snorted.

"But…but he's okay, right," Ginny asked, not a little worried. "He…he's not really hurt or anything?"

"No, honey, he's fine," Fiona assured her. "His magic just shut his body down for a little while, that's all."

"_Just like I told you, Love. I'm fine."_

"_Okay, but we need to work on this separation thing."_

"Thanks, Fiona," Ginny said, coming back to herself. "Thanks for taking care of him when I couldn't. I owe you one."

"Girl, please. You don't owe me nuthin'. We're family," Fiona snorted with a blush. "Just doin' my job is all."

"Um…speaking of jobs…" George interjected.

"What," Fiona and Ginny asked together. All eyes turned to George.

"You have an appointment with Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey at Hogwarts, Miss Fiona Prewett."

"They'll see me," Fiona asked with a squeal.

"Ten tomorrow morning. You'll meet with both of them in McGonagall's office." George turned to his younger brothers. "You two care to tag along? I'm sure you'd like to visit your bed, Harry, and Ron never could get enough of the place."

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione burst into laughter. "_My_ bed? I have a personal bed now?"

"Harry, mate, you spent as much time in that accursed hospital wing as out of it," George howled. "Didn't you notice Pomfrey always put you in the same bed? I wouldn't be surprised if there's a little plaque on it!"

"Oh yeah. I can see it all now," Ron mused with an angelic smile. "_Harry Potter slept, bled, and grew an arm here_."

"Oh yes. It's now and forever the famous _Potter Bed_," Hermione giggled. "A true place of honour."

"Shut it, you tossers. Can you believe these people, Gin," Harry asked in imitation shock.

"But Baby, your own personal bed in the Hogwarts hospital wing! I can just imagine what they've done with your four-poster in the Gryffindor dorm." Ginny pressed a kiss into his forehead. "Imagine the lucky lad who scored that bit of history."

"Yeah, nightmares and all," Harry muttered. "Still…it was home for a few years, wasn't it?"

The kitchen rang with laughter and good-natured taunts as the six of them sat and sipped pumpkin juice and exchanged stories. Fiona told them about her mother and Granny Tyree back in Rook Holler, and about the people she knew there and what life was like. The hours passed quickly and soon they heard the back door open. "Anybody home," Molly called.

"Here, Mum," George answered, crossing the floor to help his mother with her bags and parcels. "Fiona just checked Harry over a bit ago. He's fine."

"Oh good. I'm so glad he's all right…" Molly stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of her only daughter perched on Harry lap.

"Hi, Mum," Ginny chirped, sliding off her husband's lap.

"Ginny! What happened? Why are you home? Are you all right dear," she cried, enveloping her daughter in a bone-crushing Molly Weasley hug.

"I'm fine, Mum, honestly. The Harpies gave me the weekend off," she said, stealing another look at Harry. "Special circumstances."

"I see. Is this about last night," Molly asked.

"Yes, Mum. It is. But it's okay. I didn't ask for the time off—Gwenog insisted. I had a rough time myself last night…"

"Oh dear. You sure you're all right? Harry had a rather rough go, you know."

"I know," Ginny said. "I heard all about it from this lot."

"Well, I think we should be thankful for our blessings and that this drama is passed, right children," Molly asked the group.

"Right, Mum."

"Of course, Molly."

"Sure enough, Aunt Molly."

"So…will you all be staying around for supper or do you have other plans," she asked hopefully.

"I dunno about this bunch, but I'm in," Fiona said, accepting her invitation.

"I don't think any of us have any plans," Hermione replied. "George?"

"I'll hang around if Angelina's invited," he replied in turn.

"Of course Angelina's invited," Molly admonished her remaining twin son. "She's as welcome here as anyone."

"Can I help, Aunt Molly," Fiona asked. "I make some pretty mean biscuits!"

"Biscuits?"

"Yes'm. I believe y'all call 'em _scones_. I'll just need some buttermilk, some flour, some shortnin', 'n' some bakin' powder…not to mention a bit o' water."

"The flour, shortening, and baking powder we've got. The buttermilk, however…"

"Oh that's no big deal. Got some milk 'n' a little vinegar," Fiona asked.

"Milk's in the cool cabinet—Harry's idea, you know—and vinegar's in the cupboard overhead," Molly replied.

"Then I'm all set. I'll jus' put a little vinegar in some milk and _badda-bing!_ Buttermilk!"

"I never thought of that," Molly marveled. "You must write that down for me and any other shortcuts you might know," Molly smiled conspiratorially.

"I know tons of 'em, Aunt Molly. Granny Tyree had a substitute for just about any missin' element," she assured her. "Except for potions. Ya cain't skimp on potions."

"Don't we know it," Ron said, shooting a glance at Harry and Hermione, who both snickered. Not that they had so much trouble in Potions class themselves, but their somewhat-clumsy and gentle friend, Neville Longbottom, could melt a cauldron in an ice water bath. And how many times did Seamus Finnegan singe his eyebrows or blow his cauldron to bits in class, driving sour old Professor Snape to madness?

"What was that, Ronnie, dear," Molly asked.

"Nothing, Mum. Nothing," Ron called over his shoulder.

After dinner, Arthur complimented Fiona's fine biscuits. "Fiona, those were wonderful! So you call them _biscuits_ in America?"

"Yessir, Uncle Arthur. We call 'em biscuits; our scones are sweet with raisins in 'em," she replied. "What y'all call biscuits we call _cookies_."

"What a cute word, _cookies_," Ginny said. "I think I like that better than _biscuits_."

"So then, Mrs Potter, are you going to bake some _cookies_ for me while you're home," Harry asked teasingly.

"All the cookies your noble heart desires, Love," she replied, gazing deeply into his emerald eyes. "But it'll cost you."

"Oh so there are strings attached," he asked with a smirk. "What, pray, tell, is your price?"

Ginny leaned over and whispered something into Harry's ear. She didn't really need to do that. She could've just sent it through their bond, but they wanted to keep that aspect private for a while yet.

Harry's face turned beetroot red as a heat rose from his belly to his neck. He swallowed as his wife's hand crept up his leg. "Erm…Gin, it's…uh…a beautiful evening. How about we take a walk to the pond?"

"Sounds like a winner to me," she replied. "Mum, leave the table. We'll clean up when we get back."

"No, no," Fiona interjected. "Angie and I can take care of it. Right, Ang?"

"No problem. You kids run along," she giggled, winking at George.

"Right, then. I think Ron and I should go upstairs and read a bit more of this book so I know what I'm doing come Monday," Hermione said rising from her seat. She nudged Ron. "Up you get."

"Stop right there, you two," Molly said. "We have a wedding to plan and only a couple of months to finalise everything. You two need to arrange your guest list so we can get those invites out within the next couple of weeks."

"Oh dear," Hermione gasped. "I'd completely forgotten about that! Molly, you wouldn't happen to have Harry's and Ginny's guest list would you?"

"I'm sure I have it here somewhere, dear. Why?"

"Well…it could make this much easier. I mean, their friends are our friends and…well, the only family I have is my parents. Our list should just about match theirs perfectly, with maybe a couple of exceptions."

"Yeah, like your new co-workers, 'Mione. I'm sure you'd like to invite Selma and the interns, not to mention the Diggorys." The borrowing of Harry's and Ginny's list was one of Ron's better ideas. After all, as an Auror, one learns the _KISS_ principle rather quickly.

Molly bustled into the sitting room and muttered as she rummaged through the old roll-top desk. "Where did I put that? I _knew_ I wanted to keep it for some reason." She rummaged about some more and then opened the bottom drawer. "Ah! Here it is," she cried triumphantly, waving the parchment above her head. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

"Mum, we're going to head out as soon as Onie and Angie are finished," George said. "Onie has an appointment at Hogwarts tomorrow morning…"

"How exciting! So you're going to work with Poppy, then," Molly asked.

"Well, I'll be more of an apprentice to her, I think, Aunt Molly," Fiona replied, "If she'll have me, that is."

"Oh she'll love you, dear," Molly said. "She's been doing that job for over forty years by herself and it's about time she groomed someone to take her place when she retires. You could probably teach her a thing or too as well."

"I surely hope so, Aunt Molly. I surely hope so," Fiona sighed as she rinsed and stacked the dishes for Angelina to dry and put away.

"You do fine, dear. I have no doubts," Molly assured her. "Do let me know as soon as you're finished, won't you?"

"I will do it," she promised.

"Now…about that guest list," Molly said, turning her attention back to Ron and Hermione. The three of them put their heads together while Fiona and Angelina finished their job and left the Burrow with George.

An hour later, the guest list was set. Ron retreated to the peace and quiet of the bedroom he shared with Hermione. Arthur and Molly couldn't very well deny them their co-arrangement after having allowed Harry and Ginny the same privilege. "Hermione, dear, we must invite your mother for tea next Saturday to discuss further wedding plans."

"Well, Molly, Mum and I have been talking a bit. Ron and I would like a wintery Christmas-themed affair. Mum has all the designs for the dresses. I think you'll like them. My dress is ivory and gold and Ron's robes are ivory and gold to match. We even commissioned rings that we designed ourselves? They're a beautiful Celtic knot motif in gold," Hermione told her.

"I'm sure they're lovely," Molly smiled back. "Hermione, you've been so good for my Ronnie. He's a different man. We were so worried about him because he kept so much to himself growing up. He got a bit better after he and Harry became best friends, but your influence has done wonders."

"Molly, Ron's only real problem was self-image. He constantly compared himself to his brothers, to Ginny, and worst of all, to Harry," Hermione sighed. "I had to convince him that he mustn't do that to himself. Each of his siblings has a special aspect to their personalities or a special talent. His just didn't manifest until the time was right."

"What did you tell him?"

"Well…I…I told him that he's special in his own way. I mean, Bill's talents lie in Charms and Transfiguration, so that's what makes him a crack Curse-breaker, and why he's so in demand as a Warder. Charlie's talents lie in flying and his way with animals, especially dragons, and that's why he's a top-notch Dragonmaster. Percy—well—Percy's talents lie in politics and administration, so he fits in at the Ministry, even though none of us has a clue what he really does. But whatever it is, he must be good at it if Kingsley kept him after…" Hermione stopped there for the moment. She didn't want to open old wounds.

"It's all right dear. I know what you mean. Go on," Molly encouraged her.

"Well, okay… F-Fred and George are pranksters with a talent for making people laugh. I mean, George is…"

"It's all right. Go on," Molly encouraged again.

"Well, they were—are—funny. But Ron seemed to always find himself in the background. What he didn't realise is that he's a—a _warrior_, Molly.

Ron's a loving friend, a loyal companion, a fierce fighter, and I must say a fine lover. He may have faltered a couple of times where Harry was concerned, but he was always at his side when Harry really needed him and he never left my side once we got past all the bickering and side-stepping in our relationship. While we were on the run, Ron covered Harry's back and did his level best to protect me when things got rough. Molly, Ron would die to defend his home and his family. As an Auror, he's amazing! He's virtually fearless! He's truly special, Molly. I love him so…so…_much_. He's so g-good to me, so gentle."

Hermione couldn't say any more at that moment. Her heart was so full of love and adoration for the man resting in their room upstairs she thought it would burst. Molly took her surrogate daughter into her arms and held her while they both sobbed.

"His father and I are so proud of what a fine man he's grown up to be: strong, but sweet and gentle; imposing, but kind and generous. His shoulders used to slump, but when you became the center of his universe, his whole demeanor changed. He walks about with a confidence such as I have never seen in even Bill. Ron commands respect now. Thank you, Hermione, for completing him. He loves you so."

The two women sat there together sobbing into one another's shoulders for love of Ronald Bilius Weasley. At the top of the stairs, tears flowed down a freckled face. Calloused hands wiped them away as they fell. _I never knew Mum and Dad were actually proud of me. Hermione truly does complete me and I swear to any god who's listening that I will live for her and do whatever it takes to make her happy._ Ron finally understood unequivocally that worth is not measured in money or fame, but in how much one loves and is loved by others. And that, Ron realised, made him a very wealthy man indeed.

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George, Harry, Ron, and Fiona Portkeyed to the gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Saturday morning. They arrived about fifteen minutes early to ensure they arrived at the headmistress' office on time.

If there was anything Minerva McGonagall couldn't abide, it was tardiness. Ron and Harry regaled her with the tale of how they'd gotten lost on their way to their first Transfiguration lesson and how stern Professor McGonagall had threatened to turn one of them into a pocket watch so they wouldn't be late again. But George assured her that for her crusty exterior, she was an old softy underneath.

"Miss Prewett, you may go up now," the gargoyle said. "The Headmistress is waiting for you."

"I didn't know that bloody thing talked," Ron said as they watched Fiona ascend the spiral staircase.

"Of course I talk, you great prat," the gargoyle snapped. "If those musty old paintings can prattle on and those marching tin cans can sing, I can ruddy well talk if I've a mind!"

"Sorry," Ron muttered. "No need to be so touchy."

"Come on, lads. What say we nick down to the kitchens and tickle some fruit while we wait," George suggested with a wink and a nudge. "Those House-elves must be dying to feed someone!"

"Besides, with school starting in a few days, it'll be a good practice run for them, hey Harry," Ron agreed.

"Sure. Why not? I'm feeling a bit peckish. Think they might fix us up with an ox?" Harry remembered the first time the twins encouraged them to go to the kitchens and visit the House-elves in fourth year. The twins had said they'd serve them an ox if they wanted it.

The three of them made their way to the kitchens where they found the painting of the bowl of fruit. George reached up and tickled the pear. It giggled and then opened to admit them. On the other side stood a dozen House-elves, resplendent in their Hogwarts tea towels, eyes wide, and smiles broad.

"It is the great Harry Potter, sir, and his Wheezies," the lead elf cried. "We is missing Harry Potter and his Wheezies at Hogwarts!"

"Uh…hi guys," Harry stuttered. It never ceased to amaze him how eager these gentle beings were to serve humans. For a moment, he felt a pang of sorrow for Dobby, who'd been so kind and loyal to him, even if his idea of loyalty nearly cost him his life on at least one occasion. But the quirky House-elf had saved his life twice. The first time, Dobby used his own brand of powerful magic to prevent Lucius Malfoy from casting the Killing Curse at Harry at the end of his second year after Harry tricked him into freeing Dobby from his cruel bondage. _You shall not harm Harry Potter!_ The second time, Dobby helped Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, Dean, and Mr Ollivander escape from Malfoy Manor the night Bellatrix tortured Hermione. That time cost the little fellow his life.

"What can we be doing for Harry Potter and his Wheezies," they asked in unison.

"Well, we sort of missed breakfast and…" Ron wasn't allowed to finish. The House-elves gathered around the three men and escorted them to a clean table, where they covered it with all manner of tasty dishes of eggs, ham, bacon, sausages, toast, jam, juice, milk, and Danishes. The three of them dug in, thanking the House-elves for their kindness as they ate their fill.

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"Miss Prewett," Professor McGonagall began, "Please, sit down. George tells me you're a Healer of sorts."

"Yes, ma'am. Of sorts. I was trained at home by my mother and Granny—Eula Mae—Tyree in Potions-making, Herbology, and general First Aid. She was the local Healer," Fiona answered politely, doing her best not to sound like a country bumpkin.

"You're an American…from the south, I presume?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm from western North Carolina. A little spot near Linville called Rook Holler. It's a magical community, but Granny tended to Aints—er, Muggles—too. Everybody came to Granny Tyree when they were sick. She was the best, ma'am. She and my momma taught me well." Fiona was nervous, which in her opinion, was a good thing. If she didn't have butterflies in her stomach for such things as this, she knew she was in trouble. This was a good sign.

"Aints. Interesting word," McGonagall said thoughtfully. "I'm just curious. Why _Aints_?"

Fiona smiled and allowed a little chuckle to escape. "It's somethin' characteristic to our Holler, Professor. It means _ain't magical._ In Rook Holler, you're either magical or you ain't."

"Ah. Colloquialisms."

"Yes, ma'am."

There was a knock on the door that caused Fiona to jump a bit. "Come in, Poppy, and meet Miss Fiona Prewett. She's Molly's niece from America—Fabian and Rhiannon's girl."

"Is this… Oh, Minerva! Is this one of those beautiful twins I delivered twenty-one years ago. Oh dear, this is a treat indeed!"

"Fiona, this is Poppy Pomfrey, the Matron here at Hogwarts," she said with a repressed grin.

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Fiona said, taking the older witch's hand.

"Not at all, dear. I was so sorry to hear about your mother. Rhiannon was a lovely girl. Sang like an angel, as I remember," Poppy gushed. "To what do we owe this visit, then?"

"Poppy, Miss Prewett is looking for a job—an apprenticeship as a Healer. She has a very strong background in folk healing and potions. Perhaps you could take her on and complete her training. Goodness knows that ever since Harry…" McGonagall was cut off by her colleague.

"Oh Minerva, of course! I could surely use the help. And you're right about Harry. Ever since that boy turned this school upside-down with his Quidditch antics and his wild adventures, young wizards parade through my wing in droves, bearing injuries from trying to emulate our Head Auror's exploits."

"Thank you, ma'am. Cousin Harry _is_ somethin' else," Fiona agreed.

"I heard about the other night," McGonagall said guardedly. "Is he..."

"Fine as frog's hair. Fit as a fiddle, as Harry put it," Fiona replied.

"Feeling better? What has Mr Potter gotten himself into this time," Poppy asked, looking between Minerva and her new apprentice.

Fiona explained the harrowing events of that Thursday night, and what caused Harry's collapse.

"Great Circe! That might have been fatal! What did you and Molly do for him? Pepper-up? Some restorative," Poppy asked.

"No'm. No potions at all. We put him in a tub of cool water to bring his fever down, then put him in some warm pyjamas and put him to bed. By yesterday mornin', he was fine. This mornin', he's even finer. It seems Ginny had some kind of breakdown and the Harpies sent her home for the weekend." Fiona allowed herself another giggle. "He's fit as a whole orchestra o' fiddles today!"

"Well. A cool bath, you say? Minvera, I think we need to requisition a few bathtubs for the infirmary. Miss Fiona, you've got yourself a job," Poppy said. "Anyone who can save the life of Harry Potter is well worth an apprenticeship in my hospital wing any day!"

"Oh thank you, Miss Poppy—er Madame Pomfrey! Thank you so much," Fiona cried. "I won't letcha'll down, I promise!"

"I'm sure you won't dear. Minvera, I think Miss Prewett here should ride in on the Express Wednesday. What do you think? I mean, the students can get up to some things on the way," Poppy reminded the headmistress.

"I think that's a fine idea, Poppy. Fiona, the Hogwarts Express leaves Platform 9 ¾ at precisely eleven o'clock. I'm sure your family can get you there with no trouble," Professor McGonagall told her.

"Yes, ma'am. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are going to the station to see some students off. I'll just arrive with them," Fiona assured her. "Thanks again, Professor. Madame Pomfrey."

"Please, call us Minerva and Poppy, Fiona. Welcome to Hogwarts." Both women shook Fiona's hand and Poppy escorted her out of the office and down the steps to the corridor below.

"Now where did those boys get off to," Fiona asked out loud.

"Oh well, if it's Harry and a Weasley or two, I can tell you where they are. The kitchens," Poppy laughed. "Follow me."


	8. Chapter 8 Bestlaid Plans

**Chapter 8 – Best-laid Plans**

Hermione, Molly, and Arthur sat at the breakfast table still sipping tea after Harry and Ron left the Burrow for Hogwarts with George and Fiona. Ginny was still upstairs asleep after a long night with Harry that kept them up until the wee hours of the morning. Nobody saw fit to wake her, as she could be grumpy as a Griffin when awoken from a deep sleep.

Right on schedule, a brown owl swooped in through the window and landed in front of Hermione to deliver the _Daily Prophet_ as it had done every morning for the past two weeks. Hermione placed two Knuts in the owl's pouch, gave it a bit of toast, and it flew off again.

"So Hermione, what do our esteemed _Prophet_ court reporters have to say about the verdict," Arthur asked, munching a bit of toast between sips of tea.

"I can just about imagine," Molly muttered. "Although they _have_ been rather good about reporting the facts since Harry and Kingsley set them straight."

"Yes, but will it last," Hermione asked rhetorically. "They've certainly had fun with the trial."

"Well, let's hear it then," Arthur coaxed.

"_No Kiss - Wand and Wizengamot Snapped"_

"Witty headline," Molly muttered into her tea. "Go on, dear."

_"Yesterday, the Wizengamot found Mafalda Prewett guilty of all charges and sentenced. Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt snapped her wand himself and declared her magical powers to be bound for no less than fifty years. The sentence was carried out immediately by an Untouchable from the Department of Mysteries, leaving Mafalda Prewett essentially a Squib. According to Minister Shacklebolt, she and her father have been placed in a new home under a strong Fidelius Charm protected by the DMLE in conjunction with the Auror Office to keep them safe from any hostile element that might seek revenge."_

"Arthur, is that true," Molly inquired of her husband. "The boys didn't mention it…"

"Yes, Molly. It's true. There are two DMLE Troopers per six-hour shift and Auros assistance if needed for now," Arthur explained. "Harry and I set them in a rotation so no one gets bored."

"Ron didn't mention it to me, either," Hermione confessed. "Were they supposed to keep it quiet, Arthur?"

"More or less, yes," he replied. "We weren't to say anything about it until the press release."

"Oh, well I guess that makes sense," Molly said. "Otherwise you three might have told us that part."

"That's the only reason we didn't, dear. And besides, we've had some excitement of our own around here to keep our minds busy, haven't we?"

"That's the truth," Hermione said. She shook the newspaper and looked up at her surrogate father. "Shall I?"

"Yes, please do," Arthur said, pouring more tea for himself and the ladies.  
_  
"Opinions of the outcome among members of the Wizengamot and the Wizarding community at large are very diverse, and have even been reported to lead to several loud discussions in area pubs and various break rooms inside the Ministry, although no violence or arrests have been reported."_

"Is it that bad," Molly asked her husband.

"Not really, my beauty," Arthur said soothingly. "They're making more if it than the reality."

"How so," Hermione asked.

"Well, there have been some high-handed opinions flying around the cafeteria—mostly Gumboil's lot—but there haven't been any real fights or anything."

"And the pubs," Molly asked.

"I had to send a couple of my people to the Hog's Head to quell a small disturbance, but that was mostly alcohol doing the talking and the gentlemen involved were separated and taken to their homes," he assured her. "They even went peaceably. Ab Dumbledore may not mind a rough crowd, but he won't stand for trouble."

Hermione listened to Arthur's account of the events and decided not to question him further. After all, he was the Head of DMLE. What was there to doubt? If there was more to it, he would've said so. She rattled the newspaper again to regain the elder Weasleys' attention.

"Oh! Sorry, Hermione, dear. Do read on," Molly encouraged with a wave of her hand.

"_Several members of the Wizengamot openly agree with the Minister. "She is, after all, only 15 years old. Even if she's legally emancipated, I see her as another victim of Voldemort and for that she should not be punished. Howeve,r she should be punished for the serious crimes she's committed. The binding of her powers is indeed a severe punishment," one wizard of the Wizengamot asserts._

"Harry doesn't think it's enough," Hermione said sadly. "He said after court yesterday that he wondered if justice had really been done."

"Is that so," Arthur asked. "And what does he think should have happened, then?"

"He thought she should have been incarcerated…"

"In _Azkaban?_ Certainly Harry didn't mean…" Molly cried in shock.

"No, no. Not Azkaban. He thought she should be placed in St Mungo's _psych ward_, as he called it," she interjected. "He believes her mind was so grossly twisted by Voldemort and what he taught her and that she couldn't be held completely responsible for her actions."

"Well, I don't think anyone with a brain in their heads would argue with that," Arthur agreed. "She could hardly be considered sane, considering the damage she wanted to do our community. But still and all, snapping her wand and binding her powers was a good idea."

"Oh nobody's arguing that—except maybe Gumboil and his lot," Hermione hastily agreed. "It's just that it's only a temporary fix. It's not going to fix her mind…if it can be fixed at all. It's just going to leave her magically powerless until she's sixty-five. Nothing more. She'll just fall deeper and deeper into madness if she doesn't get help."

"Well I must agree with Hermione, Arthur. And evidently Harry," Molly added.

"And Ron," Hermione corrected her.

"Right. Is there anything more that can be done to that end, Arthur," Molly asked.

"I don't know, Molly. The sentence is what it is and has been carried out. It's out of the court's hands now, unless she does something else. But what that might be is a mystery," he replied, shaking his balding and greying head. "She and her father are to be escorted everywhere they go."

"Is there more, dear," Molly asked.

"Yes. A bit."

"Then by all means," Arthur allowed.

"_Other members were openly outraged. According to the most-outspoken advocate in favour of the Kiss, Hit Wizard Alastor Gumboil, asserts that "This so-called punishment is nothing short of scandalous. It all but invites Pureblood lunatics to carry on the madness of Voldemort and his apprentice, but the Kiss would have discouraged them outright. I will suggest several courses of action for the Squads, Hit-wizards, and Aurors to our department Head, Mr Arthur Weasley, to keep our community safe from dark wizards, and as ever, I will keep working for the safety of every Muggleborn in Britain."_

"That's a nice sentiment," Hermione said. "But just Muggleborns? What about Halfbloods? What about Wizarding society, in general. After all, nobody was truly safe under Voldemort. Nobody!"

"It seems Mr Gumboil's passion almost rivals that of the Purists, doesn't it," Molly surmised. "I mean, Voldemort's people were all about the Purebloods in our society, and it appears that Mr Gumboil's all about Muggleborns. Neither seems to be interested in Magical Britain as a whole."

"You know, Molly, that's quite an observation," Arthur said nodding his head. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Gumboil might be trouble," Hermione observed. "I mean…"

"I don't think so, Hermione," Arthur interrupted her. "He's a conscientious law-enforcement agent. A Halfblood, yes, but good at what he does. He's fair to boot. I can't see him doing something like you suggest."

"What did Hermione suggest, dear," Molly said defensively. "All she said is that he _might_ be trouble, not that he is."

"Well, I think we'll have to take a wait-and-see attitude on that," Arthur said, placing his cup on its saucer. "He's just blustering at this point and goodness knows there's a load of that in this very house on a daily basis."

Molly and Hermione had to laugh at that because it was true. Between Harry's brooding, Ron's ranting, and Molly's screeching, the Burrow was never quiet. Then with George banging through with some new prank or pranking device, there was rarely a dull moment. Now, with three lawmen in the house, life would just get more interesting. And then there was the wedding hubbub mixed in for good measure.

Deciding not to comment further, Hermione rattled the paper one last time, cleared her throat to focus everyone's attention, and finished the article.__

"Without jumping to too many conclusions, it's safe to say that Blood Purity and Crime and Punishment will be issues of great importance, since there are several elected Wizengamot seats being up for grabs later this autumn."

"Do you think that the elections can be influenced by the trial," Molly asked. Having been raised in a traditional Pureblood home and having established yet another traditional Pureblood home, she didn't really have time to contemplate political manoeuvring and all the propaganda involved in it.

"Oh yes," Hermione replied before Arthur had a chance. "Politics are driven by current events, the economy, potential reforms…" _Reforms. Dobby's Law. You might have a brand-new Wizengamot to present your own reforms to, Hermione. Opportunity's knocking._

"Honestly, I've spent so much of my life learning to be a good wife and mother, I never really considered how much I've missed," Molly realised. "I think I need to pay more attention to those current events and less attention to _Witch Weekly's_ mindless prattle about who's got the brightest smile—my Ronnie—and who's the most handsome wizard—my Harry—and…"

Hermione and Arthur laughed at and with Molly, not for her ignorance, but for her ability to recognise it and want to do something about it in her own unique way. "So does that mean you'll be cancelling your subscription," Arthur asked with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

"Well… I wouldn't say that. _Witch Weekly_ does have some redeeming qualities," Molly demurred. "There are some nice household tips and some lovely recipes."

"Molly, there isn't a household tip in that magazine you don't already know and Merlin knows you're the best cook in all of Christendom," Hermione laughed. "I think you should be writing a few of those columns yourself."

"Christendom," Arthur asked askance.

"It means the Christian world. It's a Muggle term," Hermione explained. "The point is that Molly's a magnificent cook and the best housekeeper I've ever seen. She could be the editor of that stupid rag and make it something truly valuable."

"Oh Hermione, please," Molly said, blushing and waving her off. "I'm no writer! I'm a housewitch and mother."

"That doesn't mean anything, Molly. You're a wealth of advice and information," Hermione argued. "You could even write some really useful articles for Teen Witch Weekly." She held up her hands to fend off any argument from the older witch. "I mean it! I've seen Ginny's back issues and they're full of syrupy tripe! A lot of teenage mooning over Harry or what they wanted to make of Harry, Viktor Krum, and any other male celebrity that would attract a teenage girl's attention. Not to mention the stupid love quizzes that are as productive as the Giant Squid teaching Transfiguration."

Laughing uproariously, Arthur excused himself from the table to disappear into his shed for the rest of the day. "If you'll excuse me, ladies, I believe I'll leave you to your discussion." With a formal nod to his wife and almost-daughter-in-law, he walked out the door, still shaking his head and chuckling about squids teaching magic.

"Oh I know about that nonsense. But I ate it up as much as Ginny when I was her age. Of course the objects of our unrequited attention were different, but…well, you're right about the quizzes anyway," Molly admitted. "But _Witch Weekly_, Hermione. Do you really think…"

"Don't they have contests that encourage their readers to submit articles or recipes," Hermione asked. Plenty of Muggle women's magazine held those kinds of contests with monetary or merchandise prizes for the winners. Why not Wizarding women's magazines too?

"Of course, but I've never…"

"Molly, you should! What have you got to lose? Honestly, you're a really awesome witch! You should give it a try," Hermione insisted.

"You know what, Hermione? You're right! I'll enter the next contest, but if it's an article, I might need some help…"

"I'd be glad to help you with it, but I don't want any of the credit. All I'll be is a proofreader. The content is all your own," Hermione agreed.

"Done!" The two of them cleaned up the breakfast dishes, laughing and talking together when Ginny came trooping down the stairs.

"G'morning, Mum. Morning, Hermione," Ginny said wearily, flopping into her chair at the table. "Is there any coffee? I need coffee."

"I'll make you some, dear," Molly cooed. "Had a rough night?" Molly and Hermione looked at her with knowing smirks on their faces. There wasn't a single inhabitant of the Burrow who didn't know about Harry's and Ginny's marathon nights. Not that the couple were exhibitionists, but their bond caused all manner of oddities in their marriage, among them an undying intense love and devotion for one another with a libido to match. The evidence of one of those nights sat at the scrubbed oak table with her bright red hair flying all over her head.

"Rough? You have no idea," Ginny groaned, trying to ignore the smirks and the chafing between her legs. But then she smiled, mostly to herself, and stole a look at her mother and her best friend. "And I'm not going to tell you either."

"We don't want to know, Gin, trust me," Hermione said with a giggle.

"Speak for yourself," Molly laughed. "Spill it, daughter."

"Sorry, mother dear. As Harry would say, _that's classified and if I told you, I'd have to kill you_."

"Harry would never say anything like that, Ginny! And it's hardly classified information…"

"Well, actually Harry _would_ say something like that, Molly. Ron…erm…well, he says it too, sometimes," Hermione confessed. "But it's all in fun. Neither of them would ever _kill_ anybody."

"Ginevra Molly Weasley," Molly began as if to launch into one of her infamous tirades.

"Potter. The name's Ginevra Molly _Potter_, Mum," Ginny corrected her. "And I'm not going to discuss the physical aspects of my marriage with anyone other than my husband. Mum, really!"

Molly had another epiphany that morning. Her babies, all of them, were grown up and building lives of their own and what they did in their respective marriages and marriage beds was none of her business. It was time to cut the apron strings and turn Ron and Ginny loose once and for all.

"I'm sorry, Ginny. I only just realised that you're all grown up and married…and…" Molly wiped at her eyes with her apron.

Ginny leapt to her feet and ran into her mother's arms. "Mum, I know this is hard for you. You've spent most of your adult life raising us. You've been in almost every moment of our lives and now that's all changed. But it's okay. I promise if I never have need for your advice—and I'm sure I will—I'll come to you post-haste, okay?"

"That goes for me too, Molly," Hermione added. "I mean, I know I have my mum and all, but she doesn't understand our world."

Molly collected Hermione into a three-way mother-daughters hug. The three women clung to each other in mutual support and a form of sisterhood only witches can share. "There now," Molly said, sniffling and wiping her eyes. "It's rather late for breakfast, but the boys should be home soon and they'll be hungry."

"They're not back from Hogwarts yet," Ginny asked, looked back and forth between Hermione and Molly.

"Not yet, dear," Molly replied with a smile. "And that's a good sign that Fiona just might have impressed Minerva a Poppy enough to land that job as Healer's Apprentice."

"Oh, I hope so! She's obviously good at what she does! She took care of Harry," Ginny enthused. "He might've died…"

"Now, now, dear," Molly chided. "Don't get yourself all worked up into a state. I'm sure Harry would be quite upset if he were to come home to find you in a dither."

"I-I know, Mum. I'm not upset. It's just that…well, it was scary to hear about that and I wasn't here—physically—to help him. I mean, it was because of me…"

"Gin, it wasn't because of you. It was the situation. If there's any blame to be assessed, it would be on the Harpies and the Ministry," Hermione explained. "If the Harpies hadn't been so ridiculously adamant and the Ministry hadn't been so lame, that might not have had to happen."

"Well, it's done and can't be helped," Molly said. "Harry's all right, you're all right, and the Harpies have obviously seen the error of their ways. Now, how about some lunch, yes?"

"Sure, Mum. What can we do to help," Ginny asked, now smiling brightly again.

"Gin, how about you go upstairs and sort yourself out. You're a mess," Hermione suggested. "Your smile is lovely, but you have dragon breath and your hair's a doxy's nest."

"Oh shit! I can't let Harry see me like this today," Ginny cried and ran for the stairs. "I'll be down in a tick!" Ginny raced up the stairs to their bedroom, grabbed some clean clothes and her kit from her Harpies team bag and threw herself into the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, she descended the stairs and presented herself to her mother for further instructions. Her timing was impeccable. It wasn't more than five minutes after that that Harry, Ron, George, and Fiona appeared at the edge of the wards and made their way to the house, Fiona at a dead run and the boys at a sort of odd waddle.

"I'm in! I'm in," she shouted at the house. She tore open the kitchen door and flung herself into her aunt's arms. "Aunt Molly, Miss Poppy liked me!"

"Of course she liked you, dear" Molly laughed, fiercely hugging her late brother's daughter to herself. "Was there any doubt?"

"Mum, we told Onie while we were waiting that they'd love her," George said breathlessly. He, Ron, and Harry held their bloated bellies as they fought to catch their collective breath.

"Onie," Ginny asked. "_Onie?_"

Fiona, now free of Molly's arms looked over her aunt's shoulder to her youngest cousin. "Onie's my nickname from back home, Ginny. Short for Fiona. We call my sister, Gallatea, _Taya_."

"I got that out of her one night after a particularly long day," George said with an impish grin.

"Ah, but you have yet to discover my many hidden secrets, Cousin Georgie. Why I'm plumb full of 'em!"

"So…" Hermione began. "When do you start? When do you have to be there?"

"Oh! Um…well, I start on Wednesday. I'm supposed to ride in on the Hogwarts Express."

"Fiona, you're going to love that," Hermione gushed. "I'm jealous already!" Hermione loved that train, and even though some rather unsavoury things happened on it over the years, most of her memories of it were fond ones. She met Harry and Ron and many of their friends on that fateful first of September eight years before and puzzled out several mysteries that had led to their many adventures in what had become their compartment at the rear of t he train. She didn't realise at that moment that a tear or two had stolen down her cheek.

"Yeah, I wonder who's going to take over our compartment," Harry mused.

"Is there really any doubt," Ginny asked with a giggle. "The Munchkins!"

"Munchkins," Fiona asked, her eyes moving between the two couples.

"The Prewett twins, Patricia Templeton, and an aspiring Harry Junior," Ron said with a grin.

"Harry…_what?_" Harry raised questioning eyebrows at his best mate. "Joseph Pointer is hardly _me_ Junior, Ron. He doesn't even _look_ like me!"

"That's not the point, mate," Ron countered. "He bloody worships you and wants to _be an Auror just like Mr Harry_," Ron quoted. "You notice he didn't say say _Mr Harry and Mr Ron_."

"He sounds perfectly adorable," Molly said with an impish grin. "Was he the young man at the wedding with one of the twins?"

"The same, Molly," Hermione answered. "The twin on his arm was Emma. Erica has a thing for Ron, so any young man with designs on her has some rather big shoes to fill, I'd say."

"In more ways than one," George comment with a snort.

"Shut it, you," Ron snarled over a chuckle he couldn't contain.

"Well, whatever. I'm jus' excited about this whole deal," Fiona declared. "I git to ride that train like my momma 'n' daddy 'n' ya'll did. It'll almost feel like…like I'm part of it all, ya know?"

"Fiona, there's only one thing we need to do before you go," George announced.

"What's that," she asked, a bit bewildered. "I'm only ridin' it in an official capacity. Miss Poppy and Miss Minerva thought it'd be a good idea ta have a Healer on board just in case, that's all."

"Oh, but that's just a formality, dear cousin. There's something very important that we need to do and it's going to involve a few of our friends," George said with a twinkle.

"George Gideon Weasley, what are you up to," Molly demanded with her hands on her hips and her eyes glaring suspiciously.

"Nothing bad, Mum, honest," George replied defensively. "It's a good thing, really. In fact, you and Dad are definitely included! Harry, Ginny, Ronnie, Hermione—upstairs. We've got some work to do."

The siblings followed George upstairs to his old bedroom while Molly and Fiona stood there completely dumbstruck. "What are they up to, Aunt Molly," Fiona asked with a little trepidation.

"I don't know, dear, but if they plan to include your uncle and me, then it can't be anything to worry about," she replied. "And speaking of your uncle, let's get lunch on the table, yes?"

"Yes, ma'am. What can I do to help?"

A half-hour later, Molly called the plotters to lunch. Although the boys had eaten their fill at Hogwarts, Ron was already in his seat dishing up his plate. Harry only stared at him in utter disbelief. He'd just watched Ron devour three helpings of the wonderful Hogwarts breakfast provided by the House elves not two hours before and marvelled at how the man could eat again so soon. Harry settled for some buttered bread and pumpkin juice, while George ate only a sandwich.

"Harry, are you all right," Ginny asked, running her hand along his thigh. "You're not eating much and I know…"

"I did have breakfast, Love, and I'm fine," Harry assured his wife. "While Fiona had her interview, we nicked down and tickled a pear."

"No wonder the three of you were out of breath and holding your stomachs," Hermione observed. "You're stuffed!" She cast a sidelong glance at her fiancé and couldn't stifle the little snort that escaped her. "Well, except Ron anyway."

"Hey, I'm a growing boy," Ron said in mock defence. "I…"

"You have a hollow leg," Fiona interrupted him. "And if you keep it up, yer gonna be growin' in more ways than one!"

The entire table erupted into laughter when the Floo turned green and whooshed and Charlie came into the room. "Are we in time for lunch," he asked, searching the table.

"Certainly, son. Certainly," Arthur replied. "Have a seat and help yourself!"

"Charlie," Ginny cried. "Oh Charlie!" She jumped from her seat and threw herself at her older brother with great force.

"Hey, Ginny-bear! Nobody told me you were home! Aren't you supposed to be…"

"In Wales, yes, but the Harpies gave me the weekend off for family reasons," she told him. She wasn't sure if Charlie knew about Harry's collapse.

"Ah. Yes, I heard about the other night," he said, picking his sister off the floor and squeezing her. He set her down with an exaggerated kiss to her forehead. "All right, Harry?"

"Hey, Charlie. Yeah, I'm good," he replied, shaking his brother-in-law's hand.

"So, Hermione, you're joining us in Paradise, are you," Charlie said to Hermione, sitting down opposite her.

"Yes, but I dare say in a less-interesting capacity than you," she sighed. "Beings Division. House elves and Goblins."

"Oh you'll be brilliant, Love," he grinned. "Aren't you all about House elves?"

"Yes, she is," Ron said, coming to her rescue. "And she's already researching some things for some legislation she wants to draft too."

"Ronald," Hermione began. "Let's not go on about that right now. Charlie, I'm sure you'll hear all about it in the not-too-distant future. But for now, let's say that I'm just doing some research and leave it at that."

"Whatever you say, Brown Eyes," Charlie said, filling his plate. He smirked as his youngest brother put a protective arm around her and kissed her temple, and then returned to his meal.

"I'm sure Hermione will tell us when she's ready," Arthur interjected. "After all, she is the brightest witch of her age and I have no doubt she knows what she's doing."

Hermione gave her surrogate father a grateful smile. She really didn't want to go into her plans yet because they were still in the research stages and she wasn't sure how long it would be before she could begin drafting her proposal. She didn't want to go spouting off before her first day, but she was gratified to know that her family would support her in what was going to prove to be a daunting project.

After a quick bite, Charlie Flooed back to the wildlife preserve and Arthur returned to the shed while Molly, Ginny, and Hermione cleared away. George and Fiona left for the shop, having thanked Molly for a tasty meal and an admonition to Ron and Harry to do what they talked about.

"All right, you four. Spill it," Molly demanded quietly that evening. "What are you and George up to?"

"Can't say, Mum," Harry said with a wink toward Ron. "But I promise all shall be revealed tomorrow afternoon. Meanwhile, it's still in the works."

"That's right, Mum. We had a little bit to do this afternoon to get ready, but just be prepared because there's going to be quite a crowd here tomorrow night."

"For supper," she cried.

"No, after," Hermione assured her. "Arthur, did you notify…"

"I did, Hermione. They'll be there," Arthur said, returning to his paper.

"Arthur Weasely! Why is it that you know what's going on and I don't," Molly asked incredulously.

"Because I had to help with the guest list, dear. Don't worry," he said placatingly. "We'll tell you when the time comes because that's when we'll know how many will be here and whether we do this inside or in the back garden. I dare say it looks like we'll be in the back garden!"

"And Professor McGonagall," Ginny asked.

"Check," Hermione replied. "And Madame Pomfrey."

"Great. Sounds like we'll be good to go then," Harry smiled and yawned. "Well, I don't know about you lot, but I'm right knackered. I think I'll go on up to bed." He stood and stretched his arms over his raven head. Still a bit messy, his hair didn't stick out in all directions like it used to. It fell in soft waves over his shoulders to between his shoulder blades.

Molly took notice of this as if she hadn't before. "Harry, don't you think you need a trim," she suggested, fingering her wand.

"Honestly Molly, I think so, but not tonight. I like it where it is, but any longer…"

"Harry…" Ginny began to whine. "Tell me you're not going to let her cut it off! I like it this way!"

"No, my love," he murmured, taking her in his arms in front of the family and kissing her lips softly. "Just a trim, that's all. Now…are you coming up with me or what?"

"Of course I am. I wouldn't want you to get lonely," she smiled wickedly.

"Night, all," Ginny yawned, pulling her husband toward the creaky old staircase. "See you in the morning."

"Good night, children," Arthur called as they disappeared up the stairs.

"I think I've about had it too," Ron declared as he stretched his long legs and stood. "'Mione?"

"Mmmm, I think so," she agreed, reaching out her hand for him to pull her up. "Tomorrow's going to be…interesting…and I don't want to miss a minute of it!"

She stretched toward the ceiling, exposing her flat belly to her fiancé. Without thinking, he ran a huge calloused hand across it and kissed the top of her head. "Well, good night, then," Ron said, herding Hermione toward the stairs. "Big day tomorrow."

"Good night, dears," Molly called as they, too, disappeared up the stairs.

"Oh Artie," Molly sighed heavily. "Our babies are all grown and soon…" She began to cry softly as the epiphany of that morning came back to the forefront of her mind.

"Yes, Mollywobbles, they have," Arthur said, rising from his easy chair and crossing to room to his wife. He took her hand and pulled her to her feet into a loving embrace. "They've grown into fine young men and women and I'm proud of each and every one of them."

"I was always so worried about Ronnie," she sniffled. "But Hermione…"

"I know, my beauty. She's had a wonderful influence on him. Harry too. Our Ron's turned out just fine, hasn't he," Arthur finished.

"Oh Artie! I wonder how Freddie might have…" Molly began to cry in earnest. Whenever she thought of her children, she always thought of Fred too, and how he'd never be able to have the life he should have had.

"Fred was a good boy—a fine man—just like George, Molly. He was bright and strong and brave and kind…even if he was a bit of a pain in the arse sometimes," Arthur chuckled into his wife's hair.

"Yes, but he never wavered from what was right, Artie" she sniffled again, although smiling into her husband's chest. "I'm just so glad Percy came back to us. He…"

"Percy's just ambitious, Molly. He wants only the best for himself and the family he hopes to have one day. He was a bit misguided there for a while, but in the end, he knew what was right and acted on it. Now, he's just struggling to make amends and find his own way," Arthur said with tears forming in his own eyes. "I'm as proud of him as I am of all the others."

"Me too," Molly said, her shining brown eyes gazing into Arthur's clear blue ones. "Shall we join the children upstairs?"

"Well…I don't know about joining them, but I'm all for a good night's rest," he smiled.

Molly giggled like a schoolgirl and took Arthur's hand. "Well then, Mr Weasley. Shall we?"

"Why Miss Prewett, I'd be honoured to escort you to your chambers," Arthur replied playfully.

"Well then. What are you waiting for," she said silkily. "The night is young and…"

"We're not. Come, my beauty. Time waits for no man…or woman." Together, they mounted the stairs and quietly made their way to the master bedroom, trying not to disturb the young couples in their own rooms.

George and Fiona arrived at the shop to find Angelina and Verity buried in start-of-term customers, most of them Hogwarts students stocking up on pranks and jokes. George noticed that a new product seemed to have everyone's attention, so he and Fiona raced to re-stock the shelves with it. George put Fiona in charge of keeping that one item on the shelf while he saw to the rest.

"Georgie, what are Ape-arition Bombs," Fiona asked as she wrestled a case out of the stockroom.

"I'll tell you upstairs, Love," he called as he re-stocked the ever-popular Skiving Snackboxes on the next aisle. "Speaking of which—how many boxes do we have left?"

"Well, I just opened this case and there's one more in the back, I think," she answered with a groan. "Dag nabbit, these are heavy!"

"Then it's a good thing I ordered more. They should be here Tuesday morning," he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead, his carrot-coloured hair dripping down his shirt.

"Business is brisk today," a voice purred from behind.

"Katie," George shouted. "Katie, how the hell are you? Oi! Angelina! It's Katie," George called to his girlfriend.

"Hey, Kates," Angelina called from her register. "I'd come over there, but…"

"No problem, Ang," Katie replied. "I was just saying to George that business was brisk!"

Angelina waved her reply and began to ring up the next customer. Verity was busy too. The Galleons were exchanging hands at record speed.

"Who's the redhead, George? A long-lost sister," Katie asked with a twinkle in her eye and a grin.

"Bloody hell, where are my manners," George began.

"What manners? Since when did you have manners, George Weasley," she laughed. "But seriously…"

"Fiona Francine Prewett, meet Miss Katie Bell. We played Quidditch on the Gryffindor team together at school. Katie? Fiona," George beamed, introducing his now-favourite cousin to his old school friend.

"Fiona," Katie said, extending her hand.

"Miss Katie," Fiona replied in her Carolina twang. "Pleased ta meetcha."

Katie wasn't expecting the accent and stood there momentarily dumbstruck as she shook Fiona's hand.

"Isn't her accent divine," Verity called to Katie between customers. "I just love that lovely twang in her voice! Don't you?"

Fiona could only smile at Verity's comments about her accent. "Honestly, Verity. _I_ don't have an accent—_y'all _do!"

This elicited a laugh from just about everyone in the shop who stood within earshot of the banter between the cousins and their friends. Fiona's accent often drew attention as it was a rare thing in Wizarding Britain to hear American speech, let alone _southern _American speech. Many who were privileged to hear Fiona speak were mesmerised by the sound of her voice. It was almost musical.

"So, Katie," George said, rubbing his hands together. "Looking for anything in particular?"

"No, not really. I just wanted to stop by and say hello. I'm meeting Oliver for dinner and drinks at the Leaky. He didn't have to report to training camp, so we thought we get together and catch up," she told him. "Care to join us?"

"Ah…no, I don't think so. Listen, are you two busy tomorrow night," George asked, casting a glance at Fiona, who had resumed stocking the shelves with Ape-arition Bombs.

"Not sure. Why?"

"Well…my esteemed siblings and I have cooked up a little surprise for Fiona. She's going to apprentice with Pomfrey at Hogwarts and she's set to ride the Express in."

"Okay…what is it exactly that you're up to," Katie asked warily. "I mean, you're not going to prank the poor girl, are you?"

"No, no. Nothing like that, but I'd like to have as many Gryffs present as possible. Think you can make it?"

"Well, I can't speak for Oliver, but I'm in. Besides, I'd like to see everyone again. I'll mention it to him and if he can make it, I'm sure he'd love to be there," she assured George. "Hey, should I ask Alicia?"

"Oh yeah! Definitely! The more, the merrier," George enthused. "I'd be great to see her again too! Be at the Burrow at about 7:00. We'll explain then."

"Right. Seven it is. I'd better get going. I've got some shopping to finish before I meet Oliver. See you tomorrow night, then," Katie said, hugging George and waving to Angelina. "Fiona, it's been a pleasure meeting you. See you later, Angie!"

"Bye, Katie," she called as Katie exited the shop to the sound of a rather obnoxious fog horn.

The crowd began to thin to a trickle and then the stop became silent, except for the counting of the tills. George turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED and locked up the shop. Verity and Angelina left out the back door soon after, leaving George and Fiona to head upstairs to the flat and a brand-new bottle of Old Ogden's and a case of something Fiona didn't recognise. The label say _Bronsbrygg_.

"George, what is this stuff," Fiona asked.

"Good stuff," he replied.

"I gathered that, but what it Sam Hill is it?"

"Something outlandish I won off a bloke at the Leaky," George said, waving his wand at the bottle, alleviating it of its cork.

"That's comfortin'. Some weird-looking bottle with a weird-looking word nobody can pronounce you won from some stranger in a bar. You sure we should drink this?" Fiona examined the bottle sceptically, looking for some indication that it might be cursed. "Do I wanna know _how_ you won it?"

"Oh yes, you want to know," George said, now laughing at her.

"Okay, I'll bite. How did you win it and _what is it_," she pressed.

"It's ale from Sweden, Onie," George said, still chuckling. "I met this Swedish bloke one night. Gringotts was closed, he was short on Galleons, so I offered him the chance to wager his ale against some Galleons to get a room for the night."

"George! You're tellin' me that you talked this poor fella inta gamblin' away his ale? So where'd he spend the night," she almost shouted, feeling a bit sorry for the man.

"Calm down," George said, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. "It was just a way to make the whole thing more fun than to just buy it off his hands straightaway. We had two hours of laughs, I got this fine ale, and he got his Galleons. He stayed at the Leaky," George assured her. "G'on. Have a swig."

Fiona took a pull from the bottle and found it most pleasant-tasting. She thought it would make a nice chaser for the Firewhiskey, so she suggested trying it to her cousin. "Come on, Georgie. Throw back a shot of Ogden's and then chase it with a slug of ale."

George had never done chasers before, but being the adventurous soul he was, he took his cousin's advice and threw back the shot and took a swig of ale. "Ohhh, Onie! That's good stuff! Is that an American thing?"

"Sure is. 'Course, we do it with moonshine 'n' Ski, but…it's the idea anyway," she said, pouring each of them another shot. "You're a good man, George Weasley. I should've knowed you'd never leave that poor fella without a roof over his head. But then, you know I'd've told Harry and Ronnie and they'd've kicked your sorry ass." She threw back another shot and chased it with the ale. "That is if yer momma din't git to ya first!"

Trying to stifle the laughter resulting from the image, he spit the whiskey onto the floor before he could swallow it, which caused both cousins to laugh even harder. They both felt the effects of the alcohol as it began to soak into their brains. "Set me up, barkeep," George slurred.

Fiona cleared away the mess and poured him another shot. "See if ya c'n git this'n down, Cousin," she slurred.

"Down the hatch," George announced, and drained the glass. "You know…ickle Ronnikins is quite the warrior these days. I wouldn't fight 'em. In fact, I decided not to duel Harry when he and Gin-Gin got together."

"I can see yer momma din't raise a fool, then…unless it was yer brother," Fiona said before she threw back her third shot. "But why wouldja wanna duel Harry over that?"

"Oh, well. That'd be Percy," George crowed and they both fell into laugher again. After a few moments, they calmed again. "But seriously, Onie, I really wouldn't. Fred and I were a couple of Harry's DA minions back in the day. Even then, Harry had raw power like none of us had ever seen."

"But what's that got to do with duelin' 'im," Fiona asked, pouring George another shot.

"It was a joke the family played on him one night after he and Ginny got engaged. Even Mum and Dad were in on it. It was a sort of initiation."

"Poor Harry. You must've scared the poor boy to death," Fiona laughed. "Oh to have been a fly on the wall…"

"Charlie said he would've thrown him to a dragon, but since Harry'd already fought one…"

"He wouldn't! Charlie seems like such a nice fella," Fiona charged.

"Wouldn't what?"

"Throw Cousin Harry to a dragon, you dolt," Fiona said, not amused.

"Well…in a manner of speaking, he did. He was one of the Dragonmasters handling the dragons for the Triwizard Tournament in his fourth year. Harry had to face a Hungarian Horntail," George said, shaking his head.

"Triwizard Tournament? What the hell is that? Not somethin' a fourteen-year-old should be involved in! It not somethin' any kid should be involved in! Are people at that school crazy," Fiona cried. She couldn't believe that any educator would be so brash as to allow a child to face dragons for sport.

"It was a ploy cooked up by…Voldemort," George said sadly. "And you're right, Onie. No one under the age of seventeen was supposed to be able to enter. Fred and I learned that the hard way trying to outsmart the age line around the Goblet of Fire." He had to smile at the memory of him and his twin being tossed out of the circle with beards growing long as Dumbledore's. "The Triwizard Tournament is a competition between three magical schools—Hogwarts, Beauxbatons in France, and Durmstrang in Bulgaria. The dragon was the first task. Harry actually won the whole thing, but Voldemort came back the night of the third task…and well, it's a long story."

"If that's the case, how did Harry enter it? _Why_ did Harry enter it," Fiona asked, still aghast. It just didn't make sense to her. "And how d'ya _sort of_ win? Ya either do or ya don't."

"A crazy Death Eater posed as our Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and entered him," George explained. "It was all a plot to resurrect Moldyshorts. The Triwizard Cup had been charmed into a portkey. When Harry and another champion touched it, it transported them somewhere. They took some blood from Harry for some sick ritual and Harry wound up duelling the dark tosser. That's all I know and Harry doesn't talk about it. The other champion was murdered before Harry's eyes."

Horrified, Fiona became almost violent in her outrage. "That's plumb loco! What did Miss Minerva and Miss Poppy have to say about all that? Surely the headmistress had some say…"

"Head_master_, Onie. Albus Dumbledore was headmaster at that time. McGonagall was Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House. She didn't like Harry competing one bit and supposedly argued against it, but Harry's name coming out of the Goblet formed some kind of unbreakable magical contract and there was no way out," George said regretfully.

"Unbelieveable," Fiona breathed. "I need another drink." She poured another shot for herself and her cousin and popped the corks from two more bottles of the fine Swedish ale.

"Harry's been fighting Voldemort since he was eleven. That bastard killed his parents, you know," George went on, downing his shot. "Harry had to kill him. Only he could. In the end, he took a Killing curse and survived it. Only Ron, Hermione, and Ginny know what really happened, but it had something to do with dark arts so horrible, the details have been purposely kept from the public."

"Harry survived an AK," Fiona asked in utter disbelief. "Is that what that scar on his head is about?"

"He survived it twice, dear cousin. Once as a baby, when he got that scar, and then again at the Battle of Hogwarts—the one Fred died in," George told her, tears welling in his blue eyes.

"But how? How does a baby survive an AK," Fiona asked, horrified and intrigued at the same time.

"His mother. It was the night James and Lily Potter were murdered. James was already dead, but Lily stood between Harry and Voldemort. She died protecting her son. It created some kind of blood protection that caused the curse to rebound and take out the bastard, but he didn't really die, he just vanished for thirteen years," George tried to explain through the fog that began to fill his head. "Ron said Harry did the same thing for Ginny the night of the battle. Don't ask me how Harry survived it that time, because I haven't the slightest idea." He took a long pull from the bottle and blinked heavily.

"I knew Harry was somthin' special, but this is more than special. This is downright phenomenal," Fiona said with wide eyes. "I heard tell about blood magic—Granny used to talk about things like that that happened in the old days, but I always thought they was just stories, ya know?" Fiona took a few moments to process what she had just heard. "You say Harry died for Ginny? Does that have anything ta do with th'other night?"

"It's really theirs to tell. Again, I don't know everything and they keep it pretty private between them," George reiterated. "But there is some kind of connection between them as you've obviously figured out, and I have no doubt that it had something to do with the other night."

Fiona paused to think some more and run the events of that Thursday night through her mind. The more she thought about it, the more alarmed she became. She didn't want to frighten George, but she knew she had to ask a few more questions before she was absolutely certain. "If I hadn't seen that for myself, I wouldn't've believed it! Harry should've died, George. His body was dangerous high, even for a strappin' young wizard like him. 104 an above's just plain deadly! It had ta've been that connection between 'em that kept 'im alive. Somethin' in his magical core…OH BLOODY HELL!"

George nearly leapt out of his skin at his cousin's outburst. "What? What's wrong," he asked, trying to calm his heartbeat. The look of sheer terror on her face sobered him instantly and he began to understand. "Fiona, are you saying that Harry and Ginny share their magical cores?"

She could only nod as her own sobering mind began to race. "I think so, George. I really do."

"Blimey! No wonder Ginny beat the crap out of Irish Finnegan! He's a ruddy Auror, but she kicked his arse twice in duels—friendly ones, mind. But…damn! Have you heard of such a thing before?" George didn't know what to think other than his sister and brother-in-law were very likely the most-powerful witch and wizard on Earth.

"I'd bet my life on it, Cousin. It the only way I c'n think of that let him keep breath in his body and in his right mind. You say Ginny kicked the crap out of a fully-fledged Auror," she asked for clarification. George nodded. "Holy shit! This is big, George. So big that it'd better stay in the family."

George took a few deep, cleansing breaths. He needed to clear the thoughts racing through his mind and then calm himself. "I don' t know much about this super-magic stuff, and little more about cores, but I do understand it's big to share a core. But why is this holy-shit-stay-in-the-family-big?"

Fiona shook her head, her hair hanging in her face. "Because if my instincts is servin' me—and they usually do—when somethin' like this comes ta light, the papers are all over it and then the govermint gets in it. Next thing ya know, they're lab rats."

"Okay, that's the keeping-it-in-the-family part—which is of course what we would do—but why is it holy-shit-big? What does it actually mean to share a core, other than to be able to kick arse?" George truly understood the magnitude of the situation, but not entirely. He wasn't prepared for what came next.

"Georgie, don't panic, but the theory is that when two people share a core and one of them dies, the other dies with him or her. If that's truly the case, then Harry and Ginny are in a very precarious position. You heard what Ginny told us about what was goin' on with her at the same time as what was goin' on with Harry." Fiona's hands gripped the arms of the easy chair she sat in, her knuckles white.

"Don't panic? Don't _panic_? Are you _mad?_ This is…this is…" George couldn't find the words to describe exactly what this was. All he knew was that it terrified him to think that Harry's and Ginny's lives might be in danger.

"George, it's just a theory and even if it's true, there _is_ an upside to this," she reasoned. "Shared core means shared power. That means that Ginny should be able to do just about anything Harry can, and from what you and Angie've told me, that's damned significant! That's why she was able to kick that Auror's ass like that."

"Blimey. My baby sister's a bloody battle baby sister," George marvelled. "I mean, she's powerful on her own—Harry too, of course. Doubled up…oh poor Seamus."

"She musta been holdin' back because she coulda killed poor Seamus, if he's the Auror yer talkin' about." The tension that had permeated the air minutes before began to dissipate as the two cousins calmed down and began to rationalise what they'd just discovered. "I dare say that if either one of them were to become angry or upset, the consequences could be devastatin', let alone if they should happen ta be together. I'm talkin' big-time death and destruction, Georgie. Say, have ya ever seen either of 'em really mad?"

George had to think for a moment. Harry, for all the hell in his life, was a pretty even-tempered man most of the time who usually internalised his anger and rarely lashed out magically or physically. Ginny, on the other hand, had a fiery temper and threw a mean Bat bogey hex.

"Well…just before their wedding, Ginny went off on a notoriously nasty pack of reporters. Stunned the lot of them without so much as drawing her wand, and blew the windows out of several shops in Diagon Alley. Harry was at the Burrow, but at the same time this happened, he doubled-over in pain like he'd been slammed in the belly with a Bludger. Are you saying it could get worse than that?" George paused for a moment. "Did I mention that Harry confounded 50,000 Muggles at a football stadium in one go just to keep our world secret?"

Fiona's sky-blue eyes opened even wider than before as this revelation sunk into her brain for processing. "Wow! Just…wow. Yeah, it could get worse'n that! What Ginny did was nuthin' but a temper tantrum. I'm talkin' talkin' mean angry mad, like when someone attacks him or someone he loves! And 50,000 Muggles with on spell? And he was still standin'?"

"Oh yeah," George confirmed. "He Apparated right off Side-along with a very surprised Cousin Mafalda…um…exactly how bad could it get? I mean, I'm not sure Harry and Ginny even know this. Maybe you should tell them. I mean… are we talking about killing something like 50,000 Muggles with one blow if they got really barking mad?"

"I don't think it'd be quite that bad, but I do know that if anyone was fool enough to challenge them, they'd likely wake up several days or weeks later in the hospital…if not the morgue," Fiona guess. "And I think it's better if we don't tell them, Georgie. Harry don't need…"

"Fiona, stop. If there's anything I know about Harry, it's that he hates being kept in the dark about things that concern him. It's a ruddy sin, truth be told, and I don't blame him for resenting it. He's been lied to too much in his life and I'm telling you, we'd do more damage than good by keeping it from them."

George was all too well aware of the struggles Harry had to overcome growing up. Dumbledore had kept loads of pertinent information from him during their Hogwarts years, and on several occasions, both George and Fred suspected that the lack of that pertinent information nearly cost Harry his life.

"George, like I said: this is only a theory. Why get them all riled up about it now? It might affect Ginny's game if she knew. And what about Harry's job? He's an Auror…"

"Fiona, they have to know. What if Ginny'd killed one of those reporters? Hell, she made one of them wet herself, for crying out loud," George argued.

"The world fulla what if's, George. Anything coulda happened that day, butcha know what? It was them reporters that put themselves in that situation, I assume knowin' better'n ta mob her, right?"

"Well, right, but…"

"And that one she made pee her pants," Fiona continued snickering. "Why do I feel like there's somethin' personal there?"

"Rita Skeeter. She had a habit of publishing lies about Harry and Hermione," George explained. "Rubbish claiming they were…together."

"Hermione? Why would this Rita bimbo write somethin' like that when Harry was fixin' ta marry Ginny and the whole world knew it? Does this woman have a death wish?"

Fiona never had much use for the press. It was something her mother had instilled in her from the time she was a little girl. Rhiannon had always complained to Granny how newspapers never got anything right, whether it was _The Daily Prophet, The Charlotte Observer,_ or _The New York Times_. She remembered how her mother had hated the Prophet especially because it's poor journalistic practices kept people unaware of the dangers that led to her father's and uncle's deaths.

"Rita's been claiming that Harry and Hermione had been a couple for years. She even wrote a few disparaging articles about Ginny and Hermione being rivals for Harry's affections after the engagement became public," George explained, becoming angry all over again. "It was the worst sort of rubbish and had both Ginny and Hermione on edge most of the time, although not against each other. But ever since Ginny literally scared the piss out of her, she hasn't published a word."

"Ginny really made the little tabloid bitch pee her pants? Seriously," Fiona asked with mirth in her eyes.

"She did, Onie. I only wish I'd been there to see it," George snickered.

"Georgie, pass me one o' them there Swedish ales! This calls for a drink!" George pulled the corks out of two fresh bottles and then poured two more shots of Firewhiskey.

"Sure, but watch it. It's pretty strong stuff," George warned needlessly.

"George, darlin', have ya ever had moonshine?"

"Uh…no."

"Well, let's jus' say I c'n hold my likker, okay?"

"If you say so," George laughed, handing her the bottle.

Fiona raised her glass. "I'd like ta perpose a toast."

"Don't let me stop you," George snorted. "To what?"

Fiona stood a little shakily. "Ta Harry 'n' Ginny 'n' their ass-kickin', reporter-slammin' tempers! May their legend never die!"

"Slainte!"

"Indeed!"

George and Fiona spent the rest of the evening laughing and toasting every member of their family until they passed out where they sat. They would awaken Sunday morning with raging hangovers, knowing they would have to take Harry and Ginny aside and tell them of their suspicions.

"Ron," Hermione said, her Muggle notebook and pen in hand. "We need to talk about the reception."

"What about it," he asked, stroking her arm with the backs of his fingers. He loved to lounge in their bed like this, just talking and touching one another lightly. "What is there to talk about?"

"Oh…your favourite thing," she replied with a cute smile. "Food."

"You have my undivided attention, my sweet," he murmured into her wild curls. "Speak, oh wise one."

"Well, my mother and I have just about planned the wedding part, but I thought it would be fair to leave the food part to you. After all, you _are_ an expert," she giggled, snuggling back into his chest.

"Well…since you asked," he began. "I…well, you and Harry got me hooked on Chinese food and I think It'd be fun to have The Black Dragon cater it," he decided, still stroking her arm.

"Ron, that sounds absolutely wonderful," Hermione agreed.

"You do?" Ron couldn't believe his luck. He thought she'd hate the idea.

"Yes. It sounds fun. We'd already agreed that we wanted fun and different and Chinese food at a wedding reception is definitely fun and different."

"Fine, then. Chinese it is," Ron said with a satisfied grin. "But how do we go about it?"

"Simple. We go over there for lunch one day this week and ask to speak with Mr Chang. We go over the menu with him and decide what we'd like to serve and then negotiate cost according to number of guests invited," she explained. "It's really quite painless."

Ron's excitement was suddenly tempered by a frightening thought. Hermione sensed it and took his hand. "What is it, Baby?"

"Well…it's Mum. I mean, I know she's expected to provide the food like she did for Bill's and Ginny's weddings," he said shakily. "How do we tell her we want Chinese?"

"I see what you mean. She won't like it, but Ron, this is our wedding. Shouldn't it be our way," she asked, turning to face him. "I'm sure she'd understand. Besides, I was thinking that we ask her to do the cake and the hors d'ouvres."

Ron kissed her tenderly on the lips and smiled into her cinnamon eyes. "Hermione Granger, I love you. You're brilliant!"

"I try," she replied, giving him a return kiss. "Now…what kind of cake and what types of hors d'ouvres?"

"Um…well, I like just about any cake, so…" Ron paused. "How about a yellow cake with cherry filling?"

"Cherry filling? Why cherry," she asked playfully.

"Because I like cherries," Ron answered, biting her neck. "I got yours didn't I?"

She began to giggle and squirm at his ministrations on her sensitive neck. "Yes, you did, you rogue!"

"So…these are the only other cherries I'll ever get," he snickered, pulling her tightly to him. "And the only ones I'll ever want."

"That's my good boy," she said, sounding much like his mother when she was pleased. "Okay, so yellow cake with cherry filling. What about hors d'ouvres then?"

"Um…well, she makes these really good mini sausage rolls and meat pies," Ron suggested. "And Mum does this thing with meatballs and rice in a tomato sauce…"

"Oh yeah! She made those for Ginny's birthday party, didn't she," Hermione remembered.

"Now that you mention it, yeah. She did," Ron agreed. "So you think they'd be good?"

"Absolutely. But you know…something's missing. Something you love…" she insinuated.

"What? What is it that I love…besides you?"

"Something chocolate, lover boy," Hermione said, turning toward him again.

"You're right. We need something chocolate, don't we? Not cake, though," Ron said thoughtfully. "Any ideas, Love?"

"Well, yes. I have an idea," she answered. "I saw this on a cooking show on the telly at my parents'. It's a three-tiered stainless steel apparatus that pumps liquefied milk chocolate over the tiers like a fountain."

"Okay. What do you do with it," Ron asked, very much interested. "I mean, what's the point?"

"Don't you get it? It's like a fondue, only instead of dipping your bit of fruit or cake into a pot, you let the chocolate cascade over it," she explained further. "It's less messy and a lot more fun!"

"Well, we do want this to be fun," Ron agreed enthusiastically. "But what kind of fruit?"

"Strawberries—Harry and Ginny should love that—pineapple, apples, orange slices…even cherries and raspberries if you can get them to cooperate," she giggled again. She was thoroughly enjoying planning their big day with Ron. Although they still bickered from time to time, lately that had subsided and they had little trouble agreeing on most things. "And we can still have cubes of pound cake, sponge cake, and angel food cake."

"I like it! And I'll bet we could charm the thing to never run out of chocolate," Ron mused. "I'm sure we can bend the misuse of Muggle artefacts rule a bit since we're not charming it to do something other than what it's meant to."

"So we can put Molly in charge of that, then," Hermione said, writing it all down. "She's in charge of hors d'ouvres, the cake, and the chocolate fountain, right?"

"Right. And dinner will be catered by The Black Dragon, menu to be determined," Ron added. "Damn, we're good!"

"Yes, we are, you hot hunk of man," she growled, biting his neck. "Now shut up so we can prove just how good we are!"

"Your wish is my command, fair lady," Ron moaned, pushing her down onto her back. The notebook and pen fell to the floor with a clatter as the lovers fell into a goodnight snog.

Down two floors, Harry and Ginny sat up in bed with Ginny seated between Harry's legs with a familiar diary in her hands. "Ready, Love," she asked him gently.

"I am. I've missed this, you know," he said into her hair just above a whisper. "Go ahead, Gin."

"_21 April 1979_

_May I proudly present the author of this diary? Lily____Potter____is her name. Yes, it's true. Yesterday, Friday, 20 April, James and I were married. Big surprise, as I've written of nothing but this day for the past two weeks. Despite the war, Professor Dumbledore still holds the power and authority to cast the Wedding Charm as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, so as planned, he did the honours. What can I say? It was the most amazing day of my life! Looking back at the beginning of this diary, I would probably not have believed it possible then, that I'm now Mrs James Edward Potter. When I began my 7__th__ year at Hogwarts I couldn't stand James __bles-sed__ Potter. Of course I realise now I had already fallen in love with him, but he was such an arrogant git, and I was such a proud prat._

_The wedding was kept simple because of the war, but it was lovely all the same. Our parents were there, the members of the Order were there, Sirius, as James' best friend, was Best Man. Since I've lost all contact with my friends from Hogwarts because of the war, I asked Alice Longbottom to be my Matron of Honour. She and Frank have only been married a few months themselves, and she was glad to oblige._

_Remus brought a lovely girl I didn't know, but Peter came alone, the poor thing. He's always had a hard time with girls. I hope those two find love someday. If anyone deserves it, they do. Sirius, on the other hand…well, I doubt he'll ever settle down. He's such a ladies' man and seems to enjoy playing the field, as it were. It was hard enough pinning James down._

_I would have asked Tuney to stand up with me—she's my sister after all, but ever after she got together with Vernon, our relationship has deteriorated from strained to just about non-existent. According to Mum and Dad, she and Vernon didn't even sent a greeting, even though they were invited to the wedding. Well, enough about that…_

_Professor Dumbledore made it a beautiful ceremony and I can't find any other word than 'perfect' to describe it. I know…'perfect' again."_

"She was disappointed that the Dursleys didn't show up for the wedding," Ginny said sadly. "I have to wonder what could cause someone to be so bitter like that."

"Jealousy, Gin," Harry replied. "Aunt Petunia was insanely jealous of my mum because she was a witch and got to go to Hogwarts. Rather than be happy for Lily, Petunia chose to hate her for it."

"Do you really think Petunia hates your mother, Harry? I mean, they're sisters," Ginny tried to reason.

"I do. I mean, look at Andromeda's relationship with Narcissa and Bellatrix," Harry said. "They were close until Andy married Ted Tonks, a Muggleborn. Suddenly, Andromeda was dirt under their feet. And for what? Because she loved a man whose parents were Muggles?"

"I know, Baby. I know that bothers you, but the Blacks weren't exactly rational...well, except for Sirius, and that's even debatable," Ginny snickered.

"I don't know if Sirius was so much irrational as barking," Harry said, not immediately catching his own pun.

"Barking? Padfoot," Ginny giggled. "You actually made a joke, Harry. You're turning into a bloody Weasley!"

"Oh woe is me," Harry snorted. "Petulant Potter is transfigured into Wacky Weasley!"

"Petulant? You're not petulant," Ginny disagreed good-naturedly. "Brooding, maybe, but never petulant."

"So you don't deny that the Weasleys are wacky," Harry said, moving her hair aside to expose her tasty neck. The smell of her hair intoxicated him as he lowered his face and kissed her at the point where her neck met her shoulder.

"Our wackiness is just part of our charm," Ginny giggled as goose bumps sprouted all over her body. "And that feels yummy, Love."

"Mmmm…you taste yummy, Love," Harry breathed into her ear. Suddenly, a wave of melancholy passed through the bond and his heart clenched. Ginny still had three more weeks of training camp, which meant three weeks without her.

"I miss you already, Harry," she said quietly, trying to fight the tears.

"I know, Love. But it's only three weeks and we'll be fine," he tried to reassure her. "I think we've gotten through the worst of it."

"I suppose so," she sighed. "Harry?"

"Yes, Gin."

"About the house…"

"What about the house?"

"You haven't shown me the blueprints yet," she reminded him.

"Bloody hell! I was going to do that this afternoon, but the day got away from us," Harry exclaimed. "How about we go over them tomorrow morning? I'd actually like Dad to have a look too."

"There won't be enough time and I don't want to rush. Let's wait until I'm home from training camp. Then we can take our time."

"Are you sure? I was really hoping to get this started."

"Harry?"

"Yes, Gin."

"Shut up and kiss me."

"Gladly," he murmured and spun her around in his lap and proceeded to snog her senseless.

hphphphphphphphphphphphphphp

Sunday morning dawned bright and beautiful. Birds sang in the orchard and the delicious smells of food cooking filled the Burrow, tantalizing the taste buds of the waking family. Ron and Hermione descended first, guided by their noses and growling bellies. Taking their seats, they dug into one of Molly's famous Sunday breakfasts of hotcakes, sausage, eggs, fried potatoes, and coffee. Arthur sat at the head of the table, polishing off a stack of hotcakes with butter and syrup.

"Good morning, kids," he said brightly. "Are we ready for tonight?"

"We are," Hermione replied. "It ought to be great fun!"

"Oh yeah! It'll be good to see everyone again," Ron agreed, shovelling a forkful of eggs into his mouth. He'd been getting better about talking with his mouth full, thanks to Hermione's constant fussing over it.

"Yeah, it's been a while," Harry said, exiting the stairwell with Ginny in tow. "I'm really looking forward to it. Fiona's sure going to be surprised."

"Will you lot please tell me what's going on," Molly asked again from the cooker. "Why is this such a secret?"

"Because it's fun to torture you," Ginny giggled.

"Arthur, speak to your daughter," Molly snorted in disgust.

"Molly, she's just having you on a bit. But she's right," he chuckled. "Come and sit down now, Love. Have a cuppa and relax a little."

The morning passed into afternoon and finally, Molly's family gave in and told her what they were up to for that night. Molly's eyes filled with tears as she was touched by the gesture they wanted to make to help Fiona feel even more a part of the family.

"So you've invited as much of Gryffindor House as you could find," she asked.

"Yeah, Mum," Ron replied. "It was all George's idea, really. We just had to divvy up the guest list and contact everyone. That's what the meeting upstairs was about. Hermione and Ginny contacted the girls, I contacted the boys, Harry gave a direct order to Seamus and Lavender and then Patronused Hagrid, Minerva, and Poppy, and Dad contacted Bill, Charlie, and Percy, and the rest of the Ministry lot."

"Oh dear. This is going to have to happen in the back garden," Molly said to no one in particular. "I'll need you all to help with chairs and tables."

"Sure, no problem, Mum," Ron replied. "Harry and I'll get on it right after tea. It shouldn't take long."

"Hermione and I'll set the tables," Ginny volunteered.

People began to arrive outside the wards by 6:45 PM. Katie arrived with Oliver, Lavender with Seamus, Parvati with Dean, Angelina and Alicia with George and Fiona, Dennis Creevey arrived with the remnants of Ginny's championship Quidditch team, Neville and Hannah arrived with Lady Longbottom, Hagrid arrived with Minerva and Poppy, Bill and Fleur popped in with Victoire asleep in a large basket, and Charlie arrived with Percy and Kingsley.

Everyone made their way to the back garden, where George conjured a tall three-legged stool. "Fiona Francine Prewett, you're our guest of honour tonight. We, as noble Gryffindors…"

"And a beautiful Hufflepuff," Neville called, causing a ripple of laughter to pass over the crowd.

"Ah yes, the lovely Hannah Abbott Longbottom. Welcome, welcome good Hufflepuff," George said with a bow.

"The honour is all mine, noble Gryffindors," she replied with a curtsy. The crowd chuckled again.

"As I was saying, Miss Prewett, as nobles of Gryffindor House, we have gathered to take you into our fold. Now, had you been a Hogwarts student, you would have been sorted into our House by the Sorting Hat." George paused for effect and the others nodded.

"For generations, Prewetts and Weasleys have proudly worn the glorious red and gold of Godric Gryffindor, one of the four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In that tradition, we, your family, have conferred with our brothers and sisters and have determined that you, by way of a special ceremony, shall become one of us. Professor McGonagall? Professor Hagrid?"

Professor McGonagall and Hagrid moved forward toward Fiona as the groups applauded softly. Standing on either side of Fiona, Minerva began to speak. "Prewett, Fiona. As headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I hereby declare you officially sorted into Gryffindor House in the tradition of your family. Your father, Fabian Prewett, and your mother, Rhiannon O'Reilly were both upstanding members of our Gryffindor family, as are those gathered here."

"Fiona, as yer head o' House, I welcome yer tae Gryffindor and present yer with the followin'." Hagrid produced a large bag while hot tears of appreciation fell down Fiona's cheeks. She was about to become part of her parents' legacy and her heart was full to bursting.

"First, yer need yer school uniform 'n' robes." Hagrid reached into the bag and produced an official school uniform consisting of a jumper, blouse, Gryffindor tie, skirt, muffler, stockings, Mary Jane shoes, and robes emblazoned with the Gryffindor crest over the left breast.

"Next, yer need a journal tae write down ever'thin' yer do 'n' learn at Hogwarts." Hagrid reached again into the bag and pulled out a black leather diary with her full name stamped on the cover with the Gryffindor crest.

"And last, yer need yer satchel. This is a gift from yer family, Miss Prewett. Use it well," Hagrid said, massive tears flowing into his bushy beard. "Welcome ter Gryffindor!"

With a wave of her wand, Molly dressed her niece in her Gryffindor uniform and robes. The others dropped their cloaks revealing their own school clothing, even Hannah in her Hufflepuff yellow and black. George began the applause and soon, they all cheered their new sister, chanting "Go, go, Gryffindor! Go, go, Gryffindor," until Fiona burst into tears of happiness.

"Speech," Harry called. "Speech!"

Fiona had to take a few moments to gather her thoughts and contain her tears. "Thank y'all so much fer this. I…I don't know what ta say. I…I…I'm really a Gryffindor!"

The crowd cheered and applauded again and then quieted when Fiona opened her mouth to speak again. "I know my momma 'n' daddy'd be proud 'n' really grateful t'y'all fer takin' me in 'n'…well, I cain't think o' nuthin' more ta say except thank ya…from the bottom of my heart!"

"Let's eat," Ron called. Snacks and drinks appeared on the tables as Gryffindor staff, students, and alumni—and one Hufflepuff—spent the evening getting to know Hogwarts' new Healer Apprentice and catching up on old times.


	9. Chapter 9 Changes

**Chapter 9 – Changes**

Ginny lay quietly in Harry's arms, her head on his chest. The sound of his steady heartbeat had always been a comfort to her whenever she felt afraid or insecure for whatever reason. His steady breathing also calmed her already frazzling nerves. In a few hours, they would rise and Apparate to Wales where she would rejoin her team and resume training camp. These past few days with Harry had been refreshing, if not a bit nerve-wracking.

As she lay there, she turned the events of the past four days over in her sleep-deprived mind. She'd only catnapped since they settled in after a reading from Lily Potter's diary. She worried that Harry might have another relapse and she knew the Harpies wouldn't let her come home again until training camp was through. Of course, new developments with their soul bond allowed them to communicate, it couldn't replace the physical closeness they both so desperately needed. But then again, since they discovered it, it seemed to have matured.

At first, they couldn't keep their hands off one another. The moment they'd return to their private quarters at Hogwarts last year, they were all over one another. But over the past few months, apart or together, that primal need had slacked off to more normal—or was the better word _appropriate_—levels. This latest event seemed to be another turning point in the bond's development and it worried her.

She reviewed all the bond had shown them: the need for one another's touch, the excessive libido, the Unspoken Thing, the Experiment, the telepathic communication. If _one of us is in distress, it appears that the other is too. What if… _No, she couldn't even consider that. The very thought was just too fantastic—too terrifying. No, the bond was a good thing. It kept them connected so neither would ever really be…_alone._

She hadn't realised it, but as she lay there worrying herself, the bond alerted her sleeping husband that something was bothering her. "Gin? Are you all right," Harry croaked, his voice still asleep. He rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses.

"Go back to sleep, Baby, I'm fine," she replied, hoping to sound more convincing than she felt. "I just woke up a bit ago. I'm just thinking about the rest of training camp. That's all."

"Gin, you can't bullshit me, you know. The bond never lies. Something's bothering you," he countered. "Now, tell me what's on your mind."

"Why Harry James Potter, since when do you use such vulgar language," Ginny teased. "Bullshit? I didn't think you even knew that word."

"I work in law enforcement with Ron, remember? Besides, you're trying to change the subject," he said as though he were chastising an errant child. "What's wrong? You've barely slept all night."

"How did you know that," Ginny asked, becoming a little annoyed that he knew more than he often let on. "You've been…"

"…the same, Love. I haven't slept much either. I just didn't want to say anything in hopes you'd fall back to sleep," Harry confessed. "I'm not looking forward to having to let you go already." Harry tightened his hold on her, planting small kisses on the top of her head. "I'm going to miss you."

"I was thinking about that. I'm going to miss you too. But Harry," she tried to continue, "There's more to it. I was thinking about the bond."

"Oh? What about it," Harry asked, wondering what she'd come up with now. "Are you having regrets?"

"No, no! Nothing like that. I love our bond. It's just that…" She hesitated again. She knew they needed to talk about this, but she just didn't think now was the time. "Harry, I'm a little worried about it, that's all."

"Worried how? Ginny, what is it," Harry asked, slightly alarmed.

"Well…I don't know how to say this," she began. "But as much as it has brought us close together, I'm afraid that…well…that it brought us too close together." She felt Harry hitch in a breath and his heart rate increase. "I mean…oh gods, Harry. I don't know how to say this!"

"Just suck it up and let it out. If you're afraid I'll be angry…" Harry wanted to assure her that she should never be afraid to speak her mind or relay any fear, no matter how small, to him. As her husband and soulmate, he fully believed it was his job to listen and do what he could to help her confront those fears and put them to rest.

"Okay. Harry, you know how the bond allows us to share our thoughts and feelings and lets us talk when we're miles apart? Well…that means it binds us, right?"

"Yes, Gin. Bonds bind," Harry said almost patronizingly, meaning only to lend some levity to what was shaping up to be a very deep discussion at 4 AM.

Ginny ignored Harry's lame attempt and ploughed on. "Harry, if we're bound heart, soul, body, and mind, wouldn't that mean our lives are bound too?"

"Yeah, that's what the Wedding Charm was all about. Two becoming one. What are you getting at, Love?" Harry was truly beginning to worry himself. They'd had some deep conversations, but this one at this early hour had to have been the deepest they'd had in a long time.

"What if one of us…you know…snuffs it," Ginny asked, a tear stealing into her voice. "What then?" This is what she didn't want to consider, but she couldn't help it. The bond opened and all of her fear flowed through it into Harry at that moment.

"Ginny, I don't know. I guess I never thought about it," he replied, stroking her hair. He knew she'd begun to weep, but didn't want to make anything of it. She hated to cry. To her, it was weakness; to him, it was release. "Are you suggesting that if one of us were to die, the other would soon follow?"

"Y-yes," Ginny sniffled. "Harry, what if we have children and that were to happen?" Her tears increased and lined her face. Her chocolate-brown eyes widened even as she cried. "Who would…"

"Ginny, Baby," Harry soothed. "That's not going to happen. I promise. And even if it did, we have plenty of family to look after them. There's no danger of any child of ours having a life like I had. Is that what you're afraid of?"

The sobs Ginny had held back in spite of the tears she realised she'd been shedding for unborn children escaped as she buried her face into Harry's muscled chest. She couldn't answer him with words, but her cries answered his question, leaving not one iota of doubt that that's truly where her fear lay.

"Don't worry, Gin. We'll make sure that our children are provided for properly if anything like that should happen—not that it will," Harry assured her. "Our sprogs'll have only the best care from the best family in the world!"

"But doesn't it bother you that it could happen? Harry, you and I have very dangerous jobs," she sniffled. He conjured a fresh handkerchief so she could wipe her face and blow her nose. "You're an Auror. You fight evil and chase down dangerous criminals. I play Quidditch. I could…"

"Ginny, we're a pair of tough old war Gryffins. It'll take more than some street thug or rogue Bludger to put us down," Harry said, chuckling. It's not that he didn't take her fears seriously. On the contrary, but he also knew that at a certain time of the month, she could over-think things and make herself a little crazy. "Life's so full of uncertainty, Love. We just have to take it as it comes. If we lie about worrying about _what if_, we'll drive ourselves barmy with it."

"I know," she agreed. "But Harry, we need to find a way to better understand our bond and what it means. There are so many things it could mean and we need to know what they might be."

"I must admit that you're right about that. Even Poppy told us we should." Harry thought back to the first time they'd done the "Experiment" and how it put them both out for several hours afterwards. Madame Pomfrey had admonished them to be careful with it and that included learning as much about it as they could. Hermione had done a little poking about the Hogwarts library, but not the Restricted Section.

"I'll tell you what: When you're home from training camp, we'll see if Minerva will let us check the Restricted Section of the library there. We can also see if there's anything useful in the Black Family library at Number Twelve hiding amongst all the dark spell books. This week, I'll check the Ministry library to see if there's anything lurking in the dusty old tomes there." Harry paused for a moment. "And no, I'm not going to the Unspeakables. I don't want to become an object of scrutiny. I've had enough of that."

Ginny giggled a bit, drawing small circles on his chest. "I was just about to forbid you to even _think_ about that!"

"Great minds think alike then, don't they," Harry murmured, drawing her face to his. "I'm going to miss you, Ginevra Potter." He kissed her tenderly on the lips. She returned and deepened his kiss, moaned, and pressed her body ever tighter into his.

"Please hold me for a while," she begged, clinging to him as if for dear life. "There isn't much time left."

The silence was suddenly broken by a blood-curdling scream from the top floor bedroom. "That sounds like Hermione," Harry said, jumping out of bed and pulling on his pyjama bottoms.

"Go on, Harry," Ginny said breathlessly. "I'll be right behind you." Ginny launched herself off the end of the bed and threw on her nightgown to cover her nakedness. Harry had already thrown open the door and charged up the stairs. Molly and Arthur fell in just behind him.

"What on earth is going on in there," Molly called.

"Mum! It's Hermione! She…" Ron called back. "It's unlocked. I can't move right now!"

Harry opened the bedroom door just as Ginny arrived behind her parents. Hermione sat curled up in Ron's lap, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Ron held her and rocked, murmuring comfort into her ear as her entire body shook.

"Hermione, what's wrong," Arthur asked with all the concern of a father for his daughter. "What is it, child?"

"He…he…cursed me," she wailed, burying her head in Ron's chest. "He…he hates me!"

"Who cursed you, dear? Who hates you," Molly asked, trying to urge Hermione to tell them what happened.

"She's had a nightmare, Mum, and from the sounds of it, a bad one. She hasn't had one like this since…" Ron shook his head. The memory of her agonised screams filled his mind and the feeling of helplessness crept into his body.

"Bellatrix," Harry said, completing the sentence. "But she wasn't a he…"

Ginny nudged her way into the room and took a seat next to Ron and Hermione. She rubbed her surrogate sister's back in order to help her calm down. "It's okay, Hermione. You're safe now," she cooed, brushing her sweat-soaked hair with her fingers.

"Hermione, can you tell us," Harry asked, kneeling in front of the sobbing woman in his best mate's arms. "Who cursed you and why?"

"A-Amos Diggory," she squeaked into Ron's chest. "He…he was angry. A-about…about Dobby's Law. He said…he said House-elves aren't supposed to have any rights. That they're…that they're…" Hermione began to cry in earnest, practically gluing herself to her fiancé. "Crucio…he kept cursing me. It hurt so bad. I begged him to stop…"

"Damn her to hell," Ron snarled. "She's had dreams like this before, but it's always been that mad bint Lestrange."

"Ronald, language. What might have brought this on," Molly asked, completely puzzled. "Did you two have a row?" She already knew the answer and who her son had just cursed to Hell, but she questioned the younger witch in hopes of getting her to talk it through.

"N-no. Ron…Ron's been wonderful," Hermione replied, hiccuping between sobs. "We…we talked about my new job and then we went to sleep."

Harry began to understand what the trouble really was. "Ron, you said she's had these kinds of nightmare before." Harry had shifted straight into Auror mode. "When?"

"Um…well…she had them a lot at Hogwarts last year," Ron said haltingly, trying to recall each time. "She had a couple of them while I was working at the store. When I'd spend the weekend at Hogwarts, she'd have one the night before I left to return to Hogsmeade."

"Any other times you can remember," Harry asked again. Ginny watched her husband at work. The only thing he wasn't doing was taking notes as if he were conducting an official investigation at the scene of the crime.

"The night before our final on the Unforgivables, she sat up straight in the bed and screamed my name. I think she woke the owlery. She dreamed Bellatrix was cursing us—you and me—and Hermione couldn't find her wand to stop her. And then, after she finished her NEWTs, she had a nightmare about getting all Ts on her exams," Ron said with a smirk he couldn't help. "Like that would ever have happened." Hermione had begun to calm down, her shakes reduced to mild trembling and her sobs to pants and sniffles.

"It was just a dream, sis," Harry said, taking her hand. "Amos Diggory may be a prat, but he's not a monster. He wouldn't do that to you…or anyone else, for that matter."

"I-I know, but it all seemed so real," she whimpered. "My body even hurts."

"Phantom pain," Molly interjected. "The memory of Bellatrix cursing you worked into your nightmare and awoke something in your brain that sent pain messages to your body."

"Molly? Where did you hear that," Arthur asked.

"Poppy. Fleur and I were helping a bit with the wounded after the battle. There were several who needed treatment for exposure to the Cruciatus curse. Poppy said that they'd have phantom pain for a long time afterwards, even though nothing was happening to them," she explained. "Hermione had a prolonged exposure, am I right?"

Hermione nodded, finally raising her head to look at her family gathered around her. "Y-yes. It went on for at least fifteen minutes or more, off and on."

"It felt like an eternity," Ron said, his eyes filling with tears of love and sympathy for his love. "I can still hear you screaming, 'Mione. I can't get that out of my mind." He hugged her to him again and shed hot tears into her hair. "I'm so sorry, Baby. I'm so sorry."

"Ron, please don't. You and Harry were trapped. You couldn't…" Hermione said softly, raising his face to look into his watery blue eyes. "It wasn't your fault, okay?" The two of them held one another tightly as the others willed their best magic toward them.

"Come on, Molly. Harry, Ginny," Arthur urged, taking hold of Molly's elbow. "Let's go downstairs. I think everyone's up for the day now. Let's let Ron and Hermione have a little space, yeah?"

"Of course. Take all the time you need. I'll start breakfast. Ginny's favourite—hotcakes with strawberries and whipped cream," Molly promised. "We'll all feel better then."

Harry leaned over and kissed Hermione's temple and gave a nod to Ron. Ginny hugged both of them together and stood up to take Harry's hand. "See you downstairs, okay?"

"O-Okay, Ginny. And thanks," Hermione sniffled, still clinging to Ron's body as they both fought to regain their composure.

Harry and Ginny joined their parents downstairs in the kitchen while Ron and Hermione held one another. Ron whispered his love and support into her ear, leaving little kisses on her face, neck, and shoulders. "It's all right, Love. There's nothing to be afraid of. You'll be brilliant at it, just like you are at everything you do."

"I-I know. I'm just…I'm just being silly," Hermione said and blew her nose. "I just don't know why I'd ever dream such a thing."

"I think I do," Ron offered, wiping her tears away with slightly calloused thumbs. "I sort of figured it out while I was answering Harry's questions. I think he did too."

"Really? What does your investigation tell us, then, Auror Weasley," she asked with a watery smile.

This was more like it. This was his 'Mione in his arms now. "Hermione, ever since the war, you've had some wicked nightmares just before an important event or a change in your life. Today is both—starting your new job and working on Dobby's Law is an important event. It's your first real job. That's a change."

"You…you really think so, Ron? Is that all it is," she asked hopefully. For a while, she thought she might be going round the twist. She'd sworn Ginny to secrecy during their sixth year when she'd had nightmares about the Department of Mysteries. In fact, she'd had a whopper the night before the Death Eater attack on the school and Professor Dumbledore was killed. Of course, back then, they were all concerned with Harry's well-being while Hermione and Ron had been on the outs while he dated Lavender Brown.

"Yes, I do and I think Harry does too. It all fits, Love. Every time you had one of these, it was just before something important or a change," he reiterated. "With time, that'll go away. A year isn't all that long, you know."

"Well, I suppose…" she said softly. "Ron?"

"Yes, Love?"

"I love you."

"I know. I love you too, 'Mione." Ron cradled her bushy head in his strong hands and captured her lips in a reassuring kiss. With a soft moan, Hermione parted her lips and pressed her tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss with quiet desperation and need. When they finally had to come up for air, Ron held her for a few moments. "Come on. Let's get downstairs. I smell breakfast and I'm starved."

"You're always starved," she giggled, biting his lip. "But then again, I'm feeling a bit peckish myself." She slid off his lap and onto her feet. He stretched out his legs, which felt tingly from having been in one position for too long. He stood up and took her hand, leading her down the stairs to the kitchen to join the rest of the house.

When they arrived at the table, the others were already digging into their breakfast. Along with the hotcakes, there were rashers of bacon and links of Irish bangers, tea, and pumpkin juice. "So Ron," Harry began as they sat, "Am I right?"

"Yeah, mate. It all fits," Ron replied, stacking hotcakes on his plate. "I take it you've been discussing this?"

"Yes, dear. Harry was telling us that he thought Hermione's dreams precluded special events in her life," Molly supplied. "Isn't that right?"

"That's right, Molly," Hermione replied, dolloping some whipped cream over the clump of strawberries on her own stack of hotcakes. "I never really thought about it, but that's what appears to be going on. Ron says it'll go away with time."

Ron finished the sausage he was chewing and swallowed. "Yeah, and we'll be here with you every step of the way, Love."

"Certainly, certainly. You can count on your family, Hermione. That's what we're here for," Arthur assured her. "Now, let's tuck in."

After breakfast, Harry and Ginny were allowed first go in the shower since she and Harry had to get moving in order to return her to Holyhead in time to check in and dress for practice. Ron, Hermione, Arthur, and Molly sipped tea and talked about Hermione's first day on the job and the Harpies' prospects for the upcoming season. About half an hour later, Harry and Ginny descended the stairs with Harry carrying her duffel over his left shoulder and across his back.

Ron stepped up to hug his sister. "Take care, Gin-Gin. We'll see you in a few weeks, yeah," he said kissing the top of her head. "And look out for those Bludgers. I hear Gwenog's hell with her club."

"I will, Ronnie—and yes, she is," Ginny said with an impish grin.

"Keep in touch, Gin," Hermione whispered, giving her a sisterly hug. "As soon as I can, I'll send you a sketch of your dress for the wedding. I think you'll like it."

"I'll do what I can, Hermione. They keep us pretty busy at camp," Ginny promised. "And if you designed it, I'm sure the dress is lovely."

"Be good, Baby Girl," Arthur said as if giving her a blessing. "Show 'em how it's done!"

"I will, Daddy," Ginny said, tears beginning to flow. "I'll make you proud."

Her father nodded as she turned to her mother, who wrapped her in one of her signature bone-crushing hugs. "You have everything, yes?" Ginny nodded. "Good. Now, you remember to eat properly and stay warm. You have your jumper in your bag, yes?"

The Molly Weasley pre-trip interrogation. Nobody escapes it for any reason, whether he or she be going off to Hogwarts or Holyhead. "My Weasley jumper is in my bag. Harry made sure of it," Ginny assured her, shooting a half-glare at her husband. "And the Harpies feed us almost as well as you do, plus we have to take supplemental potions twice a day to replace any nutrients we work off in drills. I'll be all right, Mum."

"It's time, Love," Harry said softly, tugging her away from her now-blubbering mother. "We've got to get going if we've any hope of getting you to the stadium on time."

With final farewells, Harry and Ginny walked out the door and down the path to the shed. They'd decided to fly the bike to Holyhead instead of simply Apparate. With a cough and a rumble, Sirius' old motorcycle roared to life. Ginny mounted up behind Harry, shrinking her duffel and shoving it into the pocket of her dragon leather jacket. With a pat to Harry's chest, Harry released the kick-stand and they rumbled down the drive to the road where they would pick up speed and take flight.

"'Mione, you'd better get your shower," Ron said. "You've got to be in at eight, yourself, and I know you want to take your time."

"Are you suggesting, Mr Weasley, that I _need_ a lot of time to get ready for work," Hermione asked with mock indignation. "Am I that homely?"

"No, no, I…" Ron thought sure he'd stuck his considerable foot in his mouth and insulted his fiancée, which would have been the last thing she needed after the rude awakening she'd had. It wasn't until she broke out into giggles while his parents snickered at the table, that he realised she was having him on. "You're going to be the death of me, woman!"

"Oh, I know you love me, you big oaf," she cooed, planting kisses all over his very red face. "I also know you weren't insulting me. Now…let me get myself together."

"'Mione, you could appear in sackcloth and ashes and still knock their eyes out," Ron chuckled, picking her up and carrying her toward the stairs.

Hermione squealed with delight, but still pretended to resist him. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, put me down this instant," she cried as she giggled and pretended to pound his shoulders with her fists.

Molly and Arthur sat at the table and watched the two of them carry on like—well, two young people in love. "Mollywobbles, those two remind me of you and me when we were their age."

"Were we ever that young, Artie," she sighed. "It seems like so long ago. You were so dashing," she blushed. "Why I remember the night you carried me up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room after a moonlight swim in the black lake."

"Ah, yes. I actually convinced you to strip off to your knickers and…" Arthur's eyes took on a twinkle as he remembered that particular night. They'd eluded capture by old Apollyon Pringle, predecessor to crusty Argus Filch. In those days, that sort of thing would earn a student a night hanging by his or her wrists in the dungeons, followed by immediate expulsion.

"Not that I was anything to look at, you prat," Molly snorted. "I wasn't exactly a beauty like our Ginny or our Hermione."

"Oh now I wouldn't say that, my love. You were as radiant as I was dashing, as I remember," Arthur disagreed with a wink. "And some things never change."

"And you're still the charmer, Arthur Weasley. It's no mystery where our sons got it all," she giggled. After nearly thirty years of marriage, they were still deeply and hopelessly in love, devoted to one another in every way.

A little over an hour and two pots of tea later, Ron and Hermione pounded down the stairs. Ron was dressed in his maroon and gold Auror's robes, his gold badge shining on his chest. Hermione looked quite professional in her business suit and black silk robes, stockings, and sensible shoes. Ron insisted upon carrying her satchel.

"We'll wait a bit for you, Dad, if you want to go in with us," Ron offered. "Hermione already knows where she has to go, so there's no hurry. And when she does arrive, all eyes will be on her, yeah?"

"You look perfectly lovely today, dear," Molly said, brushing some imaginary lint from Hermione's shoulder.

"You certainly do, Miss Granger," Arthur said respectfully. "You're a fine asset to RCMC and Amos will come to know that very quickly. Now, if you'll excuse me for a bit, I'll make myself presentable and we can Apparate together."

"Thank you. I hope Harry isn't late and brooding," Hermione mused. "This separation thing has been hard on him."

"Nah—he'll be all right, Love. He's rather used to the idea now. Besides, he has to meet with Dad and Kingsley this morning about our new ongoing training plan," Ron replied rather nonchalantly.

"What kind of training," Molly asked, not sure she really wanted to know.

"Simulation. The Mafalda case was a success, but too many people were injured who shouldn't have been," Ron explained. "It proved to Harry and me that the Troopers and the Hit wizards are rusty—skilled, but rusty. Maybe even a little soft. Anyway, we talked a bit and came up with a special training facility that would simulate just about any kind of situation imaginable."

"You might want to expand the gym, too. From what I've seen, the one Harry built for us at Hogwarts was far superior to the one in DMLE," Hermione offered. "I mean, you and Harry aren't hardbodies for nothing. And such stamina!" Hermione squeezed Ron's left bicep, causing him to flex it like a body builder.

"Come along, children," Arthur called as he descended the stairs in his maroon DMLE robes, sans the gold trim. "Harry should arrive about the same time we do. He said he was going to banish the motorcycle home and then Apparate in." Just then, there was a loud crack emanating from the shed area as the old Triumph appeared inside. "And there it is."

"Then what are we waiting for," Ron said, picking up Hermione's satchel. "Let's go!" With kisses and hugs for Molly, the three left the house for the Apparition point. With three pops, they were gone.

Molly sighed and set to her chores, beginning with the breakfast dishes. Much had changed for her family since the end of the war. New jobs, engagements and marriages, new Weasleys and long-lost nieces—the list went on and on. In the back of her mind, Molly heard a familiar voice that said, _See Mum? Life is still good and it goes on._ She smiled to herself and got on with her work.

Harry sat at his desk in their shared office sorting through several memos that had congregated in his IN box since Friday afternoon. None of them contained anything remotely earth-shattering—mostly meeting notices for the week that didn't pertain to his department. He thought the Ministry wasted far too much parchment since most of the notices could have been posted on departmental bulletin boards or in the cafeteria. _Our tax Galleons at work, this is._ With a snort of mild disgust, he tossed them into the bin. He was just about to lean back in his chair and put his feet up when the door opened.

"Ready to escort our Hermione to Level Four, son," Arthur called. "Time's wasting and she should be there a bit early to get situated."

"You all right, mate," Ron asked. "You look a little peaky."

"I'm fine—really, honest," Harry answered. "Just a bit…well, you know. I'll be okay once I get to the meeting. You want to come?"

"Nah. Let's get 'Mione to RCMC, though. She's getting anxious, in case you couldn't tell." Ron had all he could do to contain Hermione as her body trembled with mild excitement and not a little trepidation. She was almost bouncing on her feet, but he could sense her nervousness as she held tight to his hand.

"Harry? You sure you're okay," Hermione asked, genuinely concerned. "You don't have to come along if you're not up to it. I understand."

"I could ask you the same thing, but no, I promised I'd escort you, and escort you I shall. Let it never be said that DMLE shirks its duty," Harry smiled, offering her his arm. "Milady?"

"Lead on, good sirs," Hermione laughed lightly. The four of them stepped out of the office and turned toward the lifts, more wastes of parchment and tax Galleons zipping overhead.

Upon their arrival at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, they met up with Selma Dorsett and Amos Diggory. "Ah, Miss Granger," Amos greeted her brightly. "Welcome again to RCMC!" She automatically shook hands with him trying to look professional and not give away any indication that she'd had a terrible nightmare about him only hours before.

"Amos," Arthur said, extending his hand. "You know my sons, Ron and Harry. Selma, how are you?"

"Of course, of course," Amos gushed. "Our two heroes of the war and the recent unpleasantness with Miss Prewett." The two younger wizards shook his hand in turn. He'd failed to mention Hermione's role in the war and that she was also a decorated war-hero, not to mention that she was instrumental in the arrest and conviction of Mafalda Prewett as well. The man didn't even introduce Harry to Selma, who stood there without saying a word. "So Miss Granger, shall we crack on then?"

"Of…of course, sir," she replied, looking apologetically to the older witch by the door. "I'm looking forward to working with you."

"Now, now, none of this _sir_, business," he said with a pasted-on grin. "We're not that formal here at the zoo."

"Well…erm…all right then. We'll see you for lunch then," Ron suggested, kissing Hermione's cheek. "Shall I pick you up or do you want to meet me?"

"I-I'll meet you down there," she replied shakily. "Let me know how the meeting turns out."

"Sure, 'Mione," Ron replied, somehow not wanting to leave her in that misogynistic twit's less-than-capable hands. "Selma, good to see you again." Selma nodded her response and she, Amos Diggory, and Hermione stepped through the door, closing it behind them.

"What a ponce," Harry said. "Uh…sorry, Dad."

"Not at all, Harry. Not at all. _Ponce _sums Amos Diggory up nicely, I'd say. Just don't let Molly ever hear you say that," he intimated only loud enough for the two Aurors to hear.

"Did you see that prize prat," Ron asked his companions. "He completely ignored Selma and called Harry and me _the two heroes of the war and the recent unpleasantness_! Hermione holds the Order of Merlin, First Class too, dammit, _and _if it hadn't been for her I'd be…well…"

Arthur shook his head and then addressed his youngest son. "Unfortunately, Ron, the so-called Old Guard like Amos and many of the Wizengamot still adhere to a patriarchal philosophy. Witches, no matter how intelligent or talented, are practically second-class citizens. Wizards like Amos don't feel it necessary to acknowledge their accomplishments."

"That's just wrong," Harry seethed. "Hermione's brilliant and Ginny…"

"I know, boys, but it's an old philosophy that'll take many, many years to overcome," Arthur said sadly. "But witches like your mother, Ginny, Hermione, and Fiona—bright and talented women in their own right—can do much to change all that. Why, one day, witches will be recognized as more than mothers or teachers. Our witches are true revolutionaries, boys, and it's our duty to support them in all of their endeavours."

The three of them arrived once again at the lifts that would take them to the Atrium Level and Minister Shacklebolt's office. Kingsley welcomed them with handshakes and offers of tea and biscuits while they waited for the few others who still hadn't arrived, among them Percy and Alastor Gumboil.

"Selma, please show Miss Granger to her cubicle and give her a tour of the offices. I have a few reports to look over," Mr Diggory ordered without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

"Of course, Amos," Selma answered. She watched as Diggory stepped into his office and closed the door. "Right here, dear."

"Thank you, Selma. I…"

"Not at all, Hermione. Now, you just get yourself settled and I'll take you through and introduce you to all the interns and show you around, not that there's much to show," she said in her motherly tone. "And don't mind the prize prat. He's just always like that."

_Great. Perhaps my nightmare was less that than a premonition._ "I'm sure I'll survive, Selma. Just give me about ten minutes to acclimate and I'll be ready for that tour." _And a couple shots of Firewhiskey_

Hermione set to inspecting her tiny workspace, first checking the filing cabinets. They were virtually empty. She made notes as to what supplies she might need and to go through each and every filing cabinet on the floor and make copies of those she felt necessary to her further research into drafting Dobby's Law.

"Ready, dear," Selma asked, poking her head around the divider. "Word has gotten around the interns that a celebrity has joined our team and they're quite looking forward to making your acquaintance."

"Yes, I'm ready. I also have a list of things I'll need to…"

"Well pay a visit to the supply room on the way. How's that," Selma asked patting her back. "Just bring it along, all right?"

"All right," Hermione replied. "Shall we meet the masses, then?"

Selma took Hermione around the main floor of the office, showing her the filing system and where all the forms were stored. The dozen or so interns working the files welcomed her to the department, thanking her again and again for her contribution to the war effort and for helping Harry Potter defeat and vanquish the Dark Lord. She got a taste of what it was like to be Harry Potter, but she was grateful that her efforts were appreciated just the same.

Lastly, the two witches visited the supply closet where Hermione found everything on her list and a few things that were not. "Selma, how might I go about copying files in the main cabinets?"

"Well, dear, that's not usually allowed. Why do you need to copy files," she asked.

"I just want to have certain ones available to me right in my cubicle without having to get up a zillion times to find what I might need for a specific case," Hermione said guardedly. She felt as though she could trust Selma Dorsett, but she didn't want to arouse anyone's suspicions on her first day on the job.

"Well, that certainly makes a lot of sense. In fact, it's downright refreshing to have someone else around who believes in efficiency in one's work," Selma replied. "It's such a rare commodity around here, efficiency."

Hermoine couldn't help but let out a conspiratorial giggle. "So you'll help me then?"

"Of course, dear. I know each and every one of those file drawers like the back of my hand. I can tell you where practically anything you need is located," Selma promised. "Just get yourself settled in and I'll be in to help you familiarise yourself with the various forms you need to know."

"What about the prize prat," Hermione asked, trying not to smirk too much. "Does he…"

"Hermione, the only time that man comes out of that office is to yell at the interns, go to the cafeteria, or use the loo," Selma told her. "Otherwise, he locks himself in there and stares at the _Cedric Wall_. He's even got a full tea service in there with daily delivery of teacakes and biscuits from the cafeteria."

"Yes, I noticed the wall when I visited on Friday. He took Cedric's death hard, didn't he? I know we all did at the school. It was quite a shock," Hermione related.

"He hasn't been the same since," Selma said with a sigh and a glance at Amos Diggory's closed door. "He used to be rather fun to work with, even if he held the _lower creatures_ in little regard. But now…he's a right pain in the arse."

"So what's the secret to keeping your sanity here then," Hermione asked, longing for a shot of Old Ogden's Best.

"Just keep your head down, whatever you do, and indulge in a lovely glass of mulled mead when you arrive home every evening," she smiled. "It works wonders. But if I were you, I'd indulge myself in the charms of that handsome young Auror of yours. I'll bet he works wonders too."

Selma's eyes twinkled with mischief. She wasn't so old that she couldn't appreciate a fine specimen such as Ronald Weasley or any of the Weasley boys, for that matter. And that adorable Harry Potter—well, she could appreciate that one, too.

"Oh he does that, Selma. He works his wonder quite admirably," Hermione assured her with a wink and an impish grin. The two women shared a laugh before Selma left Hermione to her settling in. Hermione was grateful to have found a fast friend in the office and Selma was glad to befriend such a sensible young witch as Hermione.

Hermione was feeling a bit better about her new job come lunch time. Ron, Harry, Percy, Charlie, and Arthur had commandeered a table and had just sat down when Hermione appeared with Selma in the cafeteria.

"Over here, 'Mione," Ron called, waving them to their table. When the two witches arrived, Ron gave Hermione a bracing hug and kissed her full and long on the lips. "Selma, please join us?"

"Thank you, Ron," Selma accepted. Harry jumped up to pull her chair out for her. "Such a gentleman, Mr Potter."

"It's the least I can do for such a lovely lady," Harry smiled, turning on the charm. "Have you met my brothers, Percy and Charlie Weasley?" Once introductions had been made, those who'd brought lunches along pulled them out of their pockets and touched their wands to them. "_Engorgio_."

"Shall we see what's on the menu today, Love," Ron asked. "Does anyone need anything?"

"We could each use a bottle of Butterbeer, I think," Arthur suggested. "I notice nobody has a drink."

"Seven Butterbeers coming up," Ron repeated. "Come on, Harry. We have a mission to fulfil. We have a starving woman to feed and four other thirsty comrades to save from dehydration."

"Ron, you are so full of…"

"Harry, don't even," Hermione warned.

The three of them joined the cafeteria line while the others began to eat and chat about their various departments. Charlie had met Selma a couple of times, but since he worked in the dragon paddocks, he didn't visit the office much. Discussion of the morning's DMLE meeting had been already tabled until the following Sunday when they would all meet for supper at the Burrow.

Once the Golden Trio had returned to the table, an impromptu Weasley Inquisition began. "So, Hermione," Percy began. "How was your first morning as a proud employee of the Ministry of Magic? I'm sure you've found your workplace acceptable?"

Hermione had to smile a bit at Percy's pompous demeanour. A few years ago, it would have been and was perfectly annoying, but now, since he's managed to loosen up a bit, she found it quite comical. "Well, Percy, my workplace is a small cubicle, but Selma here has all but bent over backward to make me feel welcome and help me settle in. This afternoon, we'll be going over a few more departmental forms and then start on the files."

"What are you planning on doing with Ministry files, Hermione," Percy asked a bit suspicious. "They're quite confidential, you know."

"Now, Percy," Arthur interrupted. "Hermione needs to learn her way around that office so she can do her job properly. Part of that is familiarising herself with those massive filing cabinets. Am I right, Selma?"

"Right in one, Arthur," Selma agreed. "Hermione has more than proven already that she's quite an efficient and conscientious worker, so I have no qualms about letting her poke around through my filing cabinets to find what she needs for each case."

"Well, if you put it that way, then I suppose that's all right," Percy sniffed, returning to his bacon sandwich.

"Thanks, Perce. You have no idea how grateful I am for your blessing on my efforts," Hermione smirked, rolling her eyes. The others around the table had all they could do to keep from bursting into laughter at the expense of their snobbish brother.

All too soon, it was time for the happy lunchers to part company and return to their respective departments. Ron and Harry decided to hit the gym for a much-needed workout, Charlie had some dragon's eggs to catalogue, and Percy had to return to his office to do whatever it was he did all day. The others returned to their offices to face the never-ending piles of paperwork that plagued Ministry employees at all levels.

Ron and Harry arrived at the Aurors' locker room and changed into their workout gear. "It sounds like Hermione's had a pretty smooth morning," Harry said, pulling his DA tee shirt over his head.

"Yeah, I was a bit worried, to be honest," Ron replied, tying his now shoulder-length hair back with a fine leather thong. "Diggory sure comes off as a slimy git, doesn't he?"

"Sort of reminds me of Ludo Bagman in a way with his pasted-on smile and overbearing sappiness," Harry chuckled. He grabbed a couple of towels, throwing one at Ron.

"A complete ponce," Ron snickered, reiterating Harry's earlier assessment of the Head of Hermione's department. The two of them performed a few warm-up stretches to avoid pulling any muscles during their workout.

"Yeah, well…if he does anything to upset Hermione or impede her in any way…" Harry began as he set up the weight machine.

"He'll wish _he_ was a House-elf," Ron growled, chalking his hands.

"Too right, that," Harry agreed, pressing an initial 200 kilos with a groan. "Damn…I'm going…soft."

"You…the Saviour…of the Wizarding…World… Going soft? I should alert…the media… straightaway," Ron grunted, pulling himself up in a series of one-handed chin-ups, his knees bent under him. "Rita…would be…right chuffed."

Harry growled and began to press again, the sweat pouring off his skin, soaking his shirt and sorts. Harry's body was anything but soft, but as in all things, he tended to push himself to the limit, both magically and physically. After twenty-five reps, he set the bar back on the stand and sat up, wiping his face with his shirt before pulling it off and flinging it across the room toward the soiled clothing bin. Soon after, Ron followed suit, leaving both of them shirtless with sweat rolling off their well-toned bodies.

While Ron and Harry worked their bodies, the rest of the day passed smoothly for Hermione. True to Selma's word, Amos Diggory never left his office other than for lunch and the loo. Apparently, none of the interns had done anything to displease him, so they were all spared his vocal wrath for the day. Selma showed Hermione the hundreds of files contained in the cabinets that lined one very long wall on the floor. She took mental notes as to which files in which drawers she'd need to copy for her own use as well as for her research.

At the end of the day, she placed privacy charms on her notes and stashed them in her satchel. She wasn't quite ready to reveal anything to anyone, save Ron, Harry, and eventually, Ginny. Dobby's Law was and would be a close-guarded secret for at least a few months yet, and Hermione didn't want to risk anyone finding out what she was up to.

Ron and Harry arrived just as Hermione was about to leave the office and make her way to DMLE to meet them. She knew they were in the gym and thought they might have lost track of time. Selma hadn't seen them either, so she guessed that was probably it. "Hello, beautiful," Ron said, taking her into a warm embrace and giving her a sweet kiss.

"Hello, handsome," she smiled prettily. "Hey gorgeous," she said to Harry, giving him a sisterly hug. "My, aren't you two buff. And freshly showered, too. You two smell wonderful!"

"Sounds like someone had a good day," Harry observed, kissing her cheek. "What dirty little secrets did you dig up this afternoon?"

Hermione giggled and took both Aurors' proffered arms. "Well, none really. I spent most of the day with Selma, learning my way about the office and more specifically, the files. There are hundreds of cases of House-elf abuse and forced relocation. I didn't get to read any of them, but I could tell just by flipping through a few of them that there have been some very unsavoury goings-on where House-elves are concerned."

"Such as…" Ron prompted her.

"Not here, Love. Too many ears," she whispered. "I'll give you the low-down—such as it is at this point—later. How was your meeting, by the way? I didn't get to ask at lunch."

"That discussion is tabled until Sunday dinner," Harry replied, "But I will tell you that Gumboil actually agreed with us."

"Gumboil? Alastor Gumboil, proponent of the Dementors' Kiss actually _agreed_ with you," Hermione asked, aghast.

"Amazing, isn't it? Must be the Hit wizard in him. But there's also a downside. King appointed him Senior Undersecretary. He's now our boss—Dad's too."

"Bloody hell," Hermione said in reply. "Merlin help DMLE."

"Let's get out of here before I'm completely depressed," Ron moaned. The three of them rode the lift to the Atrium where Arthur stood waiting to Floo home.

"Floo, Dad," Ron asked, nonplussed. "Apparating's faster."

"I know, son, but I still haven't digested the news about our new esteemed Senior Undersecretary, so I don't feel much like being squeezed through a hosepipe," the older wizard confessed. "Why Gumboil, of all people?"

"But Dad, Flooing involves spinning," Ron reminded his father. "Are you sure you want to spin?"

"Oh…quite right. Perhaps I'll take the hosepipe after all," he smiled wearily. "I hope your mother's got supper ready. I'm famished and I could use one of her stellar meals to soothe my troubled soul."

"Then let's get out of here before we all sink into the depths of despair," Harry urged as a rumble erupted from Ron's stomach. "Hermione's had a good day, so maybe she'll be able to raise our troubled spirits over supper." With some subdued laughter, the four of them walked to the Apparition Point and vanished into thin air, reappearing outside the wards at the Burrow.

Sure enough, Molly had a grand supper on the table with all of Hermione's favourites including ham, mashed potatoes, mushy peas with malt vinegar, fresh bread rolls with sweet butter and honey, and double-chocolate cake for afters. "Molly, you didn't have to do this for me," Hermione said gratefully. "But I'm glad you did. It looks positively scrumptious and smells heavenly!"

"Not at all, dear. It's all in celebration of your first day at the Ministry. Come on now, you three. Tuck in," Molly said shepherding them to the table. "Now tell us all about your day."

Over the meal, Hermione told them all about working with Selma and what she'd found while poking through the House-elf files. Molly gasped and snorted in disgust in all the right places. She began to truly understand and appreciate old Kreacher, who she planned to ask to help her with the food for Ron's and Hermione's wedding. She was more than pleased with his work at Harry's and Ginny's. _No wonder the poor thing was so bitter_.

At nine o'clock that night, seven men gathered at the modest home of Alastor Gumboil. Tonight, they would establish and incorporate the Equality and Liberation Front and launch a full-out campaign to garner the membership and support of the Weasleys, most specifically Hermione Granger, and the Potters, most specifically, Harry.

"Gentlemen, the first thing we need to do is elect officers," Gumboil began. "Do we have any nominations?"

"I nominate Alastor Gumboil as president," Arnold Peasegood said.

"I second," answered Frank Stiles, the self-proclaimed recording secretary at the meeting a few nights before.

"All in favour," Gumboil called.

"Aye," they all said in unison.

"Any opposed?" Silence. "Motion passes."

Fifteen minutes later, the voting was finished. Actually, there wasn't really much of a race. Stiles, another Obliviator who trained under Arnold Peasegood, took office as Recording Secretary, adding to the notes he'd already taken. Peasegood became the organisation's Vice-president, which pleased him greatly for several reasons, the first and foremost being that he fancied himself a buffer between Gumboil's volatile personality and the other members and prospective members of the group.

The office of Treasurer went to Gerald Stormer, a co-ordinator for the Floo Network. The office of Corresponding Secretary (and Chief Propagandist) went to Magnus Waldheimer, a paper pusher with the Department for International Magical Co-operation. The Dearborn brothers, Eldon and Ernie from Magical Games and Sports, were appointed Co-parliamentarians and handed a Muggle book, _Roberts' Rules of Order_, to study.

The seven men spent the next several hours hammering out a set of By-laws which they duly adopted and chartered. With a glass of port wine, they toasted the birth of ELF and bade one another a bleary-eyed goodnight, agreeing to meet again the following Monday night. It would take a series of energy draughts to keep them going the next day, but that was fine with them. They were about to make history and set the Wizarding world on its collective ear.

On Tuesday morning, Hermione knocked tentatively on Mr Diggory's office door. This was something that anyone rarely dared to do because no one wanted to incur his wrath, but she had to do it. She needed to ask him if she could stay an hour late today and tomorrow to make her hours for the week, since she wished to accompany Ron and Harry to King's Cross on Wednesday morning to see Fiona and the Munchkins off to Hogwarts.

Hermione had promised Patricia, and by extension, the others, that she'd be on the platform with Ron and Harry, but wanted also to be supportive of Fiona as well. She'd even planned to stop by the flat after work to help their American cousin pack her trunk. It wasn't that Hermione didn't think George and Angelina couldn't handle it, it was just that she needed to feel as if she were returning to Hogwarts too. It was just another thing in her life that'd changed drastically since the war.

"Come in, Hermione," Mr Diggory's voice came from behind the frosted glass door. "What can I do for you this morning? Are you all settled in?"

"Yes, I think so," she answered. Be direct, Hermione. Never let them smell your fear. "I needed to ask if you'd mind if I stayed an hour late today and tomorrow."

"What for," the man asked, not angrily, but suspiciously. "Behind already?"

"Oh no, sir. Not behind. You see, I promised a certain group of children I would see them off at King's Cross tomorrow," she explained. "And Ron's American cousin, Fiona Prewett, is riding the Hogwarts Express as she's going to join with Madame Pomfrey as her apprentice. Moral support, you know."

"Well…an hour extra today and tomorrow, you say," Amos repeated. "I suppose I could allow that. You'll stay until six tonight and tomorrow night, then?"

"Yes, Mr Diggory. That's right. I plan to leave at about ten tomorrow morning with Aurors Potter and Weasley, and be back after lunch. Is that all right?" Hermione didn't see any indication that Diggory would object, so she began to feel more at ease for having disturbed him in his inner sanctum.

"Well, that sounds reasonable, Hermione, but let's not make this sort of thing a habit," he said, as if she were an irresponsible schoolgirl.

"Of course not, Mr Diggory. I take my responsibilities seriously," Hermione replied a little annoyed.

"Is there anything else, then," he asked, casually eyeing the Cedric Wall. "I do have work to do."

"No, that's all. Thank you," Hermione said, relieved, and left her boss to further mourn his only son. _Dodged a bullet there, Granger. Well done._ When she returned to her cubicle, she sent her Patronus to Ron and Harry with one short message: "Woo Hoo!"

She and Selma spent most of the morning on the first filing cabinet, copying the files that Hermione felt that she needed in her own cabinet to "work more efficiently." Hermione still hadn't told Selma why she chose particular cases, many of which were closed, but she figured she'd have to pretty soon or the woman would figure it out on her own. Hermione already knew that Selma Dorsett was no Ministry simp; she had a mind like a steel trap under that motherly exterior and Hermione intended to make full use of it once she was sure she could trust her.

The two witches clocked out at noon to head to the cafeteria to meet their new lunch club. When they arrived, they found their fellow clubbers, less Charlie. "There's some excitement at the paddock, so all the handlers had to stay over lunch," Arthur explained. "It seems a couple of the eggs are hatching and they had to lock down the males."

"I didn't know male dragons would eat the young," Selma said, completely fascinated.

"Oh yes," Hermione said in her know-it-all way. Ron shot her a look as if to rein her in. She just smiled at him and ploughed on. "Dragons are essentially reptiles and reptilian males are prone to cannibalism among some species, such as alligators and crocodiles, which are distant cousins to dragons."

"Oh my! I wasn't aware of that," Selma said, clutching her chest. "How terrible."

"Well, Selma," Arthur interjected, "there's an American Muggle joke Charlie tells…"

"Dad," Ron said. "Please, not one of _Charlie's_ jokes," Ron moaned. "We're eating."

"Oh please do go on, Arthur," Selma grinned, eyes twinkling. "I'm sure we could all use a laugh."

"Well, it seems this rustic walked into a Louisiana pub, you see, and ordered up a shot of his favourite liquor. He raised his glass and said, 'All hail the bull alligator!' and drank it down, ordering another." Ron rolled his eyes and tried to ignore his father.

"He raised the glass again and said, 'All hail the bull alligator' and drank that one down. He ordered up a third and repeated his mantra, draining the third shot in one go. Finally, the barman's curiosity got the best of him and he asked the fellow why he kept toasting the bull alligator." Arthur looked around the table to make sure everyone was ready for the punch line.

"The rustic set his shotglass down. 'Well sir,' he said. 'Females lay huge clutches of eggs every year. The bull alligator is a cannibal and waits for the sound of hatching babies in the nest. When they emerge, the bull snaps most of them up for his breakfast. Every year, I toast the bull alligator because if it wasn't for him, we'd be up to our arse in alligators!'"

Everyone at the table, including Percy and except Ron, laughed at the story. Ron just rolled his eyes. He couldn't imagine being up to his arse in dragons. They were just too big and they didn't lay huge clutches of eggs—only about a half dozen, at the most, according to Charlie. Of course, there's a big difference between alligators and dragons—like about five tonnes, flight, and fire.

Alligators just eat a lot.

"Oh come off it, mate," Harry said, elbowing his red-haired brother next to him. "You have to admit it was a funny story. Why are you so cross today?"

"I'm not cross," Ron argued. "It's a stupid joke. Alligators and dragons don't even compare!"

"That's hardly the point, Ronald," Percy said as pompously as usual. "If you had been paying attention, you'd have understood the similarity between alligators and dragons in that the males are cannibalistic, and that was what the joke was about."

"Yeah, but they're not allowing the males to eat the hatchlings," Ron argued. "So the joke doesn't fit the scenario."

"Actually, Love," Hermione began. "Not all dragon hatchlings survive. Of the six in a clutch, only one or two actually live. RCMC records the live births and moves the survivors away from the colony to raise them safely. The dead ones are actually fed to the others. The trouble is that the males don't wait for natural selection to run its course. They'll eat all of them, alive or dead."

"Goodness, Hermione," Selma declared breathlessly. "How do you know all of this?"

"She's read every book in the Hogwarts library—except for the restricted section," Harry laughed. "There's very little she doesn't know at least something about."

"I can see why you're hailed as the brightest witch of your age," Selma declared.

"I'm just well-read," Hermione demurred. "I'm not all that bright."

"Oh come on, Hermione! Ten NEWTs? You're pretty bright," Percy argued. "Even I didn't earn _that_ many."

Hermione blushed prettily and finished her lunch. She really enjoyed the accolades, but it wasn't in her nature to bask in glory's warm light. Like her surrogate brother, she didn't like excessive amounts of attention because she was still self-conscious about many aspects of her being.

Ron and Harry waited the extra hour to escort her home. Arthur had gone on ahead to explain and ask Molly to wait supper for them. "So how did it go today," Ron asked. "Did the git give you a hard time about tomorrow?"

"Today was busy and no, Ronald, the git didn't give me a hard time about tomorrow," Hermione assured him with a peck to the cheek. "In fact, he was quite accommodating. I must have caught him on a good day."

"Great, then we'll leave for the station at around ten, yeah," Harry asked. "You did tell him we were leaving at ten."

"Yes, Harry dear, I told him ten. Come on, you two! What do you take me for," she said with mock indignation.

"My wife, in roughly ten weeks," Ron said, nuzzling her ear as they walked. It was almost like their Hogwarts days—the three of them walking the corridors, sharing news and talking about a git of some kind.

"I promised Fiona I'd stop by the flat on the way home to help her pack," Hermione told them. "It won't take but a few minutes."

"Okay," Harry replied. "We'll tag along."

When they reached the Apparition Point, they turned and disappeared, reappearing outside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley. George was just closing up the shop when they trooped in. "She's all packed, Hermione," George told her. "She's all set, I promise. Angie helped her."

"I sort of guessed that, but I promised Fiona I'd stop by anyway. These two gorillas decided to tag along," she grinned, indicating Ron and Harry. "I'll just nip on upstairs while you three plot the overthrow of the free world, shall I?"

"So she's all right caged up with Diggory," George asked, turning the sign from OPEN to CLOSED.

"Pretty much. She's made a friend—Selma Dorsett, Receptionist and Intern Keeper. She's been showing Hermione the ropes and acquainting her with the files," Ron reported. "She says her days have been busy, but not stressful. She seems pretty happy."

"For now, anyway," Harry added. "Diggory can be a real prize prat and we're a bit guarded about Hermione working under him."

"Well, he never has been the same since _Ced_ was killed," George said, shaking his head. "He wasn't a bad sod before that—just a bit full of himself…or was that full of Cedric? Anyway, I'm glad to hear Hermione's doing all right."

"Like Harry said—for now," Ron corrected him. Just then Fiona, Angelina, and Hermione came down the stairs.

"Is all well with Fiona's trunk," Ron asked Hermione.

"Of course it is! Angie helped her and I checked it over. Everything is in perfect order for your first ride on the Hogwarts Express, right Onie?"

"Sure enough," Fiona replied. "I'm pretty excited about this ride. Thank y'all again for the party Sunday night. It was fun meeting all yer school friends and Professor Hagrid. I think I like him."

"Forget it, Onie," George snickered. "He's taken."

"Not like that, you git," Fiona cried, laughing. "He's got a good ol' soul, and he's so gentle fer such a mountain of a man."

"Half-giant, Onie," Harry said. "He's a Half-giant. That's why he's twelve feet tall. His little brother, Grawp, is sixteen feet. You'll meet him soon enough."

"Yeah, he might even be at the station in Hogsmeade with Hagrid when the train pulls in," Ron added. "Angie, have you and George filled Fiona in on what to expect?"

"Of course, you prat," Angelina replied. "We wouldn't let her go off to Hogwarts without some kind of orientation."

"Well then," Hermione began brightly. "We should go. Molly's waiting supper for us. What are you three going to do for supper?"

"Three Broomsticks to introduce Fiona to Rosie," George replied. "Fiona's seen enough of the Leaky for one lifetime."

"Oh, then you _must_ try some of Madame Rosmerta's mulled mead. It's wonderful," Hermione suggested.

"Uh…we'd better be off or Mum's going to go spare," Ron warned, pulling his fiancée and his brother-in-law toward the back door. "Besides, I'm starved."

"Well alert the media," Angelina snorted. "Good night!"

"Georgie," a female voice called across the inn. "George Weasley! How are you, Love?"

"Rosie, you're lovely as ever," he answered, kissing her hand. "I've brought along some friends—well, actually a girlfriend and a cousin. Madame Rosmerta, you know Angelina Johnson."

"Of course, of course," she said, taking Angelina's hand. "Good to see you again. And how're Alicia and Katie?"

"They're good," Angelina answered. "Alicia's keeping busy and Katie and Oliver Wood are dating."

"That doesn't surprise me. You Quidditch types tend to stick together," Rosmerta observed. "So this must be your…American cousin?"

"Nothing gets past you, does it," George grinned. "Fiona Prewett, this is Madame Rosmerta, the proprietress of this fine establishment. Rosie, my cousin Fiona."

"Ma'am," Fiona greeted her, offering her hand.

"So proper and formal. Just call me Rosie, dear. And welcome to Hogsmeade and The Three Broomsticks. I dare say you'll see a lot of Hogsmeade this coming school year," she said, ushering the three to one of her better tables. "Oh yes, I know everything that goes on at Hogwarts—well, almost everything. You'll be apprenticing with Poppy, then?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be ridin' in on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow. Miss Poppy and Miss Minerva thought it might be a good idea to have someone with some healin' smarts on board," Fiona answered, not hiding her excitement.

"Those kids can get up to some mischief, eh, Georgie," Rosmerta smirked, nudging George with her elbow. "So what'll it be, gang?"

"Hermione said I should try some o' yer mulled mead," Fiona replied. "She says it's wonderful."

"One mulled meade. How about you two," Rosmerta asked, her hands on her hips.

"I'll have the same, Rosie," Angelina replied. "I haven't had your mead in ages."

"George?"

"Butterbeer for me right now, Love," George said. "Then we'd like a menu."

"Coming right up," she said and sauntered off to the bar to fill their orders.

"She's somethin' special, ya know," Fiona observed. "She's got a way about her. The kids all like her, don't they?"

"Rosie's a fine woman—never married, at least not to a wizard. She's married to this place, actually," George told her. "She's here from open to close and doesn't allow any rough stuff either. She's got a Beater club behind that bar and she's not afraid to use it."

"She's a flirt, though," Angelina added. "She flirts with all the boys, fifth year and up. And somehow, she knows who they all are, too."

"It's prob'ly the business," Fiona observed. "It takes a very special type o' person ta run a bar. Ya gotta be part psychologist, part parent, part friend, and part street fighter ta pull it off. She's all that 'n' I think a little bit more. That's why folks get along with her, am I right?"

"Right in one, Onie," George said. "She'll lend an ear if she thinks you need it and she'll tell you off if she thinks you need that too.

"Here we are, gang," Rosmerta said as she delivered their drinks. "And here are your menus. I'll be back in a tick."

"Thanks, Miss Rosie," said Fiona as she began to peruse the menu. "This here steak 'n' kidney pie sounds good."

"It's Harry's favourite, next to the shepherd's pie," George offered. "I've seen him order both at the same time and eat every bite, and that's saying something. Rosie doesn't skimp. When she does something, she does the thing right."

"Then I believe I'll have that. If Cousin Harry likes it, it must be good," she declared.

"Get a side of mushy peas," Angelina suggested. "They go together rather well and I think you'll like them."

A few minutes later, Rosmerta returned and took their orders. Half an hour later, she joined them as they ate, talking about old times and Hogwarts and more of what Fiona might expect. "And don't let Filch or that horrid cat of his frighten you," Rosmerta advised her. "He's a crusty old Squib who blames the students for it. Mrs Norris, the cat, is a sneaky thing. Some say she's part Kneazle, but I doubt it. She's crafty, but not all that smart."

"Yeah, just give her a kick if she bothers you," George laughed.

"Oh I couldn't do that," Fiona countered. "I'm a Healer 'n' Granny taught me never to hurt an animal no matter how snarly it is."

"You'll get on well with Hagrid then, Fiona," Rosmerta assured her. "He's a big man with a temperament to match, but he'd never intentionally hurt anybody or anything…except for Death Eaters and anything attempting to hurt a student."

The conversation continued on until after midnight. All the patrons had left, so the inn was empty. George looked at his watch and announced that it was time they all got some sleep, since Fiona had a big day ahead of her and he and Angelina had a shop to run.

"Miss Rosie, thank you so much for everything. The mead was truly wonderful and the food was excellent," Fiona said, shaking the innkeeper's hand. "I look forward ta meetin' up with ya again."

"Not at all, Fiona. It was my pleasure. George. Angelina, don't be strangers," she said, hugging them both.

"Rosie, always a pleasure, Love," George whispered, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Shall we, ladies?" George escorted his girlfriend and his cousin out of the pub and into the Hogsmeade street. Before they left the town, George decided to take a look at the shop just to make sure it had been properly secured.

After a quick check, he decided all was in order and the three of them Apparated Angelina home. George and Fiona arrived at the flat and had a nightcap before bed. "Goodnight, Georgie," Fiona yawned, stretching toward the ceiling. "Thanks for everything. I don't know what I'd've done withoutcha."

"You're family, Onie," George said, taking her into an embrace. "We take care of our own. I'm glad you came to us. It's been good to have someone around since Fred…"

"Yeah, I know whatcha mean. I miss Taya somethin' fierce, but you keep my mind off it," she agree. It's gonna be kinda lonely up in that big old castle," she said, her eyes glistening.

"Lonely? With something like five hundred kids running around getting into trouble? Hardly. You won't have a dull moment all term," George assured her. "But if by some freak of nature you do happen to get lonely, there's an entire owlery waiting to do their bit."

"Oh Georgie, you're a shot in the arm, you know that," Fiona giggled through her now falling tears. "You've got a gift and you make the most of it. You're a good man."

George didn't know what to say to that. Nobody had ever really said that to him before. He'd been told he was a good boy once in a while growing up, but never had anyone come out and said he was a good man. Not even Angelina. For Fiona to say that to him struck him right where he lived and he would cherish that for the rest of his life. _I'm a good man_.

"Thanks, Onie. I needed that," he replied, hugging her again. "Now, you need to get some sleep. You're in for a busy day and the trip on the Express is never uneventful. I expect you'll be putting at least a dozen students right before it's all over."

"Good night, Cousin George," Fiona said, kissing him on the cheek. "I'll see ya later this mornin', okay?"

"Okay. Good night, Cousin Fiona." The two of them slipped into their respective rooms and fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows. They had become quite close in the little more than a month since Fiona's arrival on British soil. They'd hit it off famously almost immediately, but in a short time, they became almost inseparable as they had been with their respective twins in childhood. George still missed Fred, but the emptiness didn't feel so empty anymore. For Fiona, the separation from Gallatea by more than a few states was less painful as well.

"_Harry?"_

"_Hi, Gin."_

"_I miss you."_

"_I know, Love. I miss you too."_

"_Is Hermione all right?"_

"_So far, yeah. She seems pretty happy."_

"_Will she be able to see the Munchkins off?"_

"_Yeah. Diggory let her work an extra hour today and she'll do the same tomorrow to make up her time."_

"_Sounds like she wound herself up over nothing, then."_

"_Maybe, maybe not. She's made friends with the receptionist and she's helping Hermione learn her job, but other than that, she says Diggory hides out in his inner office most of the day. Ron's still a bit apprehensive."_

"_That's just Ron, Harry, you know that. Think of how protective he was of me. He's just transferred that to Hermione, as it should be."_

"_I suppose you're right, there. Enough about Hermione. What about you?"_

"_I'm right knackered tonight."_

"_Rough practice?"_

"_Yeah. Outflying Beaters and Bludgers without dropping the Quaffle. I'm whipped. And before you ask, no, none of us were hit."_

"_Okay. I was worried."_

"_I know. The bond, remember?" _She opened it up and sent a massive wave of the Unspoken Thing to him. _"I love you, Harry James Potter. Give everyone my love. Sweet dreams."_

"_I love you too, Ginevra Molly Potter. Will do. Sweet dreams yourself." _He sent his own wave of the Unspoken Thing through the bond and they both fell asleep peacefully as if in one another's arms.


	10. Chapter 10 Back to School

**Chapter 10 – Back to School**

Diana Murray-Templeton awoke at five o'clock in the morning to the sound of something a magical mother would have described as a herd of stampeding Hippogriffs. She sighed and slid out of bed carefully so as not to awaken her sleeping husband. Today was the first of September and that meant Patricia would be returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where she studied magic. Before work, she and Paul would take their daughter to King's Cross Station to see her off on the scarlet-and-black locomotive known as the Hogwarts Express.

It was quite evident that Patricia was already up packing her school trunk with her new textbooks, school uniforms and robes, new parchment and quills, and all manner of odd apparatus for her different classes. She'd been on pins and needles all the past week in anticipation of the start of her second year. Even though Patricia had proven herself quite proficient with them, Diana never did understand why they insisted upon the use of such archaic means of written communication—quills and parchment? Biros and white paper were much less-expensive and lasted much longer, but she had to admit that the magical world was nothing if not enigmatic.

Diana carefully looked into Patricia's room and watched as her daughter struggled to push the lid of her overstuffed trunk down so she could latch it. The string of jargon coming out of her daughter's mouth left her wondering if she should chastise her for it or not. _Is my daughter cursing?_ She decided that if even if Patricia had been, who would know the difference? She had to stifle a giggle as her daughter wrestled with her trunk, muttering all manner of odd phrases.

"Bloody hell... By Circe's counter-curses..." Patricia sighed in frustration as she tried to secure her seemingly-obstinate luggage while continuing with her monologue. "A simple _Reducio_... and it would be finished in a jiffy... but _no_... I'm under age... and using magic would earn me a warning... from the..." In an utter tizzy, Patricia had leapt up onto the trunk and began to jump up and down on the lid. "... the Improper... Use of... Magic Office..." She screamed in frustration, finally sitting down and staring into her vanity mirror, examining her now red and sweat face, feeling defeated, still muttering to herself while her rather amused mother looked on. "Basted old Hopkirk witch... ruddy laws..."

Diana finally had to let out a giggle at her daughter's clearly more _wizardly_ language. Patricia started and then blushed as she understood that her mum had heard her somewhat colourful phraseology.

"Good morning sweetie," Diana smirked.

"Mum... Good morning... I... have a problem here," Patricia said pointing disgustedly at the trunk.

"I can see that. What on earth have you got crammed in there?" Diana made to open the lid and inspect the contents.

"All my sets of robes, my other clothes, my cauldrons, scales, binoculars, school books, quills, parchments, owl treats... and a few other books."

"What other books," Diana asked.

"I sent Murray to Professor Hagrid the other day, requesting to take extra classes this year. He wrote back to say he'd bring it up to the headmistress, but didn't see a problem, so I packed a few books I borrowed from Hermione"

Diana looked in the trunk to see if she could help Patricia pack it better in order to allow it to close properly.

"Patricia, your father is going to suffer a hernia if he tries to lift this," Diana giggled as she rearranged the contents and finally managed to close the lid. "There are at least ten heavy books apart from the ones on the second-year list."

"I know. I've applied for the extra classes, but I don't know which ones I might be able to take, so I packed all the books."

"Patricia," Diana began. "Did it ever occur to you that we could send the books to you that you need? All you'd have to do is send Murray home with the list and we'd be sure you received them."

"Mum, that would take too long. Classes start first thing tomorrow morning," Patricia argued. "I have to take them all now. Any I don't need must go back to Hermione."

"All right, all right. Let's get some breakfast... and don't tell Dad," Diana smiled wickedly. "If nothing else, it'll give him a chance to show off his manly Royal Navy muscles!"

Patricia smiled and broke into laughter. "I can't wait. Oh, and it's my last chance to have marmite on toast. Maybe you could send me a jar with Murray," Patricia asked.

"I will," Diana promised. Perhaps I'll send a couple of jars to keep you stocked up. Honestly, Patricia Templeton, I can't imagine how you can eat that stuff!"

Thirty minutes later, the Templetons were gathered around the kitchen table. Diana had prepared all of Patricia's favourites for her farewell breakfast.

"Do you have everything packed, Pattycake," Paul asked, taking a bit of marmite-slathered toast.

"See, Mum? I get it from Dad. It's all his fault," Patricia giggled.

"What's my fault," Paul asked, perplexed.

"Marmite," Diana said, cringing into her tea. "She gets her love for that horrid stuff from you."

"Hey, marmite's good for the soul, right pumpkin," Paul asked, nudging his daughter.

"Right you are, Daddy," Patricia replied, taking a bit of her own toast.

"Now…answer my question. Are you all packed?" Inwardly, Paul greatly feared the answer to that question. If he knew anything about women and girls, it was that they never travelled lightly.

"Yes," she replied and tried to restrain herself from giggling, thinking about her heavy trunk. "I'm all set. I have a few Sickles so I can buy some Chocolate Frogs off the trolley. Oh, and I can't wait to see Emma, Erica, Joseph and all the others again. I wonder who will be our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. I don't think the DA Aurors will teach us again this year."

"That must be a tough post to take up, replacing Harry Potter and his team," Paul suggested, remembering what Ron Weasley and Desmond Prewett told him about the Wizarding world and the great Harry Potter.

"Oh yes... still, we are taught basics, and there are enough competent wizards and witches who can teach at NEWT level."

Diana smiled at Patricia's sound reasoning. Patricia and Paul shared a few extra slices of toast with marmite and belched in unison when they were finished.

"Sorry... I think I understand now why that happens to Ron... even if I only had a third of what he has for breakfast."

Paul laughed. "You know, Pattycake, in Japan, to belch after a meal is a compliment to the host and hostess and the cook."

"Well, there you have it Mummy-san. You're a top chef," Patricia giggled.

"Apology accepted dear," Diana snickered, her smile evident. "Now let's clear away so we can get you to London on time." Diana and Patricia cleaned up in the kitchen as Paul climbed the stairs to Patricia's room to fetch her trunk and load it into the car.

"By all the blazing guns of Gibraltar," mother and daughter heard Paul swear. Moments later, they heard the distinct clunking and banging in the stairwell that heralded Paul's struggles with the trunk. A couple of bangs against the wall sounded like a full thunderstorm as he stumbled along on the way to the door.

Finally, he managed to drag it outside to the carport and load it into the boot. A few minutes later, a very sweaty and winded Captain Paul Templeton returned to the kitchen and dropped into his customary chair. "I hope... it's... worth it..." he grunted.

"Thank you, Dad. It is." Patricia said "I'll take Murray's cage myself... and I must bring Hermione's Chocolate Frog card. I hope I can get a new Ginny Potter card soon, too."

"I thought you already had Ginny's card, Pattycake," Paul observed. "Signed and everything."

"Dad, that's her Ginny _Weasley_ card. She's married to Harry _Potter_ now. It's a new series," Patricia explained as though she were explaining that the sky was blue and the grass was green. "My Ginny Weasley card is a real collector's item, though. There weren't very many made because she and Harry became engaged just after they first went into production."

"Silly me," Paul chuckled. "Well, ladies, we better climb aboard the Templeton Express and make tracks or the Hogwarts Express might leave without us!"

Soon after they were off to London, arriving at King's Cross Station some twenty minutes to eleven.

"Come on Dad. I'll fetch a trolley straightaway so you don't get a hernia," Patricia said excitedly. She skipped off, leaving her parents standing by the open boot of their car.

"A hernia," Paul asked. "What does our daughter know of hernias?"

Diana shook her head and giggled. "I told her that the weight of that trunk of hers would cause you a hernia when you lifted it. She doesn't really know what a hernia is, Paul."

"As it should be. She's too young to know about such things," he grunted, lifting it out onto the trolley Patricia had brought. Placing Murray's cage on top, the little family made their way through the magical and non-magical crowd toward Platform 9 ¾. As they were about to step through the barrier they heard someone call to them.

"Paul! Diana," Desmond Prewett called. Before they could answer, Emma and Erica launched themselves from his side Patricia in a group hug. Emma, Erica and Patricia quickly brought each other up to date on things not related in the more or less daily owls sent between the Prewetts and the Templetons.

"Desmond! Heather," Paul grinned at their wizarding friends."How are you?"

"Fine, thank you, mate. We're looking at a great crop this year," Desmond said as Heather and Diana began to chatter. Desmond leaned close to Paul conspiratorially. "And I think I finally did it... I hexed that daft kitchen clock to park my hand at _Up to Mischief_."

"Is that good," Paul asked.

"No, but it's better that having it point there only when I'm actually up to mischief," he said letting out a troglodytic laugh.

"You're mad, Des. Ruddy barking," Paul laughed as they talked for a bit longer, keeping their eyes on the girls. "Think you could get me one of those clocks?"

"Not a problem, mate. But I'm not sure if it'd work for Muggles," he replied, scratching his head. "But it'd make a great conversation piece, I'd wager."

"Well, the novelty value alone would be worth it," Paul agreed.

"I'll see what I can do, then," Desmond promised. "Oh, look at the time! We best crack on. Girls! Ladies!"

"Fiona," George called, rapping his knuckles on her bedroom door. "Fiona, it's eight o'clock and time for you to get up! You have to be on the train an hour early to meet with security and Mum wants us to come for breakfast!"

"Shoot! That's right! I'm s'posed ta go with Ronnie, Hermione, and Harry ain't I," she called back. "Gimme about fifteen minutes so I can shower and dress." Fiona threw the covers off, waved her wand at the bed and rushed across the hall into the shower.

In a flash, she washed her strawberry locks and scrubbed her body with a flannel. She rinsed and turned off the water, toweling herself off as she muttered about forgetting to set an alarm. She cast a drying charm on her hair, dressed and rushed to the sofa to pull on the knee-high deerskin boots Jayce had given her for her birthday last year.

"Blimey, you're fast," George laughed as she struggled to pull the soft footwear over her tight jeans. "Here's your official Hogwarts Healer's robes."

"George, you didn't have to…"

"It's a going-away present. The inside is loaded with pockets and stuff," he showed her.

She took the robes and put them on, noticing a slight weight in one of the larger pockets. "What's… A stethoscope? Where'd you git this?"

"I ordered it from a Muggle medical-supply shop in London. There's some other stuff in there too, mostly from the Apothecary around the corner," he said. He pointed his wand at her trunk, shrank it and handed it to her. She shoved it into a pocket in her robes and picked up her rucksack that she'd stocked with various first-aid supplies.

"We'd best git," she said. "Aunt Molly's prob'ly fit ta be tied waitin' on us," Fiona said, becoming excited about her new job.

Fiona and George arrived at the Burrow just as Molly was about to Floo them. Ron, Hermione, and Arthur left almost an hour earlier to make it to the Ministry about the time George had hustled his cousin out of bed. "Mornin', Aunt Molly. My, somethin' smells good. Did you make biscuits 'n' gravy?"

"Right in one, dear. I made them just the way you showed me. I hope I got them right," she said, pouring her son and niece mugs of fresh coffee. "There are eggs and bangers there too. Tuck in."

Fiona broke open two biscuits, buttered them, and laid them on her plate. Then she ladled the sausage gravy over them. "It looks right," she said and took a bit. "Mmm…mmm…mmm! Aunt Molly, these are good enough to enter in the county fair! They'd even give Granny a run for her money!"

Molly sighed in relief. She's so wanted them to be right because she didn't expect anything like that to appear on the staff table at Hogwarts anytime soon. "Oh I'm so glad, Fiona!" She then served a couple of the quick rolls herself and followed Fiona's lead. "My, this is good! What do you think, George? Should biscuits and gravy become a part of the Weasley breakfast menu?"

"Without a doubt, Mum! Got any more ideas, Onie," he asked, shovelling a bit of gravy-soaked biscuit into his mouth.

"Loads," Fiona replied. "Aunt Molly, I'll write up some o' Granny's best recipes and owl 'em to ya ta try. How's that?"

"I'm looking forward to it," Molly grinned. She fully intended to try out any recipes Fiona sent her, adapt them to the British market, and then enter them into _Witch Weekly's_ annual recipe contest. If she were to win for their region, she and Fiona could team up in All-Britain Cook-off next summer.

"Oh, and Aunt Molly, I was thinkin' the other day. Back home—in America, that is—we have a special holiday that I know y'all don't have," Fiona said, taking a swig of coffee. "I was thinkin' it might be fun ta celebrate it with the family."

"And what holiday is that, dear," Molly asked, her interest piqued.

"Well, it's on the fourth Thursday in November. It's a day we set aside to spend with family to give thanks for all our blessin's," she explained. "It's an Aint thing, but we celebrate it too. It's called Thanksgiving."

"So what do you do on Thanksgiving," George asked.

"Well, we cook up a big ol' dinner and invite our family and friends ta share it with us. We remember those who've gone, o' course, but mostly we remind each other what we got ta be thankful for."

"Ron'd love it," George said with a little snicker.

"Hush, George," Molly scolded. "Is there a traditional menu for this Thanksgiving or…"

"Traditionally, it's turkey. Y'all got turkey here," Fiona asked.

"Of course we have," Molly replied. "We should be able to order one from that butcher in the village."

"Better order two or three for our lot, Mum," George said. "We've grown a bit…and so has Ron."

"Oh, dear. You're probably right. What else," Molly asked.

"Well, after the turkey part, it's mostly family tradition. Granny'd usually make chestnut stuffin' and corn puddin', mashed pataytas 'n' gravy, cranberry sauce, biscuits 'n' sweet butter, candied sweet pataytas, 'n' pumpkin pie with vanilla ice cream for dessert." Telling Molly about the American holiday brought back many fond memories of her and her sister helping their mother and surrogate grandmother prepare a veritable harvest feast each year.

"That sounds wonderful! We should be able to find all of those things without too much trouble," Molly almost squealed. "The fourth Thursday of November, you say?"

"Yes, ma'am, but it doesn' t have to be. It can be any time, really. That's just when we do it back home is all."

"Nonsense. We're going to do this right, dear," Molly assured her. "I know you're a bit homesick and maybe we should try to incorporate new things into our lives and this traditional American Thanksgiving feast is the perfect start, yes?"

"Oh Aunt Molly! Do you mean it," Fiona asked hopefully. "I'd sure miss it this year."

"Absolutely. Now, we'll keep in touch by owl and start planning right after Halloween. We should be able to have everything we need in plenty of time," she promised.

"I'll surely help, Aunt Molly. I used to love to help Momma 'n' Granny," Fiona offered.

"Ladies, this all sounds glorious, but it's quarter of. Sorry, Love, but we've got to get you to London," George interrupted.

"Oh my! I almost forgot with all this talk about Thanksgiving dinners," Molly cried. "Fiona, take care of yourself and owl us as soon as you're settled into your quarters. We'll talk more later, all right?"

"All right, Aunt Molly," Fiona answered, tears beginning to leak from her eyes. The two witches hugged fiercely and kissed one another's cheeks. "I love you."

"I love you too, dear. Be good. George, look after her until she boards the train," Molly admonished her son.

"Mum, Harry and Ron are top Aurors. Between them and Hermione, she'll be fine," George reminded his mother, kissing her cheek. "Besides, Ron said Finnegan's security detail. We're off then, yeah?"

Fiona nodded to her cousin, took one last look at her aunt, winked, and the two of them jogged down the path to the Burrow's Apparition Point. "Don't worry, Onie. You'll be a big hit," George assured her. _And with any luck, you might just meet a certain sandy-haired Auror in need of the charms of a pretty strawberry-haired witch._

George and Fiona appeared in an alley outside the station just before ten o'clock. The others hadn't arrived yet, as they hadn't planned to leave the Ministry until ten sharp. "I expect they'll pop in right about here," George told her. "It's where most who Apparate here show up."

"Al-All right, Georgie," Fiona said, her voice shaky. Excited as she was to begin yet another new phase in her life, she was still apprehensive. She hadn't been alone in England since only hours after she landed at Heathrow. A jet airliner roared several thousand feet overhead, nose at a slight incline. _I wonder if that one's headed for Charlotte_.

"George! Fiona," Ron called from the other end of the alley. "Over here!"

"Hey, y'all," Fiona called back. "What took ya so long?"

"I had a pile of paperwork to finish before I could leave," Hermione said. "Diggory didn't tell me he was taking today off, the…"

"Easy, 'Mione," Ron murmered, wrapping his arm around her waist. "It's no big deal."

"Whatever, but we need to get Fiona to the train," Harry reminded them all. "She's supposed to be on it right now."

"Right then," George said, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Onie, take care of yourself and keep in touch, yeah?" He tried to smile, but the slight tremble around his mouth spoke volumes to her. It reminded of her of how he'd begged her to stay that day after the row with Molly.

"Always, Georgie. Always," she promised, hugging him tightly. "Send Deeds along tomorrow, all right? He gets grumpy if I leave him alone too long."

"Sure, Onie. We don't need some ruddy crazed owl flying about the shop, leaving its calling card with the customers," George snickered. "G'on, now. You're late already." He gave her another quick hug and Apparated away, leaving her with his siblings in the alley.

"Come on, then," Ron said, taking his cousin's arm. "Platform 9 ¾ this way."

Harry smiled to himself. The way Ron pointed the way to the platform reminded him of a long-ago first of September when he found himself standing alone in the hustle and bustle of King's Cross Station with a huge trunk and a caged snowy owl and not a clue how get onto that particular platform. _Platform 9 ¾ this way…packed with Muggles._ Molly Weasley's voice echoed in the back of his mind. Ginny was there, too. Cute little ten-year-old Ginny. His Ginny.

"Harry, you coming, mate," Ron's voice broke through his reverie.

"Right! Yeah," Harry called back. "Straightaway!" Harry hurried to catch up with the others. Ron escorted Fiona through the barrier, with Hermione right behind them. Harry brought up the rear and sucked in a deep breath. There it sat—the Hogwarts Express in all her scarlet-and-black splendour, her brass fittings gleaming and great puffs of steam billowing from her stack.

There weren't many people on the platform yet, but there soon would be. The Golden Trio once again stood together before the legendary magical train. "Well, Fiona. This is it—the Hogwarts Express," Ron said proudly, waving his hands grandly. "We had plenty of good times in that compartment down there at the end in the last car."

"We sure did," Hermione agreed. "Harry, remember that ride home from Hogwarts after fourth year when we all hexed Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle at the same time?"

Harry had to laugh. That had been a hellish year—the year Voldemort returned—but hexing those three slimy gits was almost worth it all. "Oh yeah. The three of us, Ginny, and Fred and George nailed them all at once, each with a different spell."

"Jelly-legs, Ginny's Bat bogey, the Fununculus, and something else I can't quite remember," Ron snorted. "Fiona, it was hysterical!"

Fiona found a degree of humour in their story and almost wished she had been there to see it herself. She would have been a sixth year with Fred and George then. "Were they all right?"

"Oh sure. They were fine, but they had to spend at least one night in St Mungo's to be sorted out," Hermione assured her. "It was the talk of the train. They had to ride all the back like that."

"Oi! Who's the redhead," a brogue voice said from behind Fiona.

"Seamus," Harry replied. "All's well then?"

"Aye, so far. But there aren't many about yet, are there," Seamus replied. "Ron, mate."

"Irish. This is my cousin Fiona Prewett from the States," Ron said, introducing her to the Irish Auror.

"So yer Irish Finnegan," Fiona said. "I heard tell about you from Cousin George. It seems you have a real _magnetic_ personality."

"For certain curses," Harry snorted.

Seamus chose to ignore Harry's good-natured barb. "Yes, Miss Prewett. That'd be me. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am."

_George, why didn't you tell me that this Irish Finnegan was so…hot. Wow. _Fiona put on her best Virginia lilt. "Mistah Finnegan, please call me Fiona. Ma'am was my momma. Ah'm very pleased to meet you, suh."

_Damn! An American and a southerner to boot. This must be me lucky day! _"Miss Fiona, it is then," he said, bending to kiss her hand. "Auror Seamus Patrick Finnegan at your service." Two pairs of blue eyes met for the briefest of moments as a pleasant chill ran down their spines simultaneously.

"I think I'm going to barf," Ron said as he and Hermione looked on in utter astonishment.

"Excuse me, sir, but who are you and what have you done with Seamus Finnegan, might I ask," Hermione giggled. "And how's Lavender these days?"

"Lavender who," Seamus said dreamily, still holding Fiona's hand in his. "Oh! Lavender. Right. She's…good."

"Uh, Mistah Finnegan? Mah hand? I really must board. Ahm already late," Fiona asked Seamus.

"Oh course, Miss Fiona. Please, allow me…"

"Forget it, Irish. You're on duty, remember? Platform duty," Harry reminded his third-in-command. "You…and Susan?"

"Bloody hell," Seamus winced. "Oh, sorry, ladies. I'm off then." Seamus hurried off toward the rear of the train and disappeared across the tracks to the other side.

"I'll get Fiona settled in. You two meet me outside in the main depot. The Munchkins should be along soon.

"Right. The Munchkins," Ron repeated. "Onie, Love, good luck. You'll have a great time, I promise." Ron hugged his cousin tightly and then steered her to Hermione.

"Have fun, Fiona, and don't forget to say hello to our Munchkins for Ginny. You'll know the twins when you see them. They look sort of like you," Hermione said with a smirk. "Take care, you." Hermione gave her a sisterly hug and stepped back so she could climb aboard with Harry right behind her.

"Here we are. This compartment is right behind the driver and the Prefect's and Head's compartment is directly behind you," Harry explained. "Seamus is riding in with the train, so if there's any trouble—which I doubt—he'll be available to sort it out.

"Harry, who's Lavender," Fiona asked out of pure curiosity. At least that's what she tried to convince herself it was.

"Seamus' on-again off-again girlfriend," Harry replied with a chuckle. "I'm not sure what the score is this week."

"So…"

"I don't know, Fiona, and I can't speak for him. But just so you understand—Seamus is and always has been a bit of a ladies' man. Don't take his flirting too seriously, all right," Harry warned her. He hated to take any potential wind out of her sails. He knew she was lonely, but he didn't want her to get hurt either. "He's a good friend, but beyond that, I wouldn't get my hopes up."

"All right. Thanks, Harry. I 'preciate yer honesty," Fiona said, slightly crestfallen.

"Don't worry, Love," Harry said, putting a protective arm around his wife's cousin. "The right one will come along."

"I know," she sighed. "I hope it's pretty soon, though. You best git along to meet them kids you gotta meet."

"So long, Fiona. And good luck." Harry exited the compartment and made his way back to the steps to return to the platform. Students and their families began to mill gather, so he quickened his pace to the barrier. He stepped through just as Ron and Hermione found the Templetons and the Prewetts.

"Psst," someone hissed, and Patricia was soon off to the person whispering.

"Hermione," she cried, but was instantly hushed by her friend.

"Go and bring the others quickly. Ron and Harry are here too. Ginny really wanted to be here too, but she's still at training camp. We're trying to keep a low profile. If we're seen, we tend to be mobbed by reporters."

Patricia smiled and signed to the others to come at the same time as Ron scooped her up for a hug, attracting Paul's attention. "Ron, this is a pleasant surprise," he greeted him, extending his hand. "Hermione..."

Next to Ron stood a raven-haired young man Paul recognized from his daughter's chocolate frog cards. So this was Harry Potter.

"Blimey," Desmond said looking straight at Harry.

"Actually I prefer Harry, but I've had far worse nicknames than _Blimey,_" Harry said with a grin. "Hmm, now let's see. Red hair matching a certain pair of twins…you must be Mr Prewett."

Heather came to her husband's rescue."Excuse my husband," she said. "He's just caught up in a bit of hero-worship."

Soon all of them were properly introduced and Patricia looked at Hermione. "I guess you won't join us on the Platform."

"No, I think it's better if we don't, Sweetie," Hermione replied. "But someone else is on the Platform you wanted to see again."

"Who," Patricia asked.

"Auror Finnegan," Hermione replied with a wink. "If memory serves, one of you is rather sweet on him, right?"

"Well…" Patricia said quietly, blushing into the pavement. "He is really handsome."

"No worries Hermione," Erica said, rescuing her friend. "I'm just so glad you came to see us off."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Harry said. "How are my princesses? Did you have a good summer holiday?"

"Oh yes, Harry. Mum, Dad, and I went to visit Emma and Erica at their house. I got to de-Gnome the garden! It was great fun," Patricia gushed. "And they have Ginny's new Harpies poster, too!"

"By the way, there will be a surprise for you. Emma and Erica, you'll understand what I mean soon enough," Ron revealed.

Time passed quickly and soon it was time to board. The girls hugged their famous friends farewell before they Apparated away.

"See you in a few weeks," Diana told Patricia as she hugged her. "For the Quidditch premier."

"Oh yes, of course," Patricia answered. "Ginny's first professional game—Holyhead Harpies vs. Puddlemere United!"

"Come on, now. Let's get through the barrier—one at a time. Desmond, you first, then Emma, Erica, and Patricia. I'll come through last," Heather urged and turned to the Templetons "We'll be right back as soon as the train pulls away. We could have a lunch if you like."

"That would be lovely." Diana said "We'll wait right here, then." The Prewetts and Patricia passed through the barrier that led to Platform 9 ¾, Diana and Paul waving to their daughter as she disappeared through the seemingly solid brick wall.

Once on the Platform, Desmond levitated all three trunks and Patricia giggled as she thought of her dad having a hard time with hers.

"What is it," Erica asked.

"Nothing, really," Patricia sighed happily. "I'm just happy I'm a witch. I feel a bit like I'm going back home today, rather than going to school."

"Well, our parents aren't Muggles, but I feel that too," Erica said.

"Joseph," Emma cried and launched herself at the boy. She noticed how Joseph had grown quite a bit during the summer.

"Emma, Love," he replied, giving her a quick hug. He looked over toward the other two girls and spotted a man who could only be the twins' father. His eyes widened and he made an audible gulp.

"Ah, you must be Emma's young man. Am I right," Desmond asked with a twinkle in his brown eyes.

"Uh…y-yes, sir. I'm Joseph Pointer, sir," the boy replied shyly. "Y-you must be…"

"Desmond Prewett. And this is the girls' mother, Heather," the man replied offering his hand and introducing his wife.

"We're so pleased to finally meet you, Joseph. Emma's told us all about you," Heather said with a wink toward her twins.

"Oh…uh…thanks. I…uh…hope it was all good, ma'am," he replied respectfully, trying to hide his nervousness.

"No, I told them you were mean and evil and beat up on us all the time," Emma giggled, slapping him on his arm. "Of course it was all good, you prat!"

A bit shy, he visited briefly with the elder Prewetts before the four second-years boarded and found an empty compartment. Soon they talking and Joseph pulled his deck of self-shuffling playing cards out for a game of Exploding Snap. They had just begun their game when they were interrupted by a fifth-year Hufflepuff tearing the door open with a jerk that caused them all to jump. The look on his face was pure meanness. Emma scooted closer to Joseph and took his hand.

"You two are Prewetts. I know what you are," he spat, pointing at Emma and Erica. "_Purebloods_... be warned... even if most of you lot are in Slytherin, those Gryffindor robes of yours don't fool me... and if you try anything, _anything_, you won't get off as easy as that relative of yours... Mafalda..."

Joseph stood up furiously. He was a head shorter than the Hufflepuff, but Joseph had his wand out so fast that he made the older student begin to question his actions.

"Don't you talk that way to my girl _or_ 'er sister." he snarled. "I always thought of 'ufflepuffs as fair, but in your case I might 'ave to make an exception."

"Fair, yes, that we are, and I for one will make sure that justice is served," the older boy warned, backing off from Joseph's wand. "I've made myself clear, I guess."

"Here now, lads. What's goin' on then," a familiar voice said from behind the Hufflepuff. "Stiles, what're ya doin' threatenin' these fine young Gryffs?"

The four second-years breathed a very heavy sigh of relief, for their second-favourite former DADA instructor had arrived to intervene.

"Auror Finnegan! I…"

"Stiles, is it? Well, Mr Finnegan, sir, Mr Stiles 'ere just come barrelin' in uninvited, sir, and started threatenin' Em and Rica because they're Purebloods."

"Stiles, have ya learned nothin', lad? The bloody war we just fought was about this kind of thing, but in reverse," Seamus began to preach. "You goin' about threatenin' Purebloods and takin' yer anger out on 'em is just as bad as the Death Eaters threatenin' Halfbloods and Muggleborns and doin' their damage to 'em."

"My father says that Purebloods have walked on the rest of us for centuries and it's got to stop…" The boy cut off mid-sentence when the Irishman glared at him.

"I'll have ya know, young man, that I'm a Halfblood meself. Me da's a Muggle and me mam's a witch. I don't hold any ill feelin's for these young ladies or any other Pureblood who's done me or mine no harm," Seamus told him directly. "Now you just peddle yer propaganda somewhere else—better yet, go find a compartment and sit down with yer mouth shut or I'll be reportin' ya Chief Potter for disturbin' the peace! Do I make meself clear, Mr Stiles?"

"Y-yessir," the boy stammered, the sweat beading on his once-smarmy brow. "I-I'll just be going now, Auror Finnegan, sir."

"Now, that's a good boy, Mr Stiles," Seamus replied, giving the cowed Hufflepuff a mild nudge down the corridor. "Are ya's all right, then?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr Finnegan," Patricia replied, blushing furiously. "We're all right now."

"All right. I'll be movin' on then," Seamus said, turning to close the compartment door.

"M-Mr Finnegan," Patricia stuttered.

"Yes, Darlin'. What is it," he smiled, knowing very well what was coming. He'd spent many a meal at a table with these four and could sense what they were about.

"M-may I give you a hug," Patricia asked. "You really saved us from an awful fright there."

Joseph, Emma, and Erica hid their smirks behind their hands, trying not to laugh. They all knew Patricia had a crush on the Irish Auror, for they had watched her stare at him all cow-eyed in class and at mealtimes for an entire school year, except when she was deep in conversation with Hermione Granger.

"Come on then, Love," Seamus chuckled, opening his arms to the shy twelve-year-old.

Shakily, Patricia stood and stepped toward him. Finally, she launched herself into his arms and hugged him furiously, trying not to burst into tears. She had been truly frightened by the fifth-year who had threatened her friends and was so grateful for the Auror who stepped in on their behalf. "Thank you, Mr Finnegan. Thank you!" She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and he set her down on her feet.

"Yer welcome, Darlin'. All in a day's work," he said with a lazy salute. "I'll be goin' back to me patrollin' now. The Head Boy and Girl should be along soon to introduce themselves. If ya have any more trouble, just shout."

"We sure will, Auror Finnegan," Joseph answered. "Meanwhile I'll be looking after this lovely flock o' birds."

"I'll leave ' ya to it then, Mr Pointer. Good day, then," Seamus told them as he slid the compartment door closed and moved on.

"Joseph, am I really your girl," Emma cooed.

"I…uh...that is…I sure hope so," the blushing Cockney replied.

Emma kissed him on the cheek. "Yes," she whispered in his ear, giving him a pleasured shudder.

Next to Patricia, Erica started to cry. "I-I'm sorry... I can't help it... that was... horrible... not the girlfriend-part... but that Hufflepuff..."

"Don't be sorry." Patricia said. "Mr Finnegan took care of it. But still…we might want to tell the Head Boy and Girl when they come by…and maybe even the Gryffindor Prefects, whoever they are."

"Are you sure you want to go wandering about the corridors with him out there," Erica asked. "I mean, we don't know that he really obeyed Mr Finnegan."

"Not to worry, Erica," Joseph said, patting her hand. "When an Auror speaks, you listen. Mr Finnegan had that Stiles bloke shaking in 'is boots, 'e did."

"Then I'll just go and see if I can find our Prefects," Patricia said. "And if anything bad happens, I'll scream for Auror Finnegan and he'll come. All right?"

"Al-All right, Pats," Erica sniffled. "Just be careful."

"I will," Patricia promised.

"Meanwhile, I'll be here lookin' after you," Joseph said tucking his wand away. "Do any of you know that bloke, by the way?"

They all shook their heads. "Pats, if you don't find a Prefect, find Dennis Creevey. He's in Dumbledore's Army, and won't tolerate things like this," Emma suggested.

"All right. Let me see if I can find any of them." She slid the compartment door open and stepped out into the corridor, closing it behind her.

Fifteen minutes later, the compartment door slid open admitting a very-relieved Patricia.

"So, Pats, Love. What did you find out," Joseph asked. The others looked at her expectantly.

"I found Dennis. He's Quidditch Captain by the way. He was sitting with Jessica Spinnet, Demelza Robbins and Jimmy Peakes."

"... of course, the remaining members of Ginny's team..." Erica sniffed, her tears subsiding.

"Yes, and Jessica's a Prefect, so I told her what happened. She'll report this to Professor Hagrid and Professor Sprout once we arrive, if Mr Finnegan doesn't beat them to it," Patricia reported. "They asked his name and I told them. Jessica knows him, but says he's always been a nice boy. His name's Ryan."

"Thank you, Pats, but he sure didn't seem too nice to me," Erica said, still dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.

"Me either," Emma said, further cosying up to Joseph's side. "I thought he was going to curse us where we sat!"

"Aw now there, Love. I wouldn't let you be 'urt by the likes of 'im," Joseph assured her. "But I don't think 'e'll be any more trouble. Auror Finnegan put the fear o' Merlin into 'im, 'e did." Soon their mood improved and despite the unpleasant incident, the rest of the journey proved enjoyable as they resumed their game of Exploding Snap.

As they disembarked at Hogsmeade Station, the noticed Jessica talking to Hagrid before he got too busy with gathering the first-years together to board the boats for the initiatory ride across the Black Lake to the castle.

"She really did mean _first thing, _didn't she," Joseph grinned as he helped the girls into a carriage and took a seat next to Emma. It was a windy evening, which afforded Emma and Joseph an excuse, as if one were needed, to sit really tight together, his arm around her shoulders. They entered the castle and followed the rest of the student body into the Great Hall.

"It's wonderful to be in the castle again and to be allowed to do magic, and be back in our dorm..." Emma said with a contented sigh.

"... all the food at the feast." Joseph added.

"Quidditch..." Erica added.

"And all the wonderous things we'll learn in class..." Patricia beamed.

"You had to remind us of that, didn't you," Joseph moaned.

"I've applied for extra classes," Patricia proudly revealed.

"You're joking, right," Joseph asked.

"No, I'm not, and I'm very curious about my schedule," Patricia retorted with a very Hermione-esque sniff.

They entered the Great Hall and looked with great interest toward the staff table. All the familiar professors were there, and three new people of whom they recognized one. "Look, that's Neville Longbottom," Patricia said launching into a pretty convincing lecture mode, also worthy of Hermione Granger. "I have his Chocolate Frog card. He's a really good friend of Harry's and Ginny's, but he was in France last year assisting the Herbology Professor at Beauxbatons Academy."

As soon as they were seated, she quickly found Neville's card in her alphabetically-arranged collection. Hermione would have been proud.

"Lemme have a look," Joseph asked, reaching for the card. Neville smiled shyly back at him and then winked his left eye.

_Neville Longbottom, OMSC_

_Neville Longbottom is a highly-gifted Herbologist and decorated veteran of the Second Wizarding War. Neville was an original member of Dumbledore's Army, trained by Harry Potter. During the final year of the Second Wizarding War, Neville, along with his ally Ginny (Weasley) Potter, led a remnant of that army. Despite severe punishment and cruelty, he and Ginny protected fellow students from harm at the hands of Death Eaters Amycus and Alecto Carrow._

_Mr Longbottom is credited with having destroyed Tom Riddle's (Lord Voldemort) giant pet viper, Nagini, by decapitating her with the legendary Sword of Gryffindor, following a vicious personal attack from the Dark Lord himself._

_Neville was awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class for bravery, which also includes his heroic part in the Battle of Hogwarts. After the war, Neville wed his longtime friend, Hannah (Abbott) Longbottom and is currently working as an Herbologist._

"Quite impressive, but what's his position here," Erica asked. "Professor Sprout is still here... I saw her with the first years."

"I guess Professor McGonagall will tell us soon enough," Emma said.

Soon the first years were led in by Deputy Headmistress Pomona Sprout, to be sorted into their Houses. Each of the new students looked as frightened and uncertain as the four of them one year ago this very night.

"I'm glad I'm not a first year," Emma whispered to Patricia.

"You mean being a Prewett," Patricia asked.

"Yes, somehow, this soon after Mafalda's trial, I don't think I would feel comfortable being called up...considering that Hufflepuff..."

"Maybe you're right," Patricia agreed. "But it's not your fault that Mafalda did all that horrible stuff. Are you even related to her?"

"Probably. Like we told you before—all the Prewetts are related somehow," she reminded her friend. "Now hush. They're starting."

The sorting began and the first years were welcomed by their new Housemates with cheers and applause. This year, the Slytherin table was noticeably more crowded. It seemed as though quite a number of the Slytherins who had not attended last year had chosen to return this term.

"That's what that Hufflepuff meant by most of _our lot _being in Slytherin," Erica said, pointing to the Slytherin table where the ratio of Purebloods to non-Purebloods was by far the greatest.

Once the sorting ceremony concluded, the headmistress stood up to give her opening speech.

"Welcome, new and returning students, to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A few announcements: First, please welcome our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Rupert D. Watson."

The man stood and grinned at the assembly, waving his hand to them. The students all applauded politely. Professor Watson looked to be in his mid-thirties, and because of his blue robes with bronze embroidery, Patricia guessed he'd been a Ravenclaw as a Hogwarts student. He seemed to be very observant and gave the impression that he was determined, yet friendly.

"Have you ever heard of 'im," Joseph asked Patricia. "'e looks like a good sort."

"Never," she replied. "And yes, he does look like he's very nice. I just hope he knows what he's doing."

As the applause faded out, Professor McGonagall continued. "Professor Watson has vast experience as a Curse-breaker and led a resistance group in Essex during the war." She nodded toward the new teacher and turned to Neville. "Second, please welcome our new Gardener and Associate Professor of Herbology, Neville Longbottom. The war left the greenhouses in a rather bad shape, and despite Professor Sprout's excellent care, she still has trouble keeping up with both classes and restoring and caring for the greenhouses. Mr Longbottom returned to England after one year as an Associate Professor of Herbology at Beauxbatons Academy."

The Gryffindors jumped to their feet with cheers and applause, and soon the other houses fell in, even several Slytherins. "Way to go, Professor Longbottom," Dennis called. Neville blushed, but grinned at the Gryffindors with pride, acknowledging their accolades.

"Our last addition to our staff is a Healer-in-training, who comes to us from the American south, where she had been raised and trained as a folk-healer in the Appalachian Mountains. She has returned to the land of her birth and shall be apprenticed to Madame Pomfrey in the hospital wing. Please welcome Miss Fiona Prewett."

The Great Hall fell silent when Professor McGonagall finished.

"Prewett, is she a relative of yours," Patricia asked the twins.

"I suppose so. I've never heard of a Prewett who isn't a relative some way or the other," Emma answered.

"She must be the surprise Ron told us about," Emma whispered to her sister. "I really want to meet her. An American! Wow!"

The name _Prewett_ was certainly not the most popular name in Britain for the time being. Neville started to applaud after a few seconds and the Prewett twins soon joined him, and with them the rest of Gryffindor House. The other tables were not as loud this time, but joined in politely.

"North America... she must be that cousin of the Weasleys Hermione told me about in one of her letters," Patricia recalled.

A freshly-sorted first-year girl sitting next to her heard what she said. "_Weasley_, as in Ron and _Hermione_ as in _Granger_... writing to _you_... not jolly likely," she huffed.

"I don't intend to show you the letters Hermione has written to me, but I can show you my Chocolate Frog card with her signature on it."

"Oh, here we go," Dennis snickered. "Watch this, you lot." Jessica, Jimmy, and Demelza looked on in amusement as Patricia proceeded to put the little brat in his place.

She showed her the signed cards of Hermione, Ron, Harry and Ginny. "Blimey, it's a signed Ginny Weasley! That'll be worth a Skrewtload of Galleons... how did you get that?"

Patricia related how she and the twins had shared a compartment with Harry, Ginny and Hermione a year ago and become friends with them. She told him about Harry's and Ginny's wedding and how she got to dance with Harry once. She decided not to reveal that her owl was on the limited list of approved owls permitted to deliver letters directly to the famous four, nor did she mention that she and her three friends were invited to sit in the top box with Harry's and Ginny's family and closest friends for the Quidditch League opening match against Puddlemere United and Ginny's first match as professional Chaser.

"Lucky you," the first year said in awe. "Mrs Potter was so beautiful and Mr Potter so very handsome in the wedding pictures. I begged mum to buy that issue of _The Quibbler_ the day it was released. I have it in my trunk." The girl blushed because she harboured a secret crush on the raven-haired Saviour of the Wizarding world.

Patricia smiled. While they talked, Professor McGonagall reminded everyone of Mr Filch's ridiculous list of banned items nobody paid any attention to, and after that she clapped her hands to begin the Start-of-Term Feast.

After the feast, the four second-years, affectionately known as The Munchkins, were just about to get up when a Hufflepuff Prefect approached them. "You are Emma and Erica Prewett, aren't you," she asked.

The twins nodded. Joseph's hand slipped quietly under the table, his fingers wrapping firmly around his wand.

"Professor Sprout told us what Spinnet and Auror Finnegan told her about what happened on the train with Ryan. Please let me extend an apology to you from the Hufflepuff House. I want you to know that this incident has been taken very seriously and twenty House points were taken from Hufflepuff," she said sadly. "Professor Sprout was furious and stated that she will take him in hand quite severely-something about Fanged Geraniums. Anyway, again, on behalf of Hufflepuff House, I'm truly sorry."

Emma and Erica sat gobsmacked, but the very harsh reaction from the normally gentle Professor Sprout restored their trust in the fairness that had always been characteristic of Hufflepuff House. Emma and Erica were just about to join their friends when Miss Prewett called to them. "'scuse me, but did I hear right? Are y'all the Prewett twins?"

"Yes, Miss Prewett, we are," Emma replied.

Fiona looked at Joseph and Patricia standing two steps behind the twins and smiled brightly, her sky-blue eyes twinkling. "And y'all must be the infamous Munchkins Ron, Harry, Hermione 'n' Ginny kept remindin' me to look up and say hello to. The four of them'll come for a visit once I' all settled in right and proper. They asked me to let y'all know when."

"That would be great. Thank you Miss Prewett."

"Please. I prefer Miss Fiona, but when nobody's lookin', jus' call me Onie, okay," she whispered conspiratorially. "Accordin' ta my Aunt Molly—Ron's momma—we're prob'ly related anyway. Now git on before ya miss curfew!'

"Bye…" the Munchkins looked around. Seeing no one, they finished their farewell. "…_Onie_."

The four friends mounted the great stone staircase that would take them to the next level on their way to Gryffindor Tower. It had been a long and eventful day and they wanted nothing more than to collapse on their four-posters and sleep.

In the second-year girls' dorm, Patricia, Emma, and Erica had a quick chat about the twins' newfound relative. "Did you hear how she talks," Emma commented. "She has such a cool accent."

"She's from the American south, Em," Patricia reminded her. "That's how they sound. I wonder which state she's from, though. Each one has a different accent. In fact, there are several different dialects and accents throughout the United States."

"England has different ones too," Erica interjected. "What's so special about that?"

"Erica, considering the sheer size of the United States, it's pretty special. Do you realise that the United States, from New York, New York to Los Angeles, California—that's east coast to west coast—is approximately three-thousand miles? And that doesn't include the largest state, Alaska, and the most remote state, Hawaii."

"Pats, how do you know this stuff," Emma asked, flabbergasted.

"My father's a Captain in the Royal Navy, remember? He brings me books and things from all over the world," she explained. "But the United States is the most fascinating! It's so big and there's so much to do and see there—mountains, canyons, swamps, lakes, forests, oceans, even tropics. Yellowstone National Park has a geyser they call _Old Faithful_. It shoots gallons of scalding-hot water more than 160 feet into the air every 65 or so minutes, depending on the length of the previous eruption."

"That's amazing, Pats, but…um…what's a geyser," Erica asked shyly, embarrassed by her ignorance.

"Nevermind, Erica. It's late. I'll send Murray home tomorrow for my book about it," Patricia sighed. "Let's get some sleep."

"Now you're talking," Erica replied with a yawn. "Goodnight."

"Night," the other two answered, as they call closed their bed curtains and snuggled under the covers. Gryffindor Tower stood in silence as its inhabitants dreamed of the wonders they'd learn about magic this term.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the train station and Apparated into Diagon Alley from the alley behind King's Cross. "So…lunch," Ron said brightly. "Leaky? The Dragon? What?"

"The Leaky's probably packed right now. Why don't we hit the Black Dragon," Harry suggested. "I really don't want to deal with that lot at the Leaky."

"Is that all right with you, Love," Ron asked Hermione.

"Of course it is, Ronald. I like Chinese as much as the next witch," she smiled. "But we'd better make it snappy because I have to be back in Paradise at half-twelve."

"This is true," Harry replied. "And I need to scrounge round the Ministry library for some books on magical soul bonds."

"What for," Ron asked as they walked toward the Chinese restaurant. "Didn't Hermione already do that at Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, but there's more to it now, mate," Harry said, stealing sidelong glances at his companions. "Ginny and I were talking about it when Hermione…"

"What, Harry? What were you talking about," Hermione asked. "Is it something bad?"

"Well, I don't know, Hermione. Ginny's worried about something and I need to have a look to see if I can find any documented proof…"

"Harry, I already told you that the only documented case of a bond like this happened centuries ago," she reminded him. "I really don't think you're going to find anything."

"It doesn't hurt to look, though, Love, does it," Ron intervened. He didn't want this discussion to turn into an argument between his brother-in-law and his fiancée.

"Of course not," she said defensively. "I…I just don't want Harry to get his hopes up, that's all. Harry, your bond is so rare and so special that you'd be better served to keep a journal and then publish a book yourself one day."

"I appreciate your concern, Hermione, but I'm going to have a look anyway. I promise not to brood if I don't find anything, all right? And I promise we'll tell you about our early-morning chat when Ginny gets home," Harry assured her.

"Besides, there's too many people with big ears lurking about Diagon Alley to discuss something like that," Ron almost whispered. "It's a really private thing between Harry and Ginny and shouldn't be bantered about in public."

"You're right, my love. I'm sorry, Harry. I guess I got carried away," Hermione apologised.

"Hey, no problem, Hermione. No worries, Love, yeah?" Harry kissed his surrogate sister's head. "Here we are." He opened the door, admitting Hermione first, then Ron held it for Harry.

"Ah, our favourite customers," Sam Chang greeted them with a bow. The trio bowed in response, asking for "their" table if it was available.

"Yes, best table available for Golden Trio. This way, please," he smiled, leading them to the quietest corner in the restaurant. "You wish the usual or a menu?"

"Uh…well, let's have a menu, Sam. We can always change our minds," Harry chuckled.

"Of course, Harry," Mr Chang said, bowing again. "Tea?"

"That would be lovely, Sam, thank you," Hermione replied. When Sam hurried away, Hermione sighed and removed her cloak. "He's such a sweet man."

Ron smiled wickedly. "I can't wait to see his face when we tell him we want him to cater our wedding!"

"You want Chinese food at your wedding? Ron, does Molly know about this," Harry asked in amused alarm.

"Well…not yet, mate," Ron admitted.

"Oh! That reminds me—Molly wants to invite my parents to the Burrow for tea on Saturday afternoon to finalise wedding plans," Hermione gasped.

"No can do, Love…"

Ron was cut off when Sam returned with the tea and menus. "Take time, Golden Trio. Take time. You look at menu and decide."

"Thanks, Sam," Harry replied, nodding and accepting a menu.

"What do you mean no can do, Ronald," Hermione whispered, agitated.

"I'm on duty until six," Ron told her. "Ask Harry."

"It's true, Hermione. I've got duty on Sunday," he said, backing up his friend. "We rotate weekends now and this one's ours. When our weekend comes up in rotation again, I'll take Saturday duty while Ron takes Sunday."

"But…shouldn't one of you be on duty every weekend," Hermione asked, perusing her menu. "Oh bother, let's just order the usual and have done with it!"

"No arguments here. Harry," Ron asked, already knowing the answer.

"Dinner For Six it is," Harry snickered. He looked toward Sam and signalled that they were ready to order.

"The usual, yes," Sam affirmed with a grin. "Never change. It's okay. Dinner For Six."

"And an order of eggrolls and Rangoon," Ron added before the man could scurry away.

"Very good. Eggroll and Rangoon very good today," he promised.

"I swear that man's pidgin is a put-on," Hermione observed. "The Changs have been in Britain for years."

"Cho certainly doesn't talk like that," Harry chuckled. "Can you imagine her?" The three of them burst into gales of laughter, tears rolling down their cheeks as they tried to temper their mirth. The last thing they wanted to do was insult Sam Chang's family, and Cho in particular.

"Anyway, how about inviting your parents for supper that night? We can talk then," Ron suggested.

"Great. I'll tell your mum and then we'll stop by my parents' after work," Hermione suggested in return. "They close the practice at two on Saturdays. And by the way, Harry—it's a success. Most of their clients are friends and relatives of their former ones."

"That's great, Hermione. I'm glad it's working out for them," Harry replied. He'd almost forgotten how he and Ginny had helped the Grangers establish their new dental practice in London after the war.

"They're so grateful to you for believing in them, Harry," Hermione said, sipping her tea.

Harry didn't answer. This sort of thing embarrassed him. Having all that gold embarrassed him. It was odd to him to feel that way, since his childhood had been filled with want and need. He never really had a farthing to his name until his first Hogwarts letter came and he had his first visit to Gringotts with Hagrid. His vault had been stacked with gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and Bronze knuts, but the real surprise came after the war. In addition to his school vault, he inherited the Potter Family estate from his parents and the Black Family estate from Sirius, making him one of the wealthiest wizards in Britain.

"Harry. Harry? Chief Potter," Ron almost shouted.

"What? Sorry, mate. I guess I got lost in my thoughts, there," Harry said, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "Hermione, just tell your parents hello for me, yeah?"

"Of course," Hermione replied, helping herself to steamed rice.

"Food's here, bro. Eat up," Ron announced, gesturing to the many dishes on the table. "Try one of these Rangoons, mate. They're excellent!" Ron handed one of the fried wontons stuffed with crab and cream cheese across the table. "Eggroll?"

"No thanks, Ron. I'm good with the Rangoon and this feast before me," Harry assured him, digging into the Mu Shu Pork. "Hey, have you actually set a date for the wedding?"

"December eighteenth, Ron replied, stuffing an eggroll into his mouth. He'd just finished swallowing it when he realised he hadn't officially asked Harry to stand up for him. "Merlin's nightgown!"

"Ron, what is it," Hermione asked. "Is something wrong with the eggroll?"

"No! Blimey, Harry, I forgot!" Ron smacked himself on the forehead. "I'm such an idiot!"

"Ron, what the bloody hell is wrong," Harry asked. "You're going to give yourself a concussion if you keep that up."

"Bloody hell, mate. I forgot to ask you to be my Best Man," Ron exclaimed, his food temporarily forgotten.

"I was beginning to wonder," Harry smirked. "So…"

"Harry, would you please be my Best Man? Gods, I'm such a stupid git," he said, shaking his shaggy red head.

"Well, I don't know about stupid, but you are a git," Harry teased. "You know I will, mate. You only had to ask."

Hermione listened to the exchange with a rather dubious look on her face. "Um…boys? I have a confession to make."

"What, Love," Ron asked not a little concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong except…well…I've sort of forgotten to…um…talk to Ginny," she admitted.

"Oh great. Now I don't feel so bad. Honestly, 'Mione, if our heads weren't attached, we'd forget them too," Ron snickered. "I suggest you either owl her yesterday or sooner."

The three of them shared their second round of laughter of the day, while they finished their meal. They called Sam over, asking for the check, which Harry paid, not allowing any argument from either Ron or Hermione, and asked for their leftovers to be packaged so they could be banished to the Burrow for safekeeping.

They left the restaurant and Disapparated, reappearing at the Apparition Point of the Ministry with only ten minutes to spare before Hermione would be late clocking back in at RCMC. Harry left Ron and Hermione at the lifts, as the Ministry library could be found on Level Eight, the Atrium level.

"Hermione, dear," Selma greeted her. "Did you see the children off all right? Ron, about your cousin?"

"Yes, Selma. Without a hitch," Hermione assured her, waving her wand over a black box to clock in.

"And Fiona's safely on her way to Hogwarts as well, even as we speak," Ron added. He escorted Hermione to her cubicle and took her in his arms. "And Hermione's safely in my arms even as we speak, eh Love?"

"And I can't think of a safer place to be," she replied, rising up on her tip-toes to kiss him. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, pulling her closer to him. She melted into him and almost allowed herself to be carried away in the deepening kiss when she returned to herself. "Ron, my love, I need to get back to work. Interns, you know."

Ron groaned, his face screwed up in the pleasure-pain countenance that told Hermione where his mind was. "I need you so much, 'Mione. I love you."

"Tonight, my ginger god. I promise," she whispered, kissing him again. "I'll see you at six, all right? Then I'm all yours."

"I'm going to hold you to that, you little minx," Ron smiled, running the back of his index finger along her jawbone.

"I'm counting on it, but I'd rather you held me to…" She grinned evilly and glanced down at the obvious bulge in his black uniform trousers. Ron rarely buttoned up his Aurors' robes unless there was some official reason.

"You have my word, Love," Ron chuckled, giving her one last kiss. "I'd better be off or we might wind up giving Selma a show."

"I'm sure she'd be thrilled," Hermione giggled.

"I'm sure I would," Selma's voice whispered from behind Ron. "But be that as it may, dears, Amos is on his way up. I just got a heads-up from Charlie Weasley. Ron, you'd better vamoose in very short order."

"Consider me vamoosed," Ron said. "Thanks for the warning, Selma, Love. I'll see you in a few hours, Hermione. I'm off." Ron backed out of the cubicle and rushed out of the office, maroon and gold robes billowing behind him, reminiscent of Severus Snape. He decided to take the stairs, knowing Diggory would use the lifts. Ron didn't want to risk getting Hermione into trouble should the old sod catch him on Level Four ten minutes after the hour.

Harry walked into the library and up to the librarian's desk. When she turned around to face him, he almost jumped out of his boots. "Auror Potter. What can we do for you this afternoon," she asked. _Do all librarians look like Irma Pince?_

"Well, I…I was wondering if there might be any material about…er…soul-bonds and…stuff," Harry told her. "Also, would there be something about casting the Wedding Charm?"

"Well, Auror Potter…"

"Harry, please. And you are…"

"Magdalena Pince. Yes, I'm related to Irma. She's my older sister—my _much_ older sister," the librarian explained before Harry could ask. "I love my books, Harry, but I'm not _in_ love with them." The stern-looking librarian's face broke into a mischievous smile, which Harry returned.

"So…can you help me then," he asked, releasing the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"I honestly doubt you'll find anything about soul-bonds. It's such an obscure realm of magic, but the guide for casting the Wedding Charm is on that back wall there next to that tall lamp. Do you see it?" The librarian pointed toward a rather odd-looking floor lamp standing next to a tall shelf clearly labeled, _Marriage & Family Law_.

"Thank you, Madame Pince," Harry said automatically.

"Just Maggie, Harry," she said. "Happy reading."

"Um…thanks, Maggie." Harry walked between two rows of books toward the target bookcase, trying to keep his heavy boots from making too much noise on the hardwood floor. He began to peruse the titles, running his fingers down the spines as he searched. He found the book containing the instructions and diagrams for casting the Wedding Charm, but nothing on bonds beyond the one created by the Wedding Charm.

Flipping through one, he discovered that divorce is discouraged in the Wizarding world because it's very painful for the couple to have the Charm lifted and can be deadly for a wife guilty of adultery. _But the husband can have as many mistresses and concubines as he can afford._ _Lovely. Millons of Galleons or no, Ginny'd castrate me if I were to do anything like that…not that I would._ He shuddered briefly and quickly returned that cheerful gem to its place on the shelf.

Two hours had passed before Harry realised how long he'd been there. He carried the book about casting the Wedding Charm to Maggie's desk to check it out. "What do I need to do to check this out, Maggie," he asked.

"Very simple. Just promise me your firstborn," she winked. "Just having you on. All you do is wave your wand over the book and then I wave mine to release it." Harry drew his wand and did as Maggie suggested. There was a faint purple glow as she waved hers over it. "You're all set. Just be sure to return it in a fortnight."

"Fair enough. Thanks, Maggie," Harry smiled and left the library to run the stairs to Level Two. Lately, he and Ron had taken to using the stairs instead of the lifts throughout the day to keep in shape, and they encouraged the other Aurors to do the same when possible. The only one they knew of who took up the challenge was Seamus.

Harry stepped into the office he shared with Ron to find his second-in-command sorting through yesterday's shift reports. "Anything new and exciting?"

"Nah, just the same old stuff," Ron replied. "A few shoplifting cases—teenagers on a dare, mostly—but other than that… Oh here's one! Some old dear reported a very unkempt ginger-haired gentleman skulking about her shed."

"No way! Not Dung? He disappeared not too long after we nabbed him for the locket," Harry crowed. "Nobody's seen—or smelled—that old thief in nearly two years!"

"According to Mrs…Humphries, the intruder had been trying to break into her shed where she'd been drying herbs for potions and a few jars of preserves—red currant, to be exact," Ron read from the report. "I dare say Dung sniffed our more than that if he was trying to break into it."

"So…do we have the old duffer in custody," Harry asked.

"Nope. The old lady chased him off with her wand in one hand and an old Beater's club in the other," Ron laughed out loud. "I can see it all now—Dung hopping about while some old biddy's beating him about the head and shoulders with the club, hexing the living daylights out of him!"

"It's jolly good luck for him that Kreacher wasn't about. He'd have taken a cast-iron skillet to him," Harry added, the memory of the grizzled House elf standing over Mundungus Fletcher with Hell in his oversized eyes over the theft of _Master Regulus' locket _filling his mind.

"I remember that—at Grimmauld, right? Dung had stolen the locket and sold it to old Toadface. I thought Kreacher was going to kill the filthy git," Ron recalled, sobering a little. "But Kreacher sure changed his tune when you gave him the fake one, didn't he?"

"Yeah…he did. He's been loyal to me and a good friend ever since," Harry said quietly. "Sometimes, I don't know what I'd do without him."

"Yeah, and Mum sure likes him. She wouldn't shut up about how helpful he was at your wedding. It sure took a load off her," Ron sighed. "She'll probably want him for ours, you know."

"She knows all she has to do is call for him and he'll come to her, Ron," Harry replied. "He even calls her Madame Weasley. Dobby would have called her Madame Weezy…" Harry's voice trailed off as his thoughts turned once again to the intrepid little House elf who saved all their lives that night at Malfoy Manor. "He was a good Elf."

"Of course Kreacher's a good Elf, Harry," Ron agreed, flipping through another shift report.

"Oh, sorry. I was actually thinking about Dobby again," Harry mused. "I miss the little fellow."

"Yeah, I do too. He could be annoying as Hell, but when it really counted, that tenacious little Elf was there." Ron's own thoughts turned to Malfoy Manor and Hermione's screams of agony as Bellatrix struck her again and again with the Cruciatus curse. If it hadn't been for Dobby's bravery, Hermione might have… No, he wouldn't think about that. Voldemort was dead, Bellatrix was dead, Greybeck was dead, and Lucius Malfoy sat stewing in Azkaban. Hermione was alive, he was alive, Harry was alive, Ginny was alive—alive and living life to the fullest, never looking back…

"Ron, you in there, mate," Harry asked. Ron's eyes had glazed over and the reports he'd been examining had fallen from his hands to the floor. "Ron!"

"Sorry, Harry. I guess it was my turn to zone out for a bit," he admitted, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. "What time is it anyway?"

"Just past four," Harry told him, looking at his watch. "We're off in an hour, but Hermione has to stay until six, right?"

"Yeah."

"I know you're going to wait for her," Harry prompted. "Do you want me to wait with you?"

"No, no. You go ahead to the Burrow with Dad. Hermione wants to drop in on her parents to invite them to supper on Saturday. Wedding stuff," Ron said, waving his hand. "Just tell Mum not to wait supper for us tonight. We'll either eat with the Grangers or grab something on the way home."

"Unless a horde of rampaging Mongols invades the Burrow and raids the cool cabinet, there's a load of leftovers from lunch waiting for you," Harry reminded him with a snicker.

"Are you kidding? Mum would sit them down and prepare a home-cooked meal for them, force-feed it to them, and then send them on their way with the leftovers," Ron snorted. The two of them fell on the floor clutching their sides as they formed a mental picture of a wild-eyed, screeching Molly Weasley beating Ghengis Khan's marauders into submission and stuffing them with steak and kidney and shepherd's pies, roast chicken and vegetables, and treacle tart and then chasing them out of her house at wandpoint.

Once they'd contained themselves, they filed the shift reports, wrote their own, copied them, and whisked the copies off to Arthur and Kingsley. At five, Harry bade Ron goodnight and left the office. Ron leaned back in his chair and propped his huge feet on his desk for a nap while he waited for Hermione to get off work.

It seemed he'd no sooner than dozed off when there was a rap on the office door before it opened. "R-Ron?"

The sound of Hermione's voice jerked him out of a very nice dream involving her and a jar of chocolate sauce on a bed covered with rubber sheets. "'Mione? Is it that time already?"

"It's six-ten," she replied. "Are you ready to go?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," he grunted, dropping his feet from the desk and stretching in his chair. He planted his feet on the floor and stood up, stretching again. "Shall we?"

"Not yet. I need one of your kisses," she said shyly. "Do you happen to have any lying about?"

"Fresh crop just in this afternoon and each one has your name on it, my beauty." He leaned down and took her face in his calloused hands. "How many do you need, Love?"

"As many as you can spare," she giggled.

"In that case…" Her lips were warm and soft and welcoming. Her lips had already parted in anticipation of his sweet tongue. "Mmm, thanks. I needed that."

"There are more where that came from, 'Mione. All you have to do is ask," he crooned. "Shall we?" Hermione took Ron's proffered arm and they left the office, closing the door behind them. He cast the customary security wards Hermione had developed for them before they walked away toward the lifts.


	11. Chapter 11 Letters Home

**Chapter 11 – Letters Home**

"Shhh…'Mione," Ron whispered, trying not to laugh too loud. The two of them stumbled quite merrily through the door, amazed that they made it home in one piece since they'd had a few too many glasses of wine after dinner with the Grangers. "You'll have the whole house awake!"

The visit was only supposed to take about an hour, but Richard and Helen insisted that their daughter and her fiancé stay for supper. It was good thing Ron asked Harry to tell Molly not to wait for them. As the evening progressed, Ron and Hermione talked about his work in the Auror Office, but mostly the conversation focused on Hermione's work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

The wine flowed as the discussion wore on, with the two explaining about the concept of Dobby's Law, a piece of magical legislation that Hermione's parents heartily approved of, even though they were Muggles and had only ever seen one House elf, Kreacher, who seemed quite happy at Harry's and Ginny's wedding reception.

"Oh yeah. Your parents and Harry," Hermione snorted, leaning into Ron's side. "Like they're going to care."

"Oh, Mum'll care," Ron warned her, blinking his sapphire eyes. "She'll go spare if she catches us like this."

"Pshaw, Ronnie," Hermione giggled. "We were with my _parents_. Who's she going to yell at?"

"Oh. Good point," Ron snorted as they both broke into subdued laughter. "Shhh…"

"So… are you going to keep your promise, Sir Ronald of the Burrow," Hermione asked with a smirk bordering on full-out grin.

"Oh and what promise is that, fair lady," he smirked in return. She tried to glare at him, but couldn't hold the emotion through her drunken mirth. "Oh…_that_ promise. Your wish is my command."

"Now all we have to do is make it to our room," Hermione said, her brow creased as if in deep thought. "The stairs could be a problem."

"Stairs, smares," Ron mocked her, waving his hand. "There's a fuzzy rug right there in front of the fireplace. And look," he gestured wildly, "There's still a little fire in the grate."

"B-but the others… Ollie, Harthur, and Marry," Hermione slurred. "They might catch us in the act."

"Not a chance, Love," Ron assured her with a waver. "Notice-Me-Not charms are real good for hiding in plain sight. "C'mon. Last one naked is a Flobberworm's cousin!"

Giggling and snickering, the two tipsy lovers crept—or rather staggered—into the sitting room, leaving a trail of clothing in their wake. The fell together onto the fuzzy rug, snogging one another senseless, hands roaming and lips whispering one another's names between kisses. They made love in front of the dying embers, their glow giving off the only light in the room. In the afterglow, Ron conjured a soft quilt and a couple of pillows. They fell asleep in one another's arms, the faint blue glow having faded before their notice.

Unfortunately for them, they had forgotten to cast the Notice-Me-Not charm; luckily for them, it was Harry that found them there first. With first a start and then a knowing Harry-grin, he crept up beside them and bent down to Ron's ear. "Ronnikins. Oh ickle Ronniekins…"

"Leemee 'lone, Fred," Ron breathed, holding tighter to Hermione's naked form. "Sleepin'."

"Ronnie, you need to wake up before Mum comes down," Harry cooed into his ear again. Ron only groaned and slept on.

"Auror Weasley, front and centre," Harry commanded just below a shout.

He clutched his sides in fits of laughter as his red-haired friend sat up in alarm, wand at the ready. "Yes sir," he cried before he realised he'd be royally had once again. "Damn you, Potter!"

Tears flowed down Harry's cheeks until he noticed that in his haste to obey a command, he'd managed to expose Hermione's chest to the world. "Um…Ron? You might want to…um…cover Hermione."

"Bloody hell," Ron exclaimed, hurrying to cover his fiancée. "You scared the pants off me!"

"Hardly. To scare the pants off you, you'd have to have been wearing some. From what I can see here on the floor, you're not wearing anything but that blanket," he snickered.

"Do you mind, mate? I can't let Mum catch us like this," Ron pleaded. "Could you just…toss our clothes over here and then maybe…make some tea or something?" Ron hoped Harry would milk this because had he been Fred or George, that's what would have happened.

"Sure, mate. And by the way: the name's Harry, not Fred," he said as he threw the clothes at Ron. He left the room with a chuckle. "Better hurry. I hear noise above."

Ron hurriedly woke a very sleepy and very hung-over Hermione and helped her dress, using Molly's movements upstairs as a motivator. "C'mon, Love. Mum's going to be down here any second!"

"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying," Hermione snapped, pulling her skirt on over her inside-out kickers and blouse, trying to look somewhat pristine. They banished the quilt and pillows and joined Harry in the kitchen just as Molly exited the stairwell.

"Good morning," she cheered. "Up so early this morning, Ron and Hermione. What's the occasion?" Molly winked at Harry and shared a knowing grin with him. Molly Weasley raised seven children, six of them boys, and one of them Charlie. She had an idea what had happened the night before because she actually heard the two lovers come in. They may have thought they were being quiet, but they made enough noise to awaken their long-dead ancestors in the graveyard just outside the old Church of St Catchpole's.

"Good morning, Mum." "Good morning, Molly," the two said at the same time.

Harry just hid his face in his hands, his body shaking with mirth. "You two are so busted," he snorted into his tea.

"Only if you tell," Hermione sniffed. "And you won't!"

"Hermione, she's not stupid. She knows," Harry replied, shaking his head. He couldn't believe that for all they'd been through, Hermione could still be so naive. "She raised seven children, you know."

"We're so screwed, 'Mione," Ron groaned. "I remember the time she caught Charlie with some bird out in the Orchard…"

Just then, Molly returned with a plateful of scones and a fresh pot of tea. "So, Hermione, dear. How are your parents? Will they be coming for tea on Saturday?"

"Mum, I'm on duty until five," Ron interrupted before Hermione could answer. "We invited them to supper instead."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "Yes, and they said they'd be here at six. That should give Ron plenty of time to come home and get cleaned up before they arrive."

"Very well. Supper it is," Molly said with a bright smile and an odd twinkle in her brown eyes. She could have made a fuss about Ron and Hermione coming home in the condition they came home in or for making love right there on the run in front of the fireplace, but there really was no point. If they could've made it up the stairs without killing themselves, they would have made love in the bed. Since no one was traumatized and Harry was able to diffuse a potentially embarrassing situation, no harm no foul.

"Mum, we…" Ron began.

"Never mind, dear," Molly said with her hand up to stop her son from apologizing. "You father and I were young once too. No worries, all right?"

"Thanks, Mum. You're the best," Ron said, releasing a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

"Yes, so I'm told," she replied, taking a sip of her tea and shooting an amused look at Harry. "Now you'd better get a move on. Your father will be down shortly and we can all have breakfast before you all have to leave for the Ministry. Go."

The three of them headed up the stairs, jockeying for position to get into the shower first. Hermione claimed a woman's rights, so the boys agreed _ladies first_ and let her have it first. After that, it was first-come, first-served.

Once everyone was showered and dressed, they joined Molly and Arthur at the breakfast table and enjoyed one another's company. The Daily Prophet arrived with the customary brown owl, but there wasn't much in the line of exciting news, other than a notice about a disturbance on the Hogwarts Express that had been summarily squelched and diffused by one Seamus Finnegan, Auror.

"Well, there's one report we'll be following up on, mate," Ron said after Hermione read the article. "Good thing no one was hurt, though."

"But a Hufflepuff," Hermione asked no one in particular. "Since when do Hufflepuffs make trouble on the Hogwarts Express…or anywhere else, for that matter?"

"Good question, Hermione," Harry agreed. "I hope this doesn't have anything to do with the verdict."

"Oh how could it, Harry," Hermione refuted him. "A fifth-year Hufflepuff concerned about that? Jolly unlikely."

"Hermione, after everything we've seen over the past eight years, don't you think anything's possible anymore," Harry asked her, a little surprised at her further naivete. "I mean, with all the adventures we were on in school and out, and the odd way thing worked out in every one of them, the possibilities are endless. I wouldn't count it out."

"Well, let's just say it's possible, but unlikely and leave it at that, yeah?" Ron really wasn't in the mood for a deep philosophical discussion while his head throbbed a little from the wine he drank with the Grangers.

"Good counsel, son," Arthur agreed. "Now let's get to work, shall we?" The Weasley patriarch stood and kissed his wife's cheek. "Molly, we'll see you this evening. Boys. Hermione."

"Coming Dad," Harry said, stopping to give his mother-in-law a kiss; Ron and Hermione followed suit and in moments, they were gone, leaving Molly to her housework.

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Fiona awoke just before dawn in her comfortable chambers near the hospital wing in the ancient castle. Her suite contained a small sitting area, an oak desk with a swivelling deep brown leather chair, and en-suite loo with tiled tub and shower, vanity, and commode, with a cabinet to store toiletries and personal potions in.

Her bed was a full-size four-poster affair with a canopy and deep red and gold velvet curtains all around. It could have passed for a Gryffindor dorm room if not for the amenities. The waist-high mahogany bookshelves contained all kinds of reference material and textbooks Fiona would need for her apprenticeship. The mattress felt like the one on her bed back home that she sank into and allowed to envelop her like an embrace.

Fiona sat up and stretched. She threw the covers off, swinging her legs over the side. She'd heard these old castles could be draughty, so she opted for an old tee-shirt and sweat pants as pyjamas and a pair of heavy socks for her feet. For some reason, her feet were always cold at night. The fire in the enormous wrought-iron grate had long-since reduced to mere embers, but it still gave off enough heat to warm her slightly chilled toes and fingertips.

She was just about to head for the loo when she heard a rapping against the leaded glass window across the room. "Deeds!" She quickly crossed the room to open the window and let her beloved Great Horned Owl into the room. "How are ya, ol' buddy? I'm so gladja made it okay," she cooed, stroking his mottled brown, grey, white, and black plumage. The tufts on his head, called _plumicorns_, very much resembled feathery horns or even cat's ears. The shape of his face and the way it played above his eyes gave him a fierce angry look, but Mr Deeds was in truth a gentle soul, although quite large for the male of his species.

Deeds turned his head to stare at her with his gold and black eyes. If it had been physically possible for him to do so, he might have cocked his head at her as if to ask why she went off and left him. Instead he blinked and then blinked again.

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just that I didn't think you'd much wanna be caged for that long, boy. I know how ya hated the trip from Charlotte." Fiona leaned over and kissed the top of his tufted head. "How about I git my act tagether 'n' we go on down and have us some breakfast? How's that sound?"

Deeds answered with a ghostly hoot. The call of the Great Horned Owl was unique in that instead of sounding as though it asked _who_, it sounded more like a low, mournful oo-oo-_hoodle-oo_. He dipped his head—rather, he dipped his body—as if to agree, and watched as she assembled her clothing for the day and walked toward the loo. He turned his head as she moved away, never letting her out of his sight. Once she disappeared into the loo, he flapped his four-foot wingspan and flew to the bookcase near the door to wait for her to reappear. _I'm not letting you out of my sight, silly female human._

Fifteen minutes later, Fiona emerged from the steamy shower room, fully dressed for the day in her crisp Hogwarts Matron's Apprentice ankle-length dress, starched apron, and headpiece. She looked like a much-younger version of Madame Pomfrey, except her dress was light green instead of deep blue. Professor McGonagall had gifted her with a brooch watch that Fiona pinned in precisely the same spot her instructor pinned her own. _I wonder if somewhere along the line, I might could wear scrubs instead of this fussy dress. I'm workin' with kids, for pity's sake!_

Deeds gave her a stare and blinked his lantern-like eyes again as if to aske her why she would want to leave her quarters in that get-up. All he'd ever seen her in was jeans and shirts.

"Well, let's see if Miss Poppy's up before we go down. It's still pretty early and I expect the kids are just about gittin' ready to drag out. C'mon, boy." Fiona gave a little whistle, calling the owl to her arm. With a short hoot and a flap of his wings, he crossed the short space and landed neatly on his human's arm and then sidled up to her shoulder. "I think Miss Verity's been slippin' you some extra treats." The owl only blinked and bowed again as if to encourage her to cut the chatter and get a move on. "I knew it."

Fiona and Mr Deeds stepped through the door and bade a cheerful good morning to yawning portraits that hung on the stone walls along the corridors. The images nodded and grunted their responses as she and the great bird made their way to the hospital wing. Fiona waved her wand and the double-doors swung inward, admitting the two Americans. "Miss Poppy? Miss Poppy, ma'am, you up yet?"

The sound of rustling skirts grew louder as the matron bustled up the ward to find Fiona standing there resplendent in her neat uniform with the strangest-looking owl she'd ever seen perched on her shoulder. "Why, good morning, Fiona! And who is this fine fellow," she asked, reaching to stroke the magnificent bird.

"Mornin', Miss Poppy. This here's Mr Deeds—Deeds for short. He's a Great Horned Owl," she replied. "His kind ain't native to nowhere but North and South America, from the Arctic on down."

"Well hello there, Mr Deeds! I can't say as we've ever had an owl in the ward. You'll be a most-welcome diversion for our sick and injured students, I think," she smiled, stroking his neck and back. "What lovely—what are those feathery structures on his head anyway?" The imported owl fascinated the Healer, for she loved all living things.

"Well, why don't we just head on down to the Great Hall for some breakfast and I'll tell ya all about 'im," Fiona suggested. "I know it's pretty early yet, but the early owl gets the mouse!"

"I was just about to go myself. It's the first day of classes and we don't want to be caught off-guard," Poppy told her. "The most interesting accidents happen in the first few weeks, and on the first day especially. Shall we?"

The two women left the now-empty hospital wing and made their way toward the Great Hall. Fiona explained all about the Great Horned Owl and how Mr Deeds was actually rather large for the male of his breed. They arrived at the heavy oak and wrought-iron doors of the Great Hall just in time to meet up with the headmistress, who was about to go in to breakfast herself.

"Why, good morning, ladies! It looks like it's just us girls so far. Pomona just went in and here's Aurora! Fiona, this is Aurora Sinistra, our Astronomy professor. Aurora, this is Fiona Prewett."

"Ah yes, Miss Prewett. Our new Healer Apprentice. Welcome to Hogwarts, dear," the dark beauty warmly greeted her, extending a pale, but perfectly-manicured hand. "I dare say you're in for a very interesting term."

"I'm lookin' forward to it, Miss Aurora," Fiona replied. "Pleased ta meetcha." Fiona returned her feminine handshake.

"Well then," Minerva said with a quick exhalation. "Shall we proceed? You haven't had a chance to meet Pomona Sprout yet. Poppy? Aurora?" The four women strode up the hall between the long rows of tables toward the staff tables. "Usually, we enter from that door there to your left, right behind the table. But this early, I like to come in this way before the students begin to arrive. After that, it's just too crowded."

Pomona had just sat down and was about to open a book about fertilizers, when Minerva, Poppy, Fiona, and Aurora arrived and took their places. "Pomona, have you met Fiona yet?"

"What? Oh, well no, not officially. I mean, you introduced her at the feast last night, but I haven't…" the squat, but kindly Herbology Professor gushed. "Oh dear. Listen to me, will you. Babbling like a brook. I'm Pomona Sprout, Herbology department."

"Pleased ta meetcha, Miss Pomona," Fiona replied. "Herbology, you say?" Professor Sprout nodded enthusiastically. "When ya git a chance, c'n I come down ta the greenhouses and have a look around?"

"Of course, dear, but why," the suddenly-very-interested professor asked. The other three witches present were also interested to know why the Healer's Apprentice would want to wander around those dirty old greenhouses with goodness-knew-what growing in them.

"Oh, well…when I was growin' up, Granny Tyree, that's a friend of my momma's, grew and dried her own herbs fer potions. She the one that trained me. She taught me all I know," Fiona told her. "But I know there's more ta learn about potion-makin' 'n' all, and I'd like ta see whatcha got growin' around here. That's all."

"Well, I'm sure Mr Longbottom would be glad to show you around any time he's not busy with his first- and second-years. He's quite remarkable and has an uncanny way with plants, magical and otherwise," Pomona answered. "I've never seen anything like it before. He earned Os for both his OWL and NEWT Herbology exams."

"Yes, and if there had been a higher grade to award that young man, he'd have earned it hands down," Minerva agreed.

"Well, he was pants at Astronomy," Aurora snickered, "But he was still a delight to have in my class. He worked hard at it even if it just wasn't his forte."

"I saw plenty of Mr Longbottom in the hospital wing," Poppy reported. "Not as much as Mr Potter, understand, but plenty all the same. He had a terrible time in Severus' Potions class. If he wasn't melting cauldrons to puddles of molten pewter, he was blowing something up."

"The real champion of the explosion was Mr Finnegan as I remember," Minerva said with a chuckle. How anyone can cause an explosion in a Charms classroom is a mystery to me.

"Ah, you lovely ladies must be talking about our Mr Finnegan," a squeaky voice interrupted them.

"Filius! Good morning," Poppy grinned, turning toward her strawberry apprentice. "Fiona, this is our Charms professor, Filius Flitwick. Filius, Miss Fiona Prewett."

"Yes, yes. Welcome, my dear," the diminutive man said, extending his hand. "I daresay you're in for an…interesting…experience."

"So I'm told, Professor," Fiona replied.

"Filius, please, Fiona. You're staff here," he winked, levitating himself onto his tall stool at the table. "Now, was I correct in assuming you were discussing Mr Finnegan?"

"Right in one, Filius," Pomona laughed. "I'll never forget the first time I had the 1994 fourth-year Gryffindors expressing Bubotubers. Oh, the faces that young man could make!"

"Well…I have met Mr Finnegan—or should I say Auror Finnegan—and he seems like a rather nice young man," Fiona said, trying not to sound too dreamy. She hadn't forgotten what Harry told her about the flirtatious Irishman, but she couldn't help the little flip her stomach had taken when Professor Flitwick mentioned his name, or the slight burning in her chest as Pomona talked about him in her class."

Fiona happened to look toward the doors to the Great Hall just as Professor Hagrid entered. Instead of professors' robes, the Half-giant wore a huge jerkin, vest, thick belt, heavy trousers, massive leather boots, and a long coat made of some kind of animal skin. "Mornin' all," he grunted, taking his seat in a chair that could have seated three or four average-size men. "And how's our new Gryffindor? All ri' there, Fiona?"

"Finer'n a spider's web," she answered with a broad smile, her sky-blue eyes twinkling.

"An' who's this proud fellow on yer shoulder," Hagrid asked, eyeing Mr Deeds. "Never seen an owl qui' like tha'!"

"Hagrid, this is Mr Deeds," Fiona began.

"A Great Horned Owl from America," Poppy added, nodding toward the owl.

"Deeds, it's all right, now. Go on and see Mr Hagrid," Fiona whispered to the bird. "Go on. He ain't gonna hurtcha none. He's the Care of Magical Creatures Professor."

Mr Deeds gave his mistress a dubious look, then turned his head to face the giant man seated at the end of the table. He blinked and then blinked again.

"Sorta reminds me of a certain hippogriff," Hagrid muttered longingly. "Good ol' Beaky."

All of a sudden, Mr Deeds flapped his wings, smacking Fiona on the back of her head. He leapt off her shoulder and flew over to perch on top of Hagrid's bushy greying head. The huge man began to chuckle as he raised his eyes in an attempt to see the bird. The others broke into laughter, as did a few students who'd only just filtered in and took their places at their House tables.

Hagrid held out a massive arm and called the bird down. "Come 'ere, ya silly bird," he chuckled. "Lemme 'ave a look atcha." The owl hesitated and then complied, fluttering down to rest on Hagrid's tree-limb thick arm. "There now. Tha's better. You are a handsome boy, ain'tcha," Hagrid murmured to the bird, stroking his feathers and admiring his plumicorns. "You sure are summat." Deeds hooted in agreement and made himself comfortable.

As the Great Hall began to fill, the noise level rose. Although the great owl had spent more than a month at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, he still wasn't keen on a lot of noise and excitement. He took flight from Hagrid's arm and flew into the high rafters to watch from above. A few minutes later, platters of food and pitchers of juices and milk appeared on the tables and the staff and students of the magical school settled into their breakfasts.

Headmistress McGonagall handed a pile of parchments to Pomona, Hagrid, Filius, and the late-arriving Horace Slughorn. "What're those," Fiona asked Poppy.

"Class schedules. Each Head of House is responsible for distributing the students' schedules the first day of classes at breakfast. See? Pomona's Head of Hufflepuff House, so she's over there with them. Horace is Head of Slytherin House, and Filius is Head of Ravenclaw House. Of course you know who the Head of your own House is," the matron said with a smile and a wink.

"Gryffindor," Fiona said fondly. "My family's House. I can't thank y'all enough for whatch'all did for me last Sunday."

"Not at all, dear. It was our pleasure," Minerva interjected, having overheard Fiona's gratitude. "It was rather fun to dress in my faded old uniform." The septuagenarian headmistress smiles wistfully. "That brought back a load of fine memories."

Fiona smiled as she watched the students examining their class schedules and could make a few of the moans and groans about first period classes.

"Double-potions," a fifth-year Gryffindor whinged. "I'm not even awake yet!"

"History of Magic," a sixth-year Ravenclaw groaned. "Boring Binns."

"Hey, don't moan so much. You can go back to sleep," his friend snorted.

"COOL," a third-year Hufflepuff cried. "Defense Against the Dark Arts right off! I hope Professor Watson's as good as Professor Potter was!"

And so the chatter went on until it was time for the students to file out of the Great Hall to their classes, their professors hot on their heels. Fiona wished she had been able to attend school here like her parents and the rest of her family had. She choked back a little sob and blinked back a few tears. Sensing her mild distress, Mr Deeds flew down from the rafters and landed on her shoulder. "Not quite so noisy now, hey buddy?"

Poppy rose from her seat. "There's a Double-potions class and a third-year Defence class starting up right away. We need to be ready for anything."

"Yes, ma'am," Fiona agreed. "Anything."

Poppy, Fiona, and Mr Deeds walked out of the Great Hall to make their way back to the hospital wing, where Fiona transfigured an old stool into a perch for the owl. Now you stay out of the way, hear?" Deeds blinked at his pet human as though she were out of her mind and proceeded to preen his feathers.

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Auror Seamus Finnegan, Third-in-Command to Chief Harry Potter and Assistant Chief Ron Weasley, sat at the tiny kitchen table in the flat he shared with fellow Auror and sometimes-girlfriend, Lavender Brown. "G'morning, Shamey," Lavender yawned. "Is that coffee I smell?"

"Er…yeah. Morning, Lav," he replied absently. "Helf yerself."

"Thanks, I will," she said with a glare. _What's up his arse this morning? And last night? _"I take it you're not on this morning?"

Seamus stared into his mug of now-tepid coffee. He wasn't scheduled for duty until six that evening, having spent all day yesterday on the Hogwarts Express and at Hogwarts until after the feast.

"Shamey? Finnegan," Lavender shouted. He jumped in his seat. "Pay attention!"

"What're ya shoutin' about, woman? Can't a man think," he asked irritably. _Bloody harpy_.

"I just asked if you were on duty this morning," Lavender said defensively. "No need to bite my head off, but you were obviously someplace else."

He certainly was someplace else. He was on Platform 9 ¾ staring into the eyes of the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He was standing outside the entrance to the Great Hall at Hogwarts, covertly gazing at the school's new Healer apprentice and marvelling at how pretty she was.

"What do ya mean, someplace else. As you can plainly see, I'm right here at this table talkin' ta you," he said incredulously. "And ya know full well I'm not on until six t'night with Thompson."

"Oh, right. I'd forgotten. It just seems like your mind's a million miles away," she said with a pout. "You've been acting strangely since you came home last night. So what are you thinking about?"

Lavender was a nice girl—woman—but she could be a nag. He didn't have the heart to tell her so because he felt sorry for her. She'd been through so much during the war, especially at the final battle where she was nearly killed. She still limped a bit, which kept her off the more physical assignments, but she was a good Auror. She was right, though—his mind was far away, but not quite a million miles. More like three-hundred miles north in the highlands of Scotland in a draughty old castle. _She's probably just finished breakfast_. "Sorry, Lav. I didn't mean to snap at ya. I'm still a bit knackered from yesterday, I suppose." He sighed and took a sip of his cold coffee. "Ugh!" He spat the offensive liquid across the table, barely missing his roommate's own mug and slices of toast. He got up and poured the contents of his mug into the sink.

He almost never acted like this, not even when they were in school. He was always smiling and joking with Harry, Ron, and the other boys in their year, and seemed to brighten up even the most-somber of days at the Ministry. "Seamus Finnegan, are you all right," Lavender asked. "You're not yourself…"

"Lavender, I'm just knackered. Will ya just leave it," Seamus sneered at her. "I'm goin' out for a bit. I need to pick some stuff up in the Alley," he grumbled. "You better get movin'. You're gonna be late." The only thing he planned on picking up that morning was a shot or two of Old Ogden's Best. _How could she get under my skin so fast? Dammit, Finnegan. Pull yerself tagether, lad!_

Four hours and half a bottle of Firewhiskey later, a very tipsy Seamus Finnegan collapsed on his bed. He and Lavender occasionally shared her bed, but lately that had fallen by the wayside. And then yesterday…yesterday. Fiona Prewett, strawberry hair and eyes bluer than the heavens, stepped ever so gracefully into his life. Her voice was like the flutter of angels' wings, her accent a dream come true. _I need a sobering potion right now_.

Stumbling from his bedroom to the loo, he threw open the medicine cabinet doors and found what he was looking for. "Damn, it's almost gone. I haven't been drinking that much have I," her muttered out loud. Pulling the stopper, he threw back the contents and waited. Within minutes, the potion began to take effect. His head cleared and his vision righted. "A nap. That's what ya need, Seamus, me lad. A nap and ye'll be right as rain." _And ya owe Lavender an apology, ya sodden git. She's only tryin' ta look after ya, after all._

After a few hours' nap, Seamus awoke and headed for the loo to take care of some urgent business and to have a hot shower before work. He whistled as he washed himself, scrubbing his sandy-blond head with the spice-flavoured shampoo Harry recommended. _Harry, me lad, ye're a genius. No wonder Ginny married ya._

As he rinsed, a picture of the object of his recent affections floated before his mind's eye, followed by a certain tightening in his nether-regions. _This is ridiculous, man! Ya just met her. Ya don't even know her!_ Taking matters in hand rather than fight it, he relieved the pressure and rinsed himself again. "Ye're losin' yer bloody marbles," he chastised himself. He wrapped his towel around his toned waist and padded across the hall to his room.

As he finished drying himself off, he caught an image of himself in the mirror. His chest and abdomen were well-muscled from hours of training and exercise, much of which he got using the stairs at the Ministry rather than the lifts. If Potter and Weasley could do it, so could he. His biceps and triceps were well-developed and his thighs and calves clearly sculpted. He was no candidate for the Mr Universe competitions, but he could hold his own among male wizards his age. _Lookin' good, me lad. Lookin' good._

For a fleeting moment, he imagined a particular pair of hands massaging his shoulders and caressing his back and obliques, but he managed to shake himself out of that reverie and began to dress. A few minutes later, he turned and Disapparated with a _pop!_

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That afternoon, the Munchkins gathered around Patricia, who was writing what appeared to be a letter. "Pats, who are you writing to? You can't be homesick already," Erica observed.

"I'm not homesick, you goose," she replied. "I'm writing a letter to Hermione."

"What for," Joseph asked, stuffing a bit of bread and butter into his mouth.

"To tell her what happened on the train yesterday and to let her know we're all right," she said, returning to her work.

"Be sure to tell her Joseph protected us until Mr Finnegan arrived," Emma teased. Patricia's two girl friends placed the backs of their hands against their foreheads and made to swoon. "Our hero," they sighed. Joseph snickered into his plate.

"Shut it, you three," Patricia snarled, blushing profusely. "We were lucky _Auror _Finnegan showed up before things got out of control."

Emma leaned into Joseph's side and squeezed his bicep. "_My_ hero," she whispered into his ear. The young wizard didn't know why, but a chill ran down his spine; he could only smile and pat her hand.

"There. Finished," Patricia said, blowing on it to dry the ink.

"Can we 'ave a look, Pats," Joseph asked. "I mean, we _all_ was there."

"Sure," she replied. "Just be careful. I think some of the ink might be a bit wet yet."

"Are you a witch or not," Erica exclaimed, drawing her wand. "_Sicco_," she muttered, waving her wand over the parchment. "There. All dry now. Shall I?"

"Go on then," Joseph agreed, taking seconds and thirds of his favourite foods.

"_Dear Hermione,_

_Thanks for meeting us at King's Cross yesterday to see us off. It was great seeing you and Ron and Harry again. How is he holding up with Ginny gone?_

_Something really odd happened on the train yesterday. The four of us—Joseph, Emma, Erica, and I—were in our compartment minding our own business when a fifth-year Hufflepuff boy barged in and started threatening Emma and Erica about being Pureblood Prewetts and Mafalda. He said he'd make sure justice was done if they didn't watch themselves._

_Joseph stood to defend them—us—and I thought there was going to be a fight. But Auror Finnegan stopped it and gave the Hufflepuff, Ryan Stiles, a real dressing-down and sent him away. I went to see if I could find a Gryffindor Prefect, but I found Dennis Creevey instead. He took me to Jessica Spinnet, who is a Prefect._

_Jessica must have spoken to the Head Boy and Girl, because after the feast last night, a Hufflepuff Prefect came over and apologised to us on behalf of Hufflepuff House. She also said that Professor Sprout was really angry and slapped Stiles with detention in the greenhouses. She seemed a bit puzzled that Stiles would do something like that, but didn't say anything about it._

_We also got to meet Ron's cousin, Fiona. She's really nice and told us to call her 'Onie' when nobody was looking (giggle). She's really pretty too, and we love the way she talks. Do you know where in America she's from? I would ask, but I don't want to seem rude or make her uncomfortable._

_Classes this morning were great and we're in for an exciting afternoon in Transfiguration with Professor Bones. We really like her. After that, it's History of Magic and then Herbology._

_That's all for now. By the way: how's your new job working out?_

_Love,_

_Patricia (the other Munchkins too)"_

"Well tha' about sums it up," Joseph observed.

"Do you think we should…I don't know…stay together as much as we can? Stiles really frightened me," Erica said.

"Not a bad idea, Rica," Emma agreed. "Safety in numbers, you know?"

"Perhaps we may be over-reacting, but I think Erica's right," Patricia said thoughtfully. "I don't expect any more trouble, but anything's possible. We don't know if his mates are with him on that."

The four of them finished their meals and stood up to leave for class. They shot a look at the staff table to find Fiona smiling at them. They gave her a friendly wave, shouldered their satchels, and made their way between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables toward the Entrance Hall.

Soon, the Great Hall began to empty and Fiona headed back to the hospital wing. Deeds sat on his perch with his tufted head tucked under a wing, fast asleep. She heard the sounds of a child whimpering near the office door and walked toward to sound to investigate and see if she could help. There, she found Poppy wrapping a Ravenclaw boy's arm while he fought to hold back his tears. A bottle of Skele-Gro stood next to the bed, a dose already having been administered.

"What happened, honey," Fiona asked, caressing the boy's hair.

"He decided to take a ride on the banister of one of the third-floor flights of stairs just as it shifted. It tossed him down the steps onto his arm," Poppy informed her. "Would you please go into the cabinet there and bring me a pain potion and the mild sleeping draught?"

"Comin' right up," Fiona said, trying to sound cheerful for the boy. She remembered falling from a tree and breaking her own arm when she was about ten years old. Her mother had scolded her for climbing trees, but she and Taya ran with the Carver boys and they were a pretty rough-and-tumble pair. Neither twin wished to be called a _sissy_, especially Fiona. _I suppose this young man doesn't want to be called_ _a_ _nancy_…

She found the clearly-labelled vials she was looking for and brought them over to the matron, who encouraged the boy to drink them and lie back on the bed. "You just rest a bit now. I'll check on you in a little while, and if Miss Fiona and I agree that you're all right, you may go then."

"Y-yes, Madame Pomfrey," the boy said, still stifling his tears of pain.

"You just hang in there, okay? That pain potion'll do its stuff right quick and you'll feel much better," Fiona assured him. "Why didja wanna go slidin' down banisters you know move and change? You ain't no first-year, either—you're too big. What's your name?"

"Andy…Andy Thompson. And no, I'm a second-year. I did it because some older boys dared me. They said the famous Marauders did it all the time," the boy told her, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"Don't do that," Fiona chastised him, eradicating the mess with a wave of her wand. "Here, use a tissue. Now, who or what is a famous marauder?"

"Um…well, the stories say that they were four Gryffindors that were students here in the 1970s and that one of them was Harry Potter's dad," he said.

"Well, that explains quite a bit," she said with a small laugh. "But don't be doin' that again, hear?"

"Thanks Miss Fiona. I think I want to go to sleep now," Andy confessed with a huge yawn. "I'm…"

"Goodnight, honey," Fiona said with a final caress to the boy's head. "Sleep tight."

The rest of the day passed uneventfully except for a few cases of singed hair and eyebrows from a first-year potions class. As soon as Andy awoke, Poppy instructed Fiona to run a full scan on the boy and report.

"The bone is pretty-well knit, but it might be a good idea to keep it still for at least 24 hours just to be sure," she said. "Other than that, he's fine."

"Very good, Fiona," Poppy told her. "Your mother and grandmother taught you well. I assume you know how to fashion a sling?"

"Yes, ma'am," she said, conjuring a snow-white piece of linen about a metre square, folded it into a triangle and fashioned it into a sling, tying it behind him. "There ya go, Andy. Yer all set. Now mind…you don't go slidin' down them banisters anymore, got me?"

"I won't," he promised.

"Off with you, then," Poppy said with a stern voice. "And keep that arm in the sling until after lunch tomorrow!"

Both Healers knew that within a week's time, he'd be at it again along with dozens of other boys hoping to emulate the exploits of the famous Marauders, the infamous Weasley Twins, or the great Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. "Merlin help us when the Quidditch season begins," she breathed. "Harry was famous for ploughing opposing Seekers with the Wronski Feint. We'll have ploughers and the ploughed in here for sure."

"Well, Miss Poppy, I don't know much about Quidditch. It's wasn't big in Rook Holler, but I do know that the Charlotte Copperheads were a rough bunch and were always gettin' hurt or hurtin' other players one way or another," Fiona told her. "But…have Skele-Gro, will travel."

"Why don't you take off and write those letters you were telling me about. Classes are just about out for the day and you'll have some free time before supper," Poppy said, putting her arm around Fiona's shoulders. "You did a fine job today."

"Are ya sure, Miss Poppy. I don't wanna leave ya in the lurch," Fiona replied.

"Not at all, dear. I've been on this for thirty years or more and I'll be fine," the matron assured her. "No go on and write those letters. I'm sure Mr Deeds would love a stretch of the wings."

"All right, but Miss Poppy," Fiona stopped to think."How do I send an owl overseas?"

"Oh, well…I believe the Owl Post in Diagon Alley has a connection with the Muggle Post and might be able to help you," Poppy said thoughtfully. "Perhaps Mr Weasley might be able to help you there."

"George?"

"If there's something to be done, he probably knows about it what with all the mail-order business he does from that shop of his. Just write your letter home and tell Mr Deeds to give it to George to send off," Poppy assured her.

"I'll do that. Thank you, Miss Poppy. If ya need me, just give me a holler," Fiona said as she left the ward, with Deeds flying right behind her.

As soon as she arrived in her room, she unpinned her brooch timepiece, removed her apron, and threw off her dress. She'd forgotten to ask Poppy if she might be allowed to wear Muggle surgical scrubs instead of that uncomfortable dress. _Note to self: ask Miss Poppy and Miss Minerva about scrubs._ Search through the bureau next to her wardrobe, she found a set of said scrubs and pulled them on. "Ah…much better. Now to get to them letters."

Fiona sat down at the oak desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment and a quill. _Another note to self: Ask Hermione for a few ballpoint pens and some notebook paper._ She smiled to herself and began to write:

_Dear Aunt Molly,_

_The ride on the train was a lot of fun. I'd never ridden one before, so it was a new experience. I met three very handsome young men on the platform yesterday, two of which are related to you. The third is a friend of theirs, a Mr Finnegan. He was the Auror on duty. I must say, Aunt Molly, that he is a charming fellow, but Harry tells me he's a flirt and a ladies' man. Too bad. Oh well, there are other fish in the sea._

_There's a new Professor in the Hogwarts ranks teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. His name is Rupert D. Watson. He has a fetching smile and he seems very pleasant. I haven't had the opportunity to meet him beyond Miss Minerva introducing him to all of us at the feast last night (which was downright tasty). We have a full staff meeting Friday night, so I'm sure I'll be able to meet him and the others then._

_I got to have breakfast with Miss Poppy, Miss Minerva, Miss Aurora (Astronomy), Miss Pomona, and Professors Flitwick and Hagrid. Hagrid seemed quite taken with Mr Deeds, my owl—the bird who delivered this letter to you. He arrived at my window just before dawn this morning. I guess he missed me already._

_My uniform is like Miss Poppy's and to be honest, Aunt Molly, I hate it. It's really uncomfortable, but then again, I wasn't much for dresses and such. I've been a tree-climbing tomboy all my life—Taya too. This ankle-length monstrosity is a bit much. I have some alternative uniforms along and I'm going to see if Miss Poppy and Miss Minerva will let me wear them instead._

_Other than that, Hogwarts is truly amazing! It's hard to believe that just a little more than a year ago, you all fought a war on these grounds and in this castle. I'm surprised there isn't a memorial here. There should be. I love the enchanted ceiling. You always know what the weather is outside without sticking your nose out the door. Ha, ha. Those moving staircases though…_

_Speaking of moving staircases: We had a case just after lunch today involving a second-year Ravenclaw boy and a broken arm. It seems some older boys dared him to slide down a banister and moved and threw him off. We patched him up, made him rest a bit, and sent him on his way. I told him not to do stuff like that again, but Poppy's convinced he'll be at it inside a week. Ha, ha. Later this afternoon, a couple of first-years came to us from Professor Slughorn's Potions class with singed hair and eyebrows. He's…different._

_Argus Filch gives me the creeps. He's a nasty sort too—him and that ugly cat of his. He stomps around this castle like he's got the rheumatism or something and he's always talking to himself about mud on the floors and nasty students making messes all over. Georgie, Angie, and Miss Rosie told me about him and Mrs Norris, so I was prepared for the attitude, but not for the look! Does that man ever bathe? He's gross. Oh well, enough about him._

_Anyway, so far, so good. I'm all settled in. All the folks here are really nice and treat me like I belong. I'll keep you posted a couple of times a week. Meanwhile, you and Uncle Arthur take care. Please ask Hermione to send me a couple of ball-point pens and some notebook paper. She'll know what that is. I'm no good with quills and parchment, I'm afraid._

_Love to all,_

_Fiona_

Her next letter, to George, contained much of the same news, except that she asked him to see that her letter to her sister found its way to the States by whichever means necessary and to let her know what he'd done to get it there.

She sat back in her chair and stretched her arms over her head. Her hand ached from using the quill and ink. She shook it out and took a loo break before she sat down to write a long-overdue letter to Taya.

_Dear Taya,_

_It's been a tumbling several weeks since I came to England and met our people here. Let me tell you, there's a bunch of them. The first one I met was Cousin George, who runs a joke shop in a Wizarding business street in London called Diagon Alley. He has another store in Scotland in a little all-magical town called "Hogsmeade" near the school Jayce told us about. Until a few days ago, I lived in a room in George's flat (apartment) above the shop. Once I learned he was a twin, I understood why I felt particularly close to him._

_Now, let me tell you about our British relative beginning with Aunt Molly and Uncle Arthur. It was quite a shock to Aunt Molly when she met me, since her brothers kept our existence a secret, but they are fine folks, really. Uncle Arthur's the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE) and Aunt Molly's an amazing cook and housewitch._

_Aunt Molly and Uncle Arthur Weasley had seven children in all. First, there's Bill the Curse-breaker, who's married to Fleur. They have a pretty baby girl called Victoire._

_Next is Charlie, the Dragonmaster. He worked for several years for a dragon reserve in Romania, but now he works for the Ministry at their dragon reserve. He's a bachelor, but very roguish and ruggedly handsome._

_Third is Percy the Doing-Something-Important-At-the-Ministry-But-We-Don't-Know-What-It-Is guy. I don't know him and Charlie all that well. I only met them once._

_Fourth is George, who I already mentioned. He has a real nice girlfriend in Angelina. She helps him run the store with a friend of theirs, Miss Verity. Miss Verity and Deeds are really good friends. He took right to her. Must've been the treats._

_The youngest brother and fifth in line is, Ron, is the Assistant Head Auror and engaged to the brightest witch I've ever met, Hermione. He's almost six-and-a-half feet tall and built like a brick outhouse! He and Hermione are a real Mutt and Jeff combination. She's only about five-foot-six and cuter than a bug's ear._

_The youngest of the Weasley children is a real tough cookie they call Ginny, professional Chaser and married to Harry. I can tell you that your Jayce would love to meet Cousin Ron and Cousin Harry. They're quite something in law enforcement here—just 19 years old, both of them, and heading the entire British Auror team. And they're very good at what they do, according to everyone I've ever talked to…and the _Daily Prophet_, of course (newspaper)._

_You'll notice I've only mentioned six Weasley children. Taya, there was a terrible war. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had key roles in the victory. All the Weasleys fought and George's twin brother, Fred, was killed in the final battle against a dark tosser called Voldemort. Even now, after Harry killed him, lots of people here are still afraid to say his name. Maybe Jayce has heard something about it._

_My new home is Momma's old school, Hogwarts, where I earned an apprenticeship in the hospital wing, run by the Matron, Poppy Pomfrey, who actually delivered us! She's a bit strict, but I really like her and I'm so happy for the chance to work with the kids. The groundskeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Professor Hagrid, takes care of sick and injured animals, magical and not. I'm going to ask if he'll let me work with him, too. And you know what else? Hogwarts has a herd of Thestrals!_

_There's so much to tell you. England is very different from the Holler, but I feel at home here. Aunt Molly took me to Daddy's grave. It was very special to stand there by him and Uncle Gideon. I wish I'd known him, but if he's anything like the Weasleys, he was an honourable man I'm more proud than ever to be the daughter of._

_I've sent some pictures. I hope they survived the trip. There's one with me and all the Weasleys at a party they gave when they made me an honourary Gryffindor, one of the four Houses at Hogwarts that all the Weasleys were in when they went to school. Momma and Daddy were, too. Ron insisted I send the Chocolate Frog Cards of him, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny. He's very proud of his. There's also a picture of Cousin Ginny and her Quidditch team, the Holyhead Harpies (Wales)._

_I guess I don't have to say it, but I miss you, Taya—and Granny and Jayce too. I'm doing just fine here. I'll be writing more—probably next week. Write when you can._

_Love,_

_Onie_

Several days later, in a two-bedroom bungalow outside Sioux Falls, South Dakota, USA, Gallatea Grace Prewett read her sister's letter, tears flowing down her cheeks, soaking the parchment and obscuring the ink. She missed Onie too, but she was glad that she was all right in England, had an apprenticeship, and had found their family. She was looking through the pictures when Jayce came home and walked up behind her.

"Hi, Darlin'," he said, kissing the top of her strawberry locks. He frowned a little when he saw the tearstained letter. "What's up? Has something happened?"

Gallatea shook her head and sniffled "I got a letter from Onie today. She found our family and got an apprenticeship to finish her training."

"That's great! So why the tears? She's all right, right," Jayce stated more than asked.

"She sent pictures of our British family," Gallatea said, handing them to him.

Jayce studied the photograph that showed the Weasleys with Fiona in the centre waving at him. "That's one big family," he said moving to the next one, which showed a red-haired female Quidditch player sporting a number 6, waving more enthusiastically than the others.

"_Ginny Potter,_" Jayce said in surprise.

"Yeah, she's married to Harry. I _guess _Potter's his name. Why?"

"Harry _Potter_?" Jayce gasped. "Your cousin Ginny is married to _Harry Potter?_"

"Apparently," Gallatea replied. "I take it you've heard of him. Does it have something to do with that war Onie mentioned? She said you might had heard about it."

Jayce sat down, still in a state of mild shock. "Tay-O-Wee, that war was against the forces of one of the most evil Dark Wizards in history. Harry Potter defeated him. Our Secretary of Magic met him during a convention last year and thanked him on behalf of the entire American Wizarding community for taking Tom Riddle—Lord Voldemort—down "

"I thought it was a bit surprising that Cousin Ron and Cousin Harry run the British Auror Office, them being so young and all. I thought it had to do with Uncle Arthur running British Wizarding law enforcement."

Jayce's jaw dropped. "Can I read that letter," he asked. She handed it over, still not quite understanding what all the fuss was about. Okay, so Cousin Harry vanquished an evil dark wizard. Fine. Isn't that what Aurors do?

Jayce read it and then asked to see the Chocolate Frog cards. "It seems your British relatives are quite the celebrities," Jayce observed.

"You seem most intrigued by Cousins Ron and Harry," Gallatea said, noticing that Jayce held their Famous Wizard cards.

"I'm law enforcement on the national level like these two, but 19 and running an Auror Office? They've got to be a pair of real powerhouses! O-Nee-Tsah is right. I'd love to meet them," he said in awe.

"I've got a sneaking suspicion you might get your wish sooner or later," Gallatea sighed, leaning into him. "Something's coming, Jayce, and somehow, we're gonna find ourselves right in the middle of it."

Alastor Gumboil stared transfixed at the door with large block letters painted on the glass that read, AUROR OFFICE. He was almost afraid to touch it, as those those unworthy to enter might be cursed. It's not that he lacked talent or skill. On the contrary; he was and is the top Hit wizard in all the DMLE.

But the Aurors—they were something else entirely. They were the best, the elite, with a very intense and secretive training schedule to fit them to face challenges no one else could begin deal with. Under the guidance of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, the standard of training and performance among the Aurors had increased considerably. Whatever he had developed with Dumbledore's Army had blossomed into a new and straightforward way of conducting a battle.

With a deep breath of resignation, Gumboil, gingerly opened the door and entered. It was quiet—not an Auror in sight. He found his way to the door that said _Head Auror H. Potter & Assistant Head Auror R. Weasely_. He knocked on that door, but there was no response from within.

"If yerr lookin' ferr the Chief, he an' almost all the otherrs on duty arre in duellin' practice. Mr Gumboil, is it," an Auror greeted him.

"Yes, I'm looking for Head Auror Potter..." Gumboil checked the badge on the Auror's chest "... Auror Thompson."

"Rright, Sirr. Please, follow me," Thompson said, gesturing with his hand. Gumboil followed Auror Thompson through a door onto a balcony overlooking a massive hall. The room itself was amazing, appearing to house a dense forest.

"It's just transfigurred stuff," Auror Thompson said, as if he had read Gumboil's mind "They'll soon finish theirr prractice."

"Practice? It's all quiet," Gumboild said.

"It is noo, but it won't be ferr long. Yeh see, therre arre fourr teams, each one of 'em prrotecting a flag. Each team's trryin' tae capture the flags of the other teams," Auror Thompson explained. "I'd say they'rre rre-positionin' themselves rright now. No need to announce wherre yeh arre if yeh dinna have tae."

Gumboil felt his excitement rise as adrenaline began to pump through his bloodstream. Looking , he could see some of the duelling Aurors from the balcony he shared with Auror Thompson. Suddenly all hell broke loose. Seemingly from nowhere, a barrage of stunners shot through the trees, but didn't appear to connect with anything. One team had fired the first volley, followed by the other three teams responding with stunners, curses and hexes exploding all over the room.

"Bloody hell! How many of them are there," Gumboil asked.

"Fourr teams of three, sir," Auror Thompson replied, his eyes never leaving the action.

In the utter chaos that had erupted, Gumboil couldn't make heads or tails of what happened. That twelve people could cause this was almost beyond Gumboil's comprehension.

"Look there. The Chief's team's goin' forr Chang's flag," Auror Thompson explained, pointing to Chang's position.

There, in the middle of all the jolts of fire, Gumboil spotted Harry Potter, which served as some point of reference to understand what was going on. It was certainly not chaos; rather, each of the four teams conducted heavily-co-ordinated attack and defence patterns to capture or defend a flag. Harry avoided curse after curse, some using a shield charm, others by tumbling and twisting evasive movements, dogding each of them in turn. Gumboil spotted the other two on Harry's team, Aurors Finnegan Brown.

"So, Head Auror Potter is working an all-Gryffindor team today," Gumboil asked, proud to have made out anything at all of the literal war going on in the room.

"Aye, that he is, sirr. We shift teams, changin' up so we all can learn to worrk with one anotherr in any combination," Auror Thompson replied.

Seamus and Lavender fired off stunners rapidly, allowing Harry to advance. He threw himself out of the path of a curse fired by Auror Chang before attacking Dawlish, who was on her team.

"But she can attack him in the back..." Gumboil said. He was right, but Lavender had a shield up, protecting Harry at the same time as Seamus struck Cho with a stunner. Dawlish was disarmed the moment after and Seamus captured the flag, and covered by Harry as Lavender returned to their own flag. The whole affair had lasted less than a minute. "Bloody hell! They made it," Gumboil observed with awe.

"Aye, and I think it's the Chief's good forrtune the time is up. Chang would have rretaliated, given the chance," Auror Thompson said before casting a _Sonorus_. "All right yeh buggerrs, time's up."

All activity stopped and the balcony descended to the floor. "Everyone's all right," someone called out in question.

"Do they actually injure one another," Gumboil asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Ach, nothin' worse than brroken bones and other minorr injurries that allow us to come back to worrk tomorra. But it's prretty intense prractice just the same," Auror Thompson said with a wink and a grin as they stepped down from the balcony.

"Practice? That's full-scale war, that is," Gumboil said, trying to make sense of it all.

"Good, because that's what we must be prrepared forr," Auror Thompson grinned.

Gumboil looked around at the group of twelve Aurors. They were clearly exhausted.

"Hey Irish!" Harry called "You'd better see to Cho and wake her up. Your stunner broke her arm. You know she'll demand some rough one-on-one with you."

"Damn. Last time she knocked me out three times," Seamus sighed. "I'll take care o' her and get her arm sorted out at St Mungo's and then offer meself up for sacrifice."

"Aurors..." Gumboil mumbled feeling deeply impressed by their skill and toughness, and also wondering how they could take the injuries they take in practice with such ease and so much in stride.

"I know your duel practice rules are different in the Hit wizard Squads, Mr Gumboil, but here, the rule is never to use any spell that keeps a colleague over night in hospital. However, we need to stay as close to real battle as possible," Mr Thompson again informed him as if he'd read the Hit wizard's mind.

"I see... if we'd do that, we'd be risking a disciplinary hearing and might get sacked," Gumboil said.

"Chief! Oi, Harry," Auror Thompson called. "Mr Gumboil's herre to see ye."

Harry turned around and faced him, still grimy and sweaty from the fight, but energetic as always. "Mr Gumboil," he greeted the man without showing any feeling. "What brings you to our lair?"

"Actually sir..." Mr Gumboil said, suddenly feeling shy in the presence of the wizard young enough to be his son, "I was hoping to set up a meeting with you. I know you're dedicated to the fight against blood-purity prejudice. Well, I am too... and if it's not too much to ask, I'd be honoured if I could meet with you, and Miss Granger. Mr Weasley too, of course."

Harry looked at him for a while, wondering what Gumboil was really after. The man had grilled him on the witness stand and now he'd come to him, almost hat in hand, looking for a meeting with him and Hermione. Never mind, Ron's name had been included as an afterthought. While Harry contemplated the man's motives, Ron approached them.

"Mr Gumboil, first of all, please don't call me_ sir_. I'm Harry, or if you're more comfortable with Auror Potter or Chief Potter, I'm all right with those too." Harry said and turned to Ron "Mr Gumboil would like to meet with us and Hermione to talk about blood-purity prejudice."

Ron immediately saw the opportunity to learn more about Mr Gumboil and what he was on about. "Sure. I guess we can arrange that, mate," Ron said. "And 'Mione is always eager to improve the situation for Muggleborns. She could use a break from digesting all those protocols on House elf rights... She's going all SPEW again, Harry..."

Harry turned to Gumboil again. "Once we've talked with Hermione we'll get back to you. Is that all right, Mr Gumboil?"

"Yes, of course, si— Mr Potter," Gumboil replied. "Let me also express my admiration for your practice here. Quite impressive."

"This? It's Ron's idea, mostly, working in small co-ordinated teams. The whole purpose with the flag is just to make it a bit more fun," Harry told him with a smirk. "Ron, it's an hour before Hermione is off for today. What do you say about some one-on-one until then?"

"Sure Harry... one of these days I'll beat you," Ron grunted.

"We all have our dreams and aspirations, mate. Why not you too," Harry said with a slap to his best friend's back. He turned back to the Hit-wizard. "So, Mr Gumboil, we'll be in touch."

Gumboil headed for the exit but turned around to catch a glimpse of the two top Aurors in Britain duel one another one-on-one. It was nothing short of amazing. "Does Mr Potter always win," Gumboil asked Auror Thompson, who accompanied him to the exit and stood waiting for him.

"One-on-one, the Chief beats all of us, but in team competition, there's no beating the Assistant Chief," Auror Thompson. "The man's a brrilliant tactician, but put 'em togetherr and therre's noo stoppin' 'em. Add Chang or Finnegan—oor two most fearrless fighterrs—and they'rre unbeatable."

_If I can get Potter, Granger, Weasley, and Finnegan on board, ELF would truly become a force to be reckoned with. The bloody Purebloods wouldn't stand a chance._ Alastor Gumboil left the Auror Offices and made his way back to the Squad Rooms to have a chat with some of the lads there. He had good news for them. There would be a meeting.

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"So what do you think, Harry," Ron asked him as they showered. They still had a little under half an hour before they had to meet Hermione on Level Four, so they decided to shower and take their time changing back into their Aurors' uniform and robes.

"About what," Harry asked, rinsing the shampoo out of his raven locks. "Gumboil?"

"Yeah. I mean, what do you think he's on about," Ron asked, already suspicious. "And what would he want with me? I'm a Pureblood."

"I think he thinks Hermione and I wouldn't consider meeting with him if he didn't include you. But what bothers me is how that git thinks he's going to take on the blood-purists." Harry didn't like Alastor Gumboil and was less than pleased when Kingsley appointed him Senior Undersecretary. That meant Gumboil was essentially Arthur's boss and by extension, theirs. This didn't bode well for DMLE.

Neither brother knew it at that moment, but they were both suspicious of the same thing and thinking along the same lines. Ron rinsed his own shaggy red head and used his hands to swipe the excess water from his face. "Harry, we need to be careful, mate. This is politics and you know how nasty that can be. I think we need to go into that meeting with our Occlumency shields up, our ears open, and our mouths shut."

"Too right, mate. I think we should talk with the family about this too, before we meet with him—especially Dad. This could seriously affect him, since that bastard is his boss," Harry said rinsing the soap from his body. He wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the door to his shower stall. "You about finished?"

"Yeah on all points," Ron replied, opening the door to his own stall. "Let's get dressed and get out of here, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry answered distantly. This anti-blood-purity thing had a familiar ring to it and it made his skin crawl. He could only hope he was wrong. "Let's go."

The two Aurors finished dressing, combed and tied their hair back, and left the Auror Offices for the day. They took the stairs once again, down to Level Four to meet Hermione and say hello to Selma and the interns before they all left for the day as well. They passed into the corridor halfway between the lifts and the RCMC main office just in time to find Amos Diggory making his way to the lifts.

Diggory nodded their way, but didn't say anything. Harry and Ron simply nodded in response and continued on to the double glass doors and opened them. "Hello, Selma, Love," Ron said with a wink.

"Why Ronald Weasley, you flirt! I'm just fine, thank you. And how are you boys," she asked with a twinkle in her eyes and a blush on her cheeks. "I hear you raised quite a stir this afternoon up there."

"A stir? Us? Never," Harry grinned. "We're quiet as church mice."

"Well…I heard through the grapevine that you Aurors have been doing some rather interesting training. One had to be taken to St Mungo's? What are you up to in that new training facility of yours," Selma asked, shaking her grey head.

"She's got us, mate. She knows. Selma, we're duelling prisoners for their freedom," Ron told her, trying to hold a straight face.

"That was supposed to be a close-guarded secret. There's a leak in DMLE, Ron. We'd better tell Dad—wait! Maybe Dad's the leak," Harry said. "Or Hermione!"

"I guess I'll have to interrogate her tonight," Ron said solemnly. "You get Dad."

Selma listened to the two of them, knowing they were having her on. She tried to look frightened, but could only break out in giggles because she knew very well what Ron's definition of _interrogation_ was, at least where Hermione was concerned. She was young once too. "Oh you two! You're awful!"

Harry and Ron explained what had happened in training that day and why they were engaging in mock battles in all scenarios.

"Well I think that's a concept that's been long overdue up there. Just like the old days when Mad-Eye Moody—Merlin bless his soul—headed up the training corps. He didn't let any of them get soft. Then, after he retired…well, Amelia tried, but because she was a witch…you know," Selma told them. "Harry, you and Ron are godsends to DMLE. Arthur must be very proud of you."

The two Aurors blushed fiercely to be so complimented by someone like Selma who had been with the Ministry for so long, she'd seen good and bad come and go. That she considered them among the good raised their morale that had taken a hit when Alastor Gumboil became Senior Undersecretary to Minister Shacklebolt. "And don't you two pay much mind to Alastor Gumboil. He was a fine Hit-wizard, but he has all the charm and winning ways of a rabid dog. But overall, he's all bark and no bite."

"We'll keep that in mind, Selma. What is taking Hermione so long," Harry asked. "She should have been out here ten minutes ago."

"You're right," Selma said, now a bit flustered. "I'll go back and see what's keeping her, shall I?"

"Please," Ron asked. _She better be all right_.

A few minutes later, Selma appeared with Hermione in tow, both of them chattering away like magpies, Hermione's face flushed and her hair flying. "Ron! Harry! I'm so sorry! I was so caught up in my research, I totally lost track of them time." She rose up on her tip-toes to give Ron a sweet kiss, then turned to give Harry a sisterly hug.

"Well…you ready then," Ron asked, taking her satchel and throwing it over his shoulder.

"I am. I'm famished," she said breathlessly. "Oh and poor Arthur. He must be…oh dear. I owe him such an apology."

"Calm down, 'Mione," Ron said as they arrived at the lifts. "We're not going to waste away to nothing if we're a few minutes late for supper."

"Mum, on the other hand, might not be so forgiving," Harry snorted as the lift car arrived. They stepped in, pressed the Atrium Level button and ignored the voice.

"Harry, if you weren't my brother, I'd hex you where you stand," Hermione said in mock disgust.

"Ah, but that would be assault to an officer of the law. We'd have to arrest you and throw you in a cell downstairs," Harry teased.

"Harry James Potter, you wouldn't dare," she giggled. "Not your own dear sister!"

"Of course not. I'd make Ron do it!" The three of them laughed and teased one another until the lift gate opened and the voice announced, "Atrium. Thank you for visiting the Ministry of Magic. Have a nice day."

Waiting by the war memorial, Arthur Weasley stood staring at the names of the fallen. His fingers brushed back and forth over _Fred Weasley 1978-1998_, engraved into the granite and marble surface. The three friends quieted their laughter and approached respectfully so as not to disturb Arthur's meditation, for that was in effect what he was doing there. Harry and Hermione stood behind the man as Ron placed his huge hand on his father's shoulder. "Dad?"

"Oh, I didn't hear you coming. Are you ready for some supper," he asked, his eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears for his fallen son.

"Yeah, we're starving," Ron replied, trying to sound cheerful. "Hermione ran a little late at work, so it took us a bit longer to get down here."

"Well, that happens sometimes, doesn't it," Arthur said shakily. "Well then, come, children. Mother's got supper waiting and she'll go spare if we're any later."

"We're right behind you, Arthur," Hermione said, wiping at her own tears. Her heart went out to the man she thought of as a second father. She felt his loss as they all did, for she and Fred usually got along quite well in school. She got on fine with George too, of course, but Fred was, for all his nonsense, a kind and gentle soul without a mean bone in his body.

The four of them walked to the Apparition Point, turned as one, and vanished with a soft _pop!_


	12. Chapter 12 Meetings, Plans, and Inquisit

**Chapter 12 – Meetings, Plans, and Inquisitions **

Friday night's staff meeting at Hogwarts began at eight o'clock. Most of the students had retired to their common rooms, with the exception of those still studying in the library. At the meeting, Fiona and Professor Watson were re-introduced to the veteran staffers. Each was encouraged to tell the others a little bit about themselves, beginning with Fiona. She was still dressed in her traditional uniform for the meeting, but a quick talk with Poppy and Minerva got her permission to swap the bulky dress for the scrubs.

"Hey, again," Fiona began, a little embarrassed. "My name's Fiona Francine Prewett. You might've known my folks, Fabian Prewett and Rhiannon O'Reilly." The more senior professors nodded, for they in fact did remember the Apprentice Healer's parents.

"I was born here in England, but my daddy moved us to the US of A when my sister and I were about two years old. Gallatea—that's my sister—and I grew up in a little Wizarding town called Rook Holler in the Appalachian Range of western North Carolina," Fiona didn't elaborate on the details as to why she, her mother, and her sister were moved out of England.

"We were home-schooled because Momma didn't wanna send us to Salem Academy, what with daddy not bein' with us. She just thought New England was just too far away. Granny trained me as a Healer, human and animal, magical and not. Taya's really good with Charms and Transfiguration. I moved here the end of July and found my family, the Weasleys, and now I'm here."

"Where is your sister, dear," Septima Vector asked her. "Didn't she come with you?"

"No'm, Miss Septima. She lives in South Dakota—that's out west—with her man, Jayce Silvercloud. His father's a full-fledged Sioux Medicine Man. Jayce is a former US Army Ranger and now works as a Federal Marshall in the Magical Division."

"Very interesting, my dear," Professor Slughorn commented. "It appears your family is firmly ensconced in magical law enforcement and military pursuits."

"Yessir," Fiona replied. "My daddy and Uncle Gideon were in the Order of the Phoenix with Cousin Harry's daddy, isn't that right, Miss Minerva?"

"That is indeed correct. The three of them also worked very closely together with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin," the headmistress replied. "Does anyone have any further questions for Miss Prewett?" Hearing none, she introduced the next newcomer. "Professor Rupert D. Watson is our new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. Rupert?"

The sandy-blond wizard stood to address his colleagues. "Thank you, Headmistress. First of all, the 'D' is a closely-guarded secret, in case you're wondering." He paused as chuckles passed through the group. "I'm a Hogwarts alumnus, Ravenclaw, Class of 1983. I remember the Marauders well, Miss Prewett, and was quite an admirer of James Potter and his friends. I learned the best pranks from Sirius Black, though. The man was a genius. I mean, I made pretty good marks overall, but _I _was no genius."

"Oh come now, Rupert," Professor Flitwick interjected. "You scored very high in Charms on your OWLs and NEWTs, as I recall. And you were no slouch at Defence either. You could have been a champion dueller."

"Oh no, Professor Flitwick. Too many rules," Rupert chuckled, as did the others present.

"You also have a fine appreciation for Muggles," Minerva added.

Watson blushed. "Well, I should hope so, since I'm Muggleborn." The staff chuckled again, including the headmistress. She'd forgotten Rupert's blood-status, since she didn't hold with such trivial things as that.

Fiona hid her giggles behind her hand, as any well-brought-up southern belle should. She found the new professor engaging and rather handsome, even though she guessed he must be at least ten years her senior. _He is so funny_.

"After Hogwarts, I went to work for the Ministry in the Muggleworthy Excuse Office, where I recovered cursed objects that fell into the hands of unsuspecting Muggles. There was a biting teacup I recovered once that bit the nose of anyone trying to drink from it." He paused again while the others chuckled. "But I got bored with it and wanted to do something more exciting, so in 1988, I went into business as a free-lance Curse-breaker. And yes, Miss Prewett, I know Bill Weasley very well. I worked with him in Egypt on a particularly tough project involving a cursed sarcophagus and a very irate pharaoh's mummy, as I recall."

Fiona thought she'd either wet her pants or split a gut for laughing at the man. She could only imagine the fun stories he could tell about his adventures. But why Defence Against the Dark Arts? What qualified him for that post? She was about to find out.

"I didn't have a lot of professional training as a fighter or anything, though. I didn't have the marks for DMLE, so I poked around Knockturn Alley in my spare time, paging through dusty old books about dark magic and eventually learned how to defend myself if the need ever arose," he continued. "It did when Voldemort returned back in '95."

At the mention of the late Dark Lord's name, a few of the Professors and staffers winced, including crusty old Argus Filch. Even Mrs Norris dove between her master's feet at the mention of the name.

"I joined a resistance cell down in Essex. We mostly evacuated Muggleborns and their families, so-called Bloodtraitors, Halfbloods, and other fugitives and sent them to France and Belgium, mostly. We had a few scrapes, but mostly with Snatchers whose prisoners we rescued and a few low-level Death Eaters who couldn't fight their way out of the loo." Snickers and chuckles filled the room again.

"After the war, I freelanced for a bit, but work was scarce and I didn't much want to actually become an employee of Gringotts, so I came to Professor McGonagall on the off-chance that she might need a guy with my talents and abilities to teach. Well…here I am."

"Does anyone have any questions for Professor Watson," Minerva asked the room. "Very well. Thank you, Rupert. That was most…entertaining."

The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor nodded respectfully, then cast a glance at Fiona and winked. She blushed and found herself wondering if this charming fellow was married and hoping he wasn't. Throughout the rest of the meeting, the two of them smiled shyly at one another and shot the occasional glances back and forth. This did not go unnoticed by the Hogwarts Matron, and she smiled to herself at the possibilities for the young apprentice she'd already become quite fond of.

Once the meeting adjourned, the staff milled around to visit for a few minutes until they began to file out in twos and threes. Fiona and Poppy were almost to the door, when Rupert approached them. "Ladies, may I escort you to your quarters?"

"Why, Professor Watson," Poppy replied with a middle-aged woman's blush. "How gallant."

"Rupert, please," he insisted. "Miss Prewett?"

"Please call me Fiona," she said softly. "Just Fiona. And if Poppy's agreeable, we'd love to take you up on your chivalrous offuh, suh." _Again with the Virginia lilt? First Seamus, now Rupert._

"Shall we, then," he asked them offering an arm to each Medi-witch. They giggled quietly and accepted, allowing the handsome professor to escort them safely to the hospital wing.

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"Ron," a very sweet voice whispered in his ear. "Baby, it's time for you to get up. You have duty in an hour." Warm lips brushed across his; a loving caress across his cheek. "Ronald," the sweet voice cooed. "Don't make me pull a Harry."

The redhead groaned and stretched his body, still not wanting to awaken. "_'Mi-nee_, just five more minutes. Please, Love?"

"Sorry, stud. I let you sleep in already," she said, kissing his nose. "Your mum's got breakfast ready for you."

"Uhhhhhhmmm," he groaned and stretched again. "Stud, am I?" His eyes opened and locked onto hers. In a flash, he rolled her over and began raining kisses all over her face, neck, and chest.

"Ron," she giggled. "Lemme go, you great lummox. You're going to be late!"

"Then you should have covered yourself before you woke me," Ron teased. "How can a bloke just walk away from this?" He continued to kiss her, leaving a tiny bite on each shoulder.

"You're a big, strong Auror. Force yourself," she deadpanned, but then broke out in giggles. She couldn't hold a straight face, gazing into those puppy-dog sapphires locked on her own cinnamon drops. "Move it, Weasley!"

"You owe me, Granger," he moaned, dragging himself off the end of the bed. "You owe me big."

"Yeah, well, remember my parents are going to be here for supper and a wedding chat tonight," she reminded him. "We have to present a united front."

"I know, I know," he said, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers and a towel. "A united front in the face of overwhelming odds, the intrepid bride and groom step out to face the seemingly unbeatable foe."

"What are we? Don Quixote and Sancho Panza," Hermione snorted.

"Donkey what with whose pants on," Ron asked with a furrowed brow. "Hermione, what are you talking about?"

"Never mind. Just get a move on, you," she said, slapping his bum. "The clock's ticking and breakfast is getting cold."

"I'm going, I'm going. Don't get your knickers in a twist," Ron whinged. "It takes all of ten seconds to Apparate to the Ministry, you know."

"Ronald,"

"What?"

"I love you."

"What's not to love," he smirked and darted out the bedroom door. Just before he barricaded himself in the loo, he turned and kissed Hermione's forehead. "I love you too, beautiful."

"Git," she giggled. _He may be a git, but he's your git._ "I'll see you at breakfast." Whether he heard her or not was anybody's guess because the shower was already running when she said it. Smiling to herself and shrugging her shoulders, she descended the stairs to join the others at the table.

"So…does it live," Harry asked with a snort, raising his teacup to his lips.

"It lives," she answered, kissing her surrogate brother's cheek. "It most definitely lives."

"He'd better live a bit faster or he won't have time for breakfast," Molly huffed, causing even Arthur to chuckle into his plate.

"Don't worry, my beauty. He'll make sure he has time for his breakfast," Arthur assured her.

The four of them sat at the table eating their meal when a familiar brown owl flew through the window, depositing the Daily Prophet in front of Hermione. "Oh bother," she mumbled. "My purse is upstairs."

"I've got it," Harry said, pulling out a handful of coins. He selected two bronze Knuts and deposited them in the owl's pouch. With a leap, it took to the air and flew back out the window.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said. Harry waved a hand at her, assuring her it was nothing and took another bite of his toast.

"I had an owl from Fiona yesterday. Did I tell you," Molly asked, making conversation.  
"What about Fiona," Ron asked, stepping off the last stair in full uniform. "Is she all right?"

"Sit. Eat. You're going to be late," his mother replied. "I was just telling your father, fiancée, and brother-in-law that I had an owl from her yesterday."

"Oh," he said, filling his plate and digging in. "Wha sh av oo shay?"

"Ronald…" Hermione began.

He swallowed. "Sorry, Love. Just forgot myself there. What did she have to say?"

"Well, she's settled in and met Argus," Molly said with a smirk. "She had an interesting first day."

"Oh?" Arthur's ears pricked up. "What happened?"

Molly took out the letter and read it to the others. "Hermione, what are _Muggle scrubs?_"

"Oh, well…they're specially-designed shirts and trousers—usually light cotton—that doctors and nurses wear in hospitals and clinics," she explained. "The shirts are usually short-sleeved vee-neck and very loose, as are the trousers. They're very comfortable."

"Judging from the heavy garb Madame Pomfrey wears, if that's what Fiona has to wear, then I don't blame her," Ron said, downing a glass of pumpkin juice. "I don't think she's worn a dress, other than her Gryffindor uniform skirt, since she arrived in England."

"She probably doesn't even own one," Arthur said. "I mean, she was brought up in those hills like that, running through the woods and what-not. When would she have a chance to wear a dress?"

"I don't know, but she doesn't like the one she has to wear," Molly said again. "I hope Minerva and Poppy will see their way clear to let her bring that school into the twentieth century…at least what's left of it."

"I'd love to continue this chat, family, but I really need to get out of here," Ron said, looking at his watch. "If I'm not on duty in ten minutes, Boot and Goldstein are going to be after my bits!" He arose from his place at the table, followed by Hermione. He kissed his mother and bade his father and brother-in-law a good morning. The two of them walked down the path to the edge of the wards where Ron kissed his fiancée and Disapparated.

Hermione had no sooner than walked back into the kitchen, when Molly began to clear the table. "I'll help, Molly," Hermione offered. "My gran used to say that many hands make light work."

"A wise woman," Arthur said. "Harry, would you mind coming out to the shed. There's something I want to show you."

"Uh…sure, Dad," Harry replied. "Just let me grab a jacket and I'll be right with you."

Saturday morning melted into the afternoon. Arthur and Harry left the shed only to use the loo or come in for lunch. Both of them remained tight-lipped, refusing to tell the women of the house what they were doing out there other than to say that it's a project they wanted to complete before winter. Molly and Hermione only looked at each other and shook their heads, knowing that once Weasley—and Potter—men got something into their heads, there was no looking back.

At five o'clock, Molly sent Hermione out to tell Arthur and Harry to come in and get cleaned up for supper. Hermione tried to pull the door open, but it wouldn't budge. She couldn't hear a sound coming from inside, so she decided they must have put a Silencing and Sealing charm on the rickety old door.

Hoping they could hear her even though she couldn't hear them, she pounded on the door and called to them. "Arthur! Harry! Molly wants you two to come in and get cleaned up!" She waited. She banged on the door again and called a bit louder. "Arthur! Harry! You'd better get out here and into the house before Molly comes out here after you!"

That got an immediate response. There was a squishing sound and the door opened. Arthur and Harry stood there wiping their hands on a couple of old shop rags. "Sorry, Hermione," Harry said, tossing his rag aside. "We didn't hear you."

"Whatever. Just get in there and get yourselves cleaned up before Ron gets home. My parents are coming for dinner and The Wedding Talks," she said, pointing insistently to the house.

Arthur's blue eyes twinkled and he couldn't help but chuckle. "I see my Molly's training you well, Hermione," he said, tossing his own rag aside. "You'll need to be tough if you have any hope of keeping our Ronnie in line."

"In line," Harry repeated incredulously. "She's got him wrapped around her finger so tight, he doesn't breathe without her permission!"

"Too right," Hermione snorted. "Now get in there and get cleaned up before Molly wraps all of us around something else!" The three of them made their way back to the house just in time to meet Ron coming up the path from the Burrow's Apparition Point.

"Ron," Hermione squealed, running to him and throwing herself into his arms. He caught her with a grunt and had to step back a bit because of the sheer force behind her assault.

"Hello to you too," he laughed, catching her in his strong arms, swinging her around in a circle. "What's with the big welcome?"

"I just missed you today, that's all," she replied. "Now shut up and kiss me."

"Such a bossy witch," he teased, taking her lips with his own. "And such pleasant orders too. I could get used to this." The two of them shared a short snog that was too-soon broken up by Molly calling them inside.

"Ronald, get in here and get changed! You and Hermione have to bring Richard and Helen," she shouted.

"Shit…coming, Mum," Ron called back. "I forgot we had to bring them. If only Muggles could…"

"Language, Ronald," she teased. "At least in front of our parents, okay? And if Muggles could Apparate, they wouldn't be Muggles, would they?"

"So logical," he grinned and gave her a chaste kiss, and they continued on inside.

It took Ron only a few minutes to change into his best jeans and polo shirt Hermione had given him for his last birthday. "Ready, 'Mione?"

"I am," she answered him, pulling on a light jacket. "We'll be back in a tick!" The two of them dashed out the door and down the path. In a single turn, they were gone.

Only five minutes later, they were back, each with a Granger on his or her arm. "All right, Mum," Hermione asked her slightly-dizzy mother.

"I'm fine, dear," Helen replied. "Just a bit disoriented. I don't think that's something I'd ever be able to get used to."

"I thought it was brilliant," Richard declared. "It was like sliding through a hosepipe. An odd feeling to be sure, but quite fun all the same!"

"We'd better get to the house," Ron said, leading the way up the path. "I smell supper and Mum's probably going spare about now."

Following a superb meal of roast beef and all the trimmings, the men adjourned to the sitting room with a bottle of mulled mead while the women cleared away and washed the dishes. "Molly, thank you for a magnificent dinner," Helen gushed. "That roast was perfect!"

"Thank you, Helen," Molly replied with a blush. "It's just roast beef—nothing fancy."

The women sat and chatted for a little while the men, including Harry, talked among themselves. Arthur was truly intrigued by Richard's discussion of the new computerised billing system a friend of his had developed for the dental clinic.

"So people have these confusers in their own homes," he asked, awestruck.

"Of course," Richard replied. "Helen and I have one that we used to keep in touch with our friends from college as well as our colleagues all over the country."

"That's right," Harry added. "My cousin, Dudley, had one when we were kids. He didn't use his for anything really constructive. He just played games on it most of the time."

"And you can look up information on the internet," Richard continued. "Some call it the worldwide web."

Arthur and Ron were completely lost, but fascinated all the same. "Does Hermione know how to use a confuser," Ron asked. "I'd love to see one in action, eh, Dad?"

"You know you're welcome to come to the house anytime and we'd be glad to show you how they work," Richard promised. "And yes, Ron, Hermione knows how to use one. In fact, she probably knows more about them that I do."

"Why doesn't that surprise me," Harry snickered. "More mead anyone?" The other three raised their glasses for Harry to refill them. They talked for a while longer until the women called Arthur, Richard, and Ron into the kitchen.

Harry decided to head up to his and Ginny's bedroom. He'd felt the bond open up only a few moments previous.

"_I'm headed upstairs now, Gin. They're about to start discussing the wedding and quite frankly, I don't want to hear it."_

"_Me either, Love. Once is enough for one eternity."_

"_I don't envy Dad, Richard, or Ron one bit. Those women are going to eat them alive!"_

Harry and Ginny chatted on in their own world while the talks dragged on downstairs. They shared their love and desire through their bond until there was a loud bang from the kitchen and Ron began to shout.

"_I don't know if you heard that, Ginny, but there's something going on down there. I'd better go find out."_

"_I heard something that sounded like Ron, but I couldn't make it out. Go. I'll be here."_

"_I love you."_

"_I love you too."_

Two sets of parents and the bride and groom sat down at the scrubbed oak table with coffee and biscuits—cookies—Hermione had baked that afternoon. Hermione had her Muggle notebook and ball-point pen in front of her and Ron so they could share what they'd come up with among their parents.

"I assume the wedding will take place at our parish," Helen said to Hermione. "I've already reserved December eighteenth with the Vicar."

"Well…" Hermione began, looking to Ron for support. "Mum, Dad, ours is to be a magical ceremony, not an Anglican one."

"Hermione? What do you mean," her father asked.

"Richard, magical weddings can't be performed in churches," Molly began to explain. "The Wedding Charm has to be cast by a wizard in a magical setting."

"Daddy, I know this is hard for you to understand, but Ron and I want this. For our marriage to be recognised by the Ministry and magical law, we have to do it this way," Hermione pleaded. "It's not that I want to throw my religious heritage away, but I'm a witch and Ron's a wizard. The Church would never accept it, let alone believe it."

"Might I make a suggestion," Arthur intervened.

"Please, do," Helen replied.

"Well, since Ron and Hermione must have a magical ceremony—here at the Burrow, right children," Arthur asked, just to be sure. Ron and Hermione nodded. "We could bring in a huge marquee like we had for Harry's and Ginny's wedding, but charm it to look like the inside of your church."

"How would you do that, Arthur," Richard asked, intrigued.

"Well, there are a couple of ways to go about it," the red-haired wizard began. "My sons, Bill and Percy, and I could visit the parish and get a feel for it and go from memory, or you could go through and take several photos of the inside so we could refer to them as we recreate it magically."

"That sounds like a great idea," Hermione squealed. "Ron, would that be okay with you?" She looked hopefully into his eyes, silently begging him to agree.

"Of course, Love. If that would make you happy, you have no argument from me," he assured her. "And if your parents agree."

"Well, I don't have any objections," Richard said. He turned to his wife and took her hand. "Helen?"

"Well…it'd be almost like the wedding was taking place in our parish," she said thoughtfully. "Throw in a unity candle bit and I'll agree."

"Unity candle bit," Molly asked, having never heard of such a thing. "What's that?"

"Oh, it's quite lovely, really, Molly," Helen began to explain. "There are two lit tapers standing beside a larger and very ornate pillar candle about 24 centimetres high. The bride and groom each take a taper and light the ornate candle together. Hence, unity candle."

Tears filled Molly's eyes as she imagined her son and his bride performing such a beautiful act of symbolism binding their hearts and minds with the flame of love. "Helen, that does sound lovely. What do you two think," she asked of the principals.

"I'm okay with it. 'Mione," Ron asked.

"Okay, we can do that," she replied, making notes about the marquee and the candles.

"All right," Helen continued. "Hermione and Ron told us the other night that they have a theme. Is that right?"

"Yes, that's right, Mum," Hermione answered. "Ron and I want a holiday theme, since we're getting married so close to Christmas."

"A holiday theme? That's different," Richard replied. "What do you have in mind?"

Ron took over at that point to explain what they wanted for the ceremony and for the reception. Their parents agreed readily to the decorations, but the discussion turned dark when a complete disclosure of their plans for the reception came to light.

"Chinese," Molly huffed. "You're telling us you want The Black Dragon to cater your wedding reception with Egg Fu Yung?"

"Not exactly, Mum," Ron said defensively. "I don't like Egg Fu Yung." Ron had hoped that this declaration might ease the tension that had so quickly permeated the room.

"That's not the point, young man," Molly snapped. "I was under the impression that I would be preparing a full sit-down mean like I did for Bill and Ginny."

"We're not Bill or Ginny, Mum," Ron said, his face already breaking out in red blotches. "We want this our way and this is what we want."

"We're going to see Mr Chang next week to set a menu," Hermione added, wide-eyed. "We've got it all under control, but…"

"But nothing! This is unacceptable," Molly began to raise her voice.

"Molly, settle down. This is their wedding, not anyone else's. Just hear them out," Arthur said, trying to soothe his wife.

"I agree with Molly," Helen said. "Who ever heard of Chinese food at a wedding reception?"

"How about the one billion Chinese," Ron grunted.

The parents continued to lambaste the bride and groom with their disapproval, demanding that they abandon such a silly plan. Ron and Hermione argued their position, trying to get their parents to accept that this was their wedding—Ron's and Hermione's—and not their parents'.

"We're certainly not going to subsidise something so ridiculous," Helen declared.

"Helen, that's…" Richard tried to intervene.

"Richard, honestly! Catered Chinese? Preposterous!" Helen and Molly glared at Ron and Hermione, with Arthur and Richard rubbing their temples in frustration.

Ron could tell already that Hermione's composure had broken down. She had gone quiet, her eyes on her notebook, and her lip trembling, and her body shaking. Ron swore a long time ago that he wouldn't tolerate anyone making his Hermione cry, including himself, and that if he ever saw her lip tremble like that, there would be hell to pay.

Ron slammed his fist on the table, hard. "That. Will. Be. ENOUGH!" The other five people at the table jumped as the redheaded tower of a man leapt to his feet. "LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!" He helped a now-sobbing Hermione to her feet, pulling her close to his body, stroking her hair and whispering comfort to her.

"How dare you dictate to us what we will or will not serve at our own wedding reception without even hearing us out!" He continued to stroke Hermione's hair and back, her body shaking with her crying. "I'm going to take my fiancée upstairs to our room to calm her down. Meanwhile, you four will sit here and decide amongst yourselves what's more important: Hermione's happiness or your bloody _pride_!"

With that, Ron scooped Hermione up in his arms and carried her to the stairs and up to their fifth-floor bedroom. On the way, they met Harry on the first landing.

"What happened, mate? Is Hermione okay," Harry asked, emerald eyes wide in panic.

"Bloody parents," Ron muttered. "I'll tell you later. I've got to calm 'Mione down. They've really upset her."

"All right," Harry said. "Anything I can do?"

"Yeah," Ron snarled. "Go down there and hex them senseless!"

"_Wedding plans going awry?"_

"_Looks like it. When Ron and Hermione go back down, I'm going to go with them in case they need a referee."_

"_I think that's a good idea, my love. You are a peace officer."_

"_I'm going to go on down and see if I can't temper the tempers. Want to hang around and offer input?"_

"_Sure. There wasn't this much conflict with our wedding."_

"_That's because we didn't want ours catered, Love. Ron and Hermione want Chinese…and we had only one set of parents to contend with."_

"_Ah, that explains it. Go get 'em, tiger!"_

"_Hey, we're not in the game, Gin. We're just the refs!"_

Harry continued down the stairs to the kitchen where he found both sets of parents sipping tea in silence, looking a bit worse for the wear. They didn't notice him until he sat down at the table. "This might take a while. They're very upset." None of the parents said anything. "And I don't blame them."

Finally, Molly sighed. "Harry, dear, would you mind making some more tea?"

"Sure, Mum," Harry replied softly. He waved his hand over the pot and it began to steam immediately. He then waved his hand over the empty plate and it instantly refilled with more cookies.

"Uh…I thought you needed a wand to do magic," Richard observed.

"Harry doesn't," Ron said from the stairwell. His face was stony, his jaw rigid. His voice sounded gravelly from his own sobs for his beloved Hermione, but his eyes pierced them like cold blue steel. He turned and retreated up the stairs again. "Hermione needs a few more minutes to collect herself, and then I'll bring her back down."

"Fair enough, son," Arthur replied, solemnly.

For several minutes, nobody said anything. There wasn't a sound, even from upstairs—only the laborious ticking of the clock. Finally, Harry had to speak. "Look, I don't know exactly what happened here, but I have a good idea. This is about the reception, am I right?" The four elders nodded. "And you don't approve, am I right again?" The nodded again.

Harry loved Molly and Arthur Weasley like his own parents. He didn't know the Grangers well, but he respected them. But for all that, he couldn't let these people spoil Ron's and Hermione's special day. "It's really not your choice to make," Harry told them.

"And what business is it of yours, might I ask," Helen asked snootily. "You've had your wedding."

"And you've had yours," Harry countered, a little annoyed. "When my best friends' happiness is at stake, it becomes my business, especially when one of them stood on that landing with his sobbing fiancée in his arms and asked me to come down here and hex the lot of you senseless." Harry pointed at the stairwell.

"Do you have any idea what they've got planned," Molly asked him, her voice cracking.

"Yes, Mum, I do. And what's more, I think it's a great idea. It's fun and different," Harry told her. "It's not just about Chinese food, you know."

"B-but they said…The Black Dragon," Molly stuttered, blowing her nose in her handkerchief. "Catered."

"Just the sit-down dinner part, Mum," Harry argued. "There's more, but you'll have to hear it from them. It's not my place to tell you."

"Harry, how is it you know all of this before we do," Helen asked him with a much less-snobbish demeanour.

"I'm their best friend, Helen," Harry replied. "We've bounced ideas off one another since we were eleven years old. Why should we stop now?"

"Well, whatever the case, Harry's right. We need to hear them out," Richard said wisely. "This is a happy time for them and we're spoiling it."

"Agreed," Arthur replied. "We need to hear them out with our mouths shut unless we have valid questions. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough," Richard answered, leaving no room for debate.

Arthur Weasley and Richard Granger were generally easygoing fellows, but there were times they felt the need to put a foot down with their wives and this was one of them. Their children's happiness hung in the balance and that was need enough.

For his part, Harry was nothing short of astonished. Through the bond, Ginny asked who that man was and what had he done with her father. Harry had all he could do to keep from snickering, but he and Ginny both cheered Arthur and Richard for laying it on the line to their wives.

A few moments of silence later, the sound of feet on the stairs grabbed the attention of the five people seated at the kitchen table. When a red-eyed Hermione appeared on the arm of a stoic Ron, Harry made to leave the room. "No, Harry. Please stay," Hermione's shaky voice requested.  
"Yeah, mate. We'd like you to stay," Ron agreed.

Harry nodded and sat down again. He looked over at Arthur as if to indicate he should speak first. Arthur folded his hands on the table in front of him and closed his eyes for a moment. "Ronnie, Hermione, we…we want to apologise for our behaviour earlier." The others nodded their assent.

"Please…tell us what you want. We'll listen and only stop you to ask questions, all right," Richard added. The others nodded their assent again.

"Go on, mate. Tell them," Harry prodded them.

For the next hour, Ron and Hermione explained what they had talked about concerning the reception. Hermione showed them the notes she'd taken that night. After a series of questions, the reception food assignments were made.

"So you want me to do your cake and the hors d'ouvres, is that right," Molly asked to clarify.

"Right, Mum. You'll also be in charge of the chocolate fountain," Ron added. "And Helen, we'll put you in charge of the fruit and bits of cake to go with it, all right?"

"That's fine, Ron. How about the decorations," she asked. "Is there a committee for that?"

"Great Circe," Hermione gasped. "I almost forgot!" She explained what she wanted for table dressings. "I want it to look sort of like the Great Hall at Hogwarts when it's decorated for the holidays. Professor Flitwick is a genius that way. I must send him an owl to ask if he'll help."

"And what about music," Richard asked. "Do you know what you're doing yet?"

"Oh yeah," Ron said. "My brother, George, has a friend—Lee Jordan. He has a side-business as a blue-jay…"

"That's _dee-jay_, Ron," Harry snorted. "D, as in disc; J, as in jockey." The Muggles and Muggle born and raised had quite a laugh over the idea of a man in business as an annoying blue bird.

"That covers the reception dance, but what about the ceremony," Molly asked. "Have you decided that?"

"Oh yes," Hermione replied. "Mum, Dad, you're going to love this. Since it's a mostly-magical ceremony, we wanted to incorporate Muggle music." Hermione paused to see if there would be any objections from the elder Weasleys.

"Go on, Love," Ron encouraged her. "It's really lovely. You'll like it."

"We've decided on some traditional classical music, but not the _Lohengrin_ marches. For the processional, we've decided on Pachelbel's_ Canon in D_, and for the recessional, Bach's _Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring_—also known in pop circles as _Joy_."

"Ron, you've heard these selections, I take it," Arthur asked.

"Yeah, Dad, I have. They're brilliant," the redhead replied enthusiastically. "Muggle classical music is really cool."

"Any other music," Helen asked. "Something during the candle-lighting ceremony, or just before or after your vows?"

"Well…we haven't decided _who_, but we _have_ decided _what_," Hermione replied. "Actually, we listened to a few things at a Muggle music shop and I let Ron pick his two favourites. Ron?"

"Yeah, I've got it right here," he said, pulling out his wallet. "I wanted to write them down so I'd get them right." Ron searched through his wallet until he found the slip of paper he was looking for. "Here it is. The first one is _You Needed Me _by…Anne Murray, and the second is _I Swear_ by…John-Michael Montgomery."

"Of course we need you, dear, but what makes you want to swear," Molly asked.

"Molly, _You Needed Me_ is…well… about a woman who feels that the man she loves saved her life…on several levels," Helen said, her eyes glistening with tears.

"Ron's the reason I am who I am today. He…he _needed _me. No one ever needed me before." A tear escaped down Hermione's right cheek. "Ron gave me a…a reason…a reason to _live._"

Ron wanted to say that it was she who'd given _him_ something to live for, but before he could, Hermione had all but climbed into his lap and wrapped herself around him, softly sobbing into his chest. He held her and rubbed her back. He thought she might still be a little wound up from the earlier argument. He tenderly kissed the top of her head while their parents looked on in awe of the tremendous love radiating from their children.

Until Hermione met and became friends with Ron and Harry back in their first year at Hogwarts, she had never really had any friends and kept to herself. She'd buried herself in books and study to quell the loneliness that was so much a part of her young life.

With a hint of a smile, Harry recalled how their lives changed on Halloween night in 1991, when Harry, Ron and Hermione had faced a Mountain Troll, released into Hogwarts by a Voldemort-possessed Professor Quirinius Quirrel. From that night forward, Harry, Ron, and Hermione began their lifelong friendship as the famous Golden Trio and set their feet on the path that brought them to love and extended family.

As soon as Hermione collected herself, she slid back into her own chair, wiping her eyes with her fingers and apologising to their parents for her outburst. "That song just tells it all," she sniffed. She turned and whispered something into Ron's ear, causing him nod and tighten his arm around her shoulders.

Richard cleared his throat and picked up the discussion. "_I Swear _is a promise a man makes to his bride that he'll love her and be there for her no matter what." Tears swam in Hermione's father's eyes as he thought of the vows he'd made to his beloved Helen some twenty years before: _for better or worse, 'til death do us part…_

Ron believed wholeheartedly that Hermione saved his life. He'd never have done as well in school if not for her constant harping to make him study and pushing him through seemingly endless and arduous hours of revision for their OWLs and NEWTs that allowed him to pursue his dream of becoming an Auror. Without her, he didn't imagine he'd have amounted to much at all.

"They're both beautiful songs and if we can find someone to perform them, we'd like to include them," Hermione said. "But we don't know who would know them. I mean, Fleur did a beautiful job at your wedding, Harry, but she wouldn't know these songs."

"Well, I'm sure if we ask around, we should be able to find someone who'd be able to help you out," Helen assured them.

Hermione took a long-last look at her notes to be sure they'd covered everything. "I think that's it. Mum, let me know when the seamstress needs us for fittings and I'll work out a day for us to come together. Ron, have you been to Madame Malkin's?"

"All set. We've got it under control, right Harry?"

"Absolutely. Ron, George, Neville, and I have all been measured. She has all of your designs plastered to a huge board in her sewing room," Harry assured everyone.

"Not the dress designs, too," Hermione gasped.

"No, Love," Ron assured her. "Madame Malkin's assistant told us they're locked up in a safe and only those working on them can see them."

"But it's not like we didn't try," Harry added with a chuckle.

"Cricket! I've got to owl the Munchkins! Joseph and the girls need to be fitted," Hermione exclaimed. "I knew I was forgetting something!"

"Well, there's an excuse for a visit to Hogwarts," Harry suggested. "Arrange a date with Madame Malkin to meet with the kids and get their measurements. She already has the designs, right?"

Hermione threw herself across the table and gave Harry a big kiss right on the mouth. "You're a genius, Harry! Thank you," she squealed.

"Hey, no snogging my best girl, Potter," Ron said with mock jealousy. "Get your own!"

Ginny laughed with the others who were physically present, since she could hear and see everything Harry could through the bond.

"_You did good, Potter."_

"_Thanks, Love. But I couldn't have done it without you."_

"_No, you couldn't have. Good night, my sweet Harry. I love you."_

"_Good night, my heart. I love you too."_

"I'm going up to bed, all. I'm on duty tomorrow morning," Harry announced to no one in particular, stretching in his chair. "It's been a slice. Helen, Richard, good to see you again."

"Good to see you again too, Harry," Richard replied, shaking his hand. "Good night."

Harry kissed Molly on the cheek, gave a one-armed hug to Arthur, and turned for the stairs. A few minutes later, Ron and Hermione escorted the Grangers back to London while Molly put the tea and biscuits away. She and Arthur had already gone to bed by the time Ron and Hermione returned.

The two lovers were still wound up from the evening's events, so rather than head up to bed right away, they poured two glasses of mulled mead and curled up together on the sofa to watch the fire and bask in their love for one another. As they sipped their mead, they exchanged sweet kisses and gentle caresses. Finally, they made their way up the staircase to their fifth-floor bedroom and turned in for the night.

Sunday morning found Harry rising a bit earlier than usual. The events of the previous evening had worn him out, so he fell asleep rather quickly and slept soundly. He had duty from eight until five, as Ron had done the day before.

Molly met him in the kitchen following an eye-opener of a shower. She already had breakfast ready for him so he wouldn't have to rush and be able to sit with her over a steaming pot of tea. "Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well," she asked, slipping into her place at the table.

"Morning, Mum. I did sleep well. That was quite a conversation last night," he replied, taking a careful sip of the hot liquid in his cup. "I'm not sure what's more exhausting—playing the game or refereeing." He did little to hide the smirk that stole across his face. The whole thing had been so silly, he couldn't help but snicker to himself.

"Yes, well…we were all rather emotional, weren't we," Molly admitted, blushing into her own mug. "Sometimes we parents forget our children have minds of their own."

"Well, it worked out all right in the end and that's what's important," Harry said, digging into his eggs. "Mmmm…delicious as always. My compliments to the chef." Harry truly loved his mother-in-law's breakfasts.

"Why thank you dear, but I could probably serve you stewed rags on fried shoe leather and you'd love it," she said with a giggle. "I daresay I've yet to turn out anything you didn't like!"

"A testament to your great skill," Harry agreed, munching on a slice of toast. "Listen, could I ask a favour?"

"Of course, dear," Molly replied. "What can I do for my favourite son-in-law?"

"You're too kind," Harry snickered. "Seriously, though, could you hold our Weasley Supper until six tonight instead of this afternoon? I'm on duty until five and there's something Ron, Hermione, and I would like to discuss with the family."

"All right, dear, but what is this about," Molly asked, hoping for a heads-up so she could prepare her ideas.

"It's nothing bad, Mum. It's just something we need to discuss. Nothing to worry about." _I hope_.

"Of course we can wait dinner. I'll just set up the Weasley Floo Chain to let everyone know," Molly assured him.

The Weasley Floo Chain was something she and Arthur set up a few weeks before in order to pass messages to the family quickly without depending on Pig, since he was the only owl the family owned, he was a bit unreliable, and Errol was too old to carry that many messages more than a few metres. Each family member had his or her link to connect to in the chain, starting at the Burrow and ending at Hogwarts with Fiona.

"Hmm…I'd forgotten about that," Harry said, nodding. "Is Ginny…"

"No, dear. They wouldn't let us connect to the dorms at Harpies Stadium," Molly sighed. "Arthur tried."

"Damn," Harry said, taking another sip of tea.

"Indeed," Molly agreed, sipping her own.

The two of them snorted and chuckled a bit and then continued on with their breakfast. Harry finished, wiped his mouth, and took his dishes to the sink so he could head off to work. "See you tonight, Mum," Harry said, kissing her cheek.

"Have a good day, dear," Molly called, knowing Harry would have all he could do to stay awake after he went through Saturday's reports.

"Good and boring," Harry said with a wave as he walked out the door and jogged down the path to the Apparition point. In an instant, he was gone.

Molly had no sooner than waved Harry goodbye when Hermione padded down the stairs with a yawn. At the bottom of the stairs, she stretched and stood on her toes for maximum height. When she saw Molly standing at the stove, Hermione crossed the kitchen and wrapped her arms around her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Good morning, Molly. Tea on?"

Any worries about hard feelings Molly may have had were immediately dispersed. The wedding talks had become rather heated at one point, but thanks to Harry, all had been worked out and there was no residual anger. "On the table, dear. Hungry?"

"Mmm…not quite yet," Hermione replied, pouring herself a cup. "Need a refill?"

"Not thank you. My son and husband shouldn't be long, I'm thinking," Molly smiled and returned to her work.

"I don't know about that," Hermione giggled. "When I got up, Ron was still sawing a forest of logs."

"How's that, dear," Molly asked, obviously missing the joke.

"Oh, sorry. _Sawing logs_ is an Americanism I picked up from Fiona," Hermione explained. "Muggles use hand-held machines called _chainsaws_ to cut trees down instead of axes or two-man bucksaws. They run on petrol and at full power, they chew through the tree and bring it down rather quickly. The noise they make sounds like really intense snoring."

"Arthur would be fascinated, I'm sure," she snorted.

"What would fascinate me," a voice called from the stairwell. Arthur joined Hermione at the table while his wife fixed breakfast for the rest of the house.

"Sawing logs," Molly replied, setting a plate of bacon, eggs, toast, and potatoes in front of him.

Arthur turned to Hermione a bit nonplussed just as she smiled into her tea. "Sawing logs, Molly?"

Hermione broke into fits of giggles. "Chainsaws. Muggle chainsaws."

"I've heard of those," Arthur said brightly. "I've never actually seen one, but…"

"Oh no you don't, Arthur Weasley! Don't even _think_ about bringing one of those infernal contraptions into this house," Molly huffed.

"Of course not dear. How silly of me," he said in mock subservience, winking at Hermione. Arthur would never defy Molly by bringing a chainsaw into the house, but she didn't say he couldn't take one into the shed.

Hermione knew exactly what her father-in-law-to-be was thinking, but chose to keep her mouth shut. She'd become quite mischievous since she and Ron came together and wouldn't dream of denying the man his fun. But she'd still clue Harry in should Arthur find one, if for no other reason than for safety.

"Hermione, are you feeling all right," Arthur asked, chewing on a rasher of bacon. "You're not eating."

"I'm fine. I'm waiting for my stomach to wake up," she said.

"So Ron's still asleep then," Arthur asked with a smirk.

"And sawing logs," she laughed.

Just then, a brown owl flew through the window and presented the _Sunday Prophet_ to Hermione. She placed a few Knuts into its pouch and it took off again.

"What's in the news today," she wondered aloud, flipping open the paper. "Oh look! Flourish and Blotts are having a one-day sale today. All of Gilderoy Lockhart's books are sixty percent off!"

"I'm surprised his rubbish is still on the shelves," Ron said, having sneaked up behind his fiancée. "Morning, Love." He kissed the top of her head and slipped into his seat beside her. "A right fraud, his is—and barmy too!"

"Breakfast, Ronnie dear," Molly asked, ruffling his hair.

"Yeah. Thanks, Mum. Morning, Dad," Ron said, pouring a cup of tea.

"Good morning, son," his father answered him. "So what's on your agenda today?"

"Well…we need to go into Diagon Alley to the Black Dragon to plan the menu for the reception," Hermione replied.

"Yeah, and we've got to get to the gift shop," Ron added.

"What for," Hermione asked.

"I need to pick out gifts for the groomsmen and you need to pick out gifts for your bridesmaids," Ron reminded her.

"What _would_ I do without you," Hermione said, kissing his cheek. "I'd forgotten about that!"

"Oh dear," Molly gasped. "Harry asked me to hold our family dinner until this evening. There's something you three want to discuss with us?"

Ron looked at Hermione as if he didn't know what his mother was talking about. He looked back at her and shrugged. "Us three?"

"Yes, he said something about how it might impact the family and even wanted Percy included," she said, fishing for more information.

For a moment, Ron couldn't fathom what his mother was talking about and then his eyes lit up with realisation. "Oh! Yeah, I know what it is. Senior Undersecretary Gumboil paid us a visit Friday afternoon."

"Gumboil? Whatever for," Arthur asked, intrigued.

"He wants Harry, Hermione, and me to meet with him about some political thing he's cooking up about breaking the blood-purity prejudice in our society or some such rot," Ron said.

"Ronald, prejudice issues are hardly _rot_," Hermione chided him.

"I didn't mean it that way, Love," Ron said, kissing her temple. "It just sounds a bit dodgy and we wanted to discuss it with the family before meeting with him. He seems quite interested in meeting you, specifically."

"Why me," she asked. "What makes me so interesting all of a sudden?"

"I won't go into what makes you interesting, my sweet, but…"

Hermione slugged him playfully in the arm, for she understood what her lover was talking about. "Seriously, Ronald, why me?"

"Because _one_—you're the smartest and most-clever witch in Britain, _two_—you're the most-famous and most-highly-respected Muggleborn in Britain, and _three_—you're beautiful." Parents or no parents, Ron held her face in his big hands and kissed her tenderly. "Why shouldn't he be interested in you?"

"Well…" she began with a full-body blush. "Two out of three, anyway."

"Hey, you're highly-respected," Ron argued playfully. "That's _three_ out of three, Love."

"Will you stop," she giggled. "Eat your breakfast, already."

Hermione passed the Prophet to Arthur, who left the table and stepped into the sitting room to read it. Molly and Hermione set to clearing away while Ron took a shower. An hour later, the couple left the Burrow for Diagon Alley to do their business, leaving Molly and Arthur to a quiet Sunday at home, just the two of them.

Once all the dishes were put away, Molly took her seat in the sitting room with Arthur and picked up her knitting needles. Christmas was only a few months off and she had more than a dozen jumpers to finish beforehand. "Artie, can you hear that?"

"Hear what, my beauty," he asked. "I don't hear anything but the clicking of your knitting and the rustle of this paper."

"Not that," she said, waving a hand. "Listen."  
Arthur cocked his head, listening for whatever sound Molly claimed to hear. "Sorry. Nothing."

"That's just it, Artie. Silence. When was the last time _that_ happened," she giggled.

"Oh my," he smiled. "I think that would have been the twenty-eighth of November, 1970. The day before Bill was born."

"BILL," Molly exclaimed. "Honestly, if my head wasn't attached…"

"What? What is it, Molly," Arthur asked, now alarmed. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, no! I forgot the Weasley Family Chain," she said, making to put her knitting down. "I'm holding our Sunday dinner until six for Harry!"

"Sit, Love," Arthur soothed. "I'll Floo Bill and start the chain." Arthur arose and stepped to the fireplace. He picked up the pot of Floo Powder, knelt before the grate, and tossed a pinch of powder into the flames. "Shell Cottage!"

Seconds later, the sitting room at their eldest son's home came into view. "Bill? Fleur?"

Bill's head appeared in the flames. "Yeah, Dad. What's up? Is Mum all right?"

"Yes, your Mother's fine. She's adjusted dinner time to six o'clock so Harry can be here. He's on duty until five. Do the chain."

"Right. Okay, Dad. I'll Floo Charlie then," Bill replied. "Hey, Fleur wants to know if Mum needs her to bring anything."

Molly shook her head.

"She's shaking her head 'no.' See you tonight, then," Arthur said.

"Sure, Dad. Shell out." Bill's head disappeared from the flames and Arthur stood up.

"All set, Mollywobbles," he declared, returning to his easy chair and his paper.

"Ronald, I don't know what to give my ladies," Hermione fussed, gazing at the bracelets and necklaces on display. "There are so many lovely things here."

"Well…I was thinking about special tie bars," Ron ventured. "But then…who wears ties anymore?"

"Looks like we're in quite a quandary, doesn't it," Hermione sighed, leaning into him.

"We could ask for help," Ron suggested. "Maybe the jeweller might have an idea or two."

"Can't hurt," she agreed. "Excuse me. Could we…"

"Of course, dear. How can I help you two today," the witch behind the counter asked with a twinkle in her gray eyes.

"Well, we're getting married in December and we need some gift ideas for our attendants," Hermione replied.

"Ah, yes. That can be rather difficult, can't it," the older witch agreed. "Especially for the groomsmen."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Ron sighed. "Any ideas?"

"Actually, I might have just the thing for you, Mr…"

"Weasley, but just call me Ron," he replied, offering his hand.

"Oh dear! You're… Oh please forgive me, Auror Weasley. I didn't recognise you."

"S'arright," Ron blushed. "It's just Ron."

"And you must be Miss Granger," she gushed, taking Hermione's hand.

"Yes, ma'am. But please just call me Hermione," the younger witch replied. "So you have ideas?"

"I have. It's very difficult to find appropriate gifts for groomsmen, but I find that this is quite popular and very well-received." She turned and walked a few metres along the counter and picked an item from the shelf. She brought it back to show the couple and proudly presented it. "A hip-flask."

"Blimey, 'Mione," Ron breathed. "It's perfect. Could we have each of their initials engraved on it?"

"Sure, for a small fee."

"But Ronald, that wouldn't be appropriate for Joseph. He's only twelve," Hermione reminded him.

"Oh. Right," Ron said, a bit deflated. "Any ideas for a twelve-year-old boy?"

"How about an identity bracelet? They're very popular with Muggle teenaged males, and have become quite the rage with our young wizards as well," the merchant witch suggested. "You could have it engraved with his initials or his full name, with a message on the back. Just like the flasks.

"Done," Ron said resolutely. "That was easier than I thought. Now you, 'Mione."

"If I may," the shopkeeper interjected.

"Please," Hermione eagerly prompted. "I'm at a complete loss. There are so many lovely things."  
"Well, charm bracelets are always a good idea, but there are also what are called _Add-a-Pearl_ necklaces," she said, pulling an example from the case. "This is also a very popular gift idea among Muggle women and girls. You start the lady off with a single pearl, and then she can add one on whenever she wishes, and when it's full, she has a full string of pearls that could become a family heirloom.

"That's a lovely idea! What do you think, Ron," Hermione asked.

"If that's what you'd like to do, Love, then do it," he replied. "This is _your _decision."

"I'll take…six for now," Hermione decided.

"For now," Ron asked, a bit confused. "Why just for now?"

"Because we need to remember our singer and that singer might be a woman," Hermione replied. "If the singer turns out to be a man, then you can order another hip flask for him."

"Oh. Right," Ron replied. "I forgot. We really need to find a singer."

"So you'll need one men's identity bracelet. Silver or gold," the shopkeeper asked.

"Silver. Gold is too much of a temptation in a school," Ron asserted.

"Always the Auror, aren't we, Mr Weasley," the older witch smiled.

Ron just shrugged. "And that means I need…six flasks…for now."

"And what is the young man's name who will wear the bracelet," the witch asked?

"Joseph Pointer," Ron replied, and Hermione spelled it for her. "And on the inside, _Junior Groom, Ron and Hermione Granger-Weasley, 18 December 1999_."

Once the transaction was completed and all the initials were assigned to flasks, Ron and Hermione paid the deposit and left the shop. "Whoa, that was expensive," Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't think I've spent that much at Christmas!"

"Weddings aren't cheap, my love, but you only do it once, right?" Hermione couldn't help but smile at her fiancé. He wasn't well-versed in the complexities of etiquette in general, let alone for a wedding. But she was rather proud at how well he had taken the whole thing so far. He'd lost his temper only once, and that was the night before with their parents during the planning meeting.

"So where now, Love," Ron asked, putting a protective arm around Hermione. "Flourish and Blotts? I'm sure you're missing a few volumes of the great Gilderoy's collection?" Ron couldn't resist teasing her about their former Defence professor. Hermione had drawn little hearts around his slot on her second-year timetable. She and the other second-year girls all but drooled over him in class, with his winning smile and fancy robes. Their textbooks for Defence Against the Dark Arts that year consisted of the fop's entire overpriced works, less his book about household pests.

The boys in their year thought he was a great prat and a ponce. What he turned out to be was a great fraud who had taken credit for other witches' and wizards' accomplishments, modifying their memories to cover his tracks. He lost his own mind the night Ginny had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets. The boys stopped him from running away and took his wand. Once in the chamber, Lockhart snatched Ron's broken Spell-O-Taped wand and tried to curse him and Harry with it. Unfortunately for him, the spell backfired and Lockhart ended up obliviating himself. He was now a permanent resident of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries on the Spell Damage ward.

"Hardly. I just want to browse and see what I find. I'm sure more than just _his_ books are on sale," she said airily. "There's nothing like the smell of fresh ink in the morning!" Ron just shook his head as they walked into the shop.

She'd never admit it, but she had kept Lockhart's books because even though he hadn't done any of the things he wrote about himself, they still contained good information. After some browsing, Ron bought her _Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests_. "Mum swears by it," he said in his own defence. "It all works, even if the tips aren't really his."

"You are such a goof, sometimes," Hermione giggled. "Come on. Let's get out of here. It's coming up on lunch time and I could do with an order of Sweet and Sour Pork."

"That's what I'm talking about," Ron agreed, rubbing his now-growling belly. "And we have to talk with Sam about the reception anyway."

"Great. A working lunch," she smiled. "Kill two Hippogriffs with one spell, yeah?"

"Don't let Buckbeak—er, Witherwings—hear you say that!" The two laughed and chatted, exchanging little kisses as they made their way to The Black Dragon.

Later that afternoon, Hermione and Ron returned from Diagon Alley, their purses lighter and their To-do list shorter. None of the others had arrived yet, and Harry wasn't due to leave the Ministry for another couple of hours.

"So did you get everything done," Molly asked, setting a pitcher of pumpkin juice in front of them. "Did you eat?"

"Yes and yes," Hermione replied, pouring a glass of juice for Ron and then for herself. "We had a working lunch with Sam Chang, preparing the menu for the reception. It's going to be wonderful!"

"What's on the menu, then," Molly asked, her lips slightly pursed.

"Oh, it's going to be great, Mum," Ron told her. "There's going to be a really great appetizer made entirely of Dim Sum. It means _little bites_, and…"

"But I thought I was making appetizers," Molly interrupted.

"No, Mum. You're making the finger food for during the dancing part. People dance, they get hungry and thirsty. Don't worry—what you serve will definitely be eaten," Ron assured her.  
"Oh that's right. Sorry, dear. Do go on," Molly apologised.

"Dim Sum is served by people pushing carts with great trays of dumplings, egg rolls, won ton, Rangoon…all kinds of little…bites. After that, there'll be a choice of egg drop or sweet and sour soup. Then there's a choice of a Beef, Chicken, or Shrimp Subgum. Dessert is our wedding cake and the chocolate fountain."

"What in Merlin's name is _Subgum_?"

"Subgum is a vegetable and meat dish with slivered almonds and served over white rice. It's very nice," Hermione explained.

"That sounds lovely, dears," Molly agreed, eyeing the Flourish and Blotts bag. "So did you find a bargain?"

"Your son did," Hermione laughed. "For all his bluster about Gilderoy Lockhart being a fraud, he simply had to buy me this." Hermione reached into the bag and pulled out the pest-control book. "He says you swear by it."

"I do," Molly admitted. "I mean, I know he really didn't develop any of the spells, potions, or enchantments, but that doesn't mean they don't work. They do. The only thing is nobody's ever come up with a way to rid the garden of gnomes other than tossing them over a wall."

"That's because it's a way for parents to get their kids out of the house," Ron snorted. "When you wanted to get rid of us, you sent us out to de-gnome the garden. Except Ginny…"

"Ginny's job was to weed the garden, which you, young man, hated to do!"

Suddenly the kitchen door opened and Harry stepped through. "Haloo, the house," he called.

"Hey mate," Ron called, ignoring the strange greeting. _Sounds like something Seamus would say._ "Anything new and exciting today?"

"It was pretty dull really, except we've had another report on Dung. Caught the ruddy tosser skulking around that old witch's shed again. Irish and Bonesy brought him in this time—drunk. He's sleeping it off in a detainment cell."

"Mental," Ron muttered. "Will the grimy git ever learn?"

Harry smirked at his best friend. "Hope springs eternal, but reality bites. I doubt it."

"Harry dear, get cleaned up now. Supper's in less than an hour and your brothers will be here soon," Molly said, shoving Harry toward the stairs.

As he climbed the stairs, he opened up the bond in search of Ginny, wondering if she was done for the day. In less than two weeks, she'd come home to him before the Quidditch season opened.

"_Harry?"_  
"_Hey, beautiful. I was wondering if you were done for the day."_

"_I am. I'm just getting ready to shower. How was work?"_

"_Boring. Just reports and Seamus picked up Dung. He's sleeping it off in a cell right now. Are you alone?"_

"_Of course I am. Why?"_

"_I'm headed for the shower too. Care to join me?"_

"_Why Auror Potter. Are you propositioning me?"_

"_Absolutely."_

"_I'd love to, but hurry up. I'm disgusting."_

"_You? Never."_

"_We had physical training today. No flying, just a lot of running and stuff."_

"_Are you hurting?"_

"_No, just a little stiff. I'll be fine after a shower."_

"_I think I'm pretty stiff myself," __Harry chuckled._

"_Harry James Potter! Honestly!"_

"_Yes, honestly."_

"_So you must've missed the Sunday dinner, yeah?"_

"_No. In fact, it's in about half an hour. Listen, do you think you could hang around?"_

"_Sure…why?"_

"_We've called an Inquisition. Gumboil paid Ron and me a visit Friday afternoon."_

"_This isn't about the trial is it?"_

"_No, no. That's water under the bridge. This is about something else—something that I suspect is a result of the trial."_

"_Do you want input?"_

"_Always, Love. Shall we shower then?"_

The bond opened all the way, allowing Harry and Ginny to shower together by proxy, but all too soon, they had to end it so Harry could dress for dinner. He could already hear Bill and Fleur and the baby downstairs.

"_Bill and Fleur just came in. Victoire's fussing. Must be feeding time."_

"_It's almost six, so yeah, it probably is. Fleur will feed her and put her down while you eat. What did Mum make?"_

"_Her usual—pork roast with all the trimmings. I'm not sure what she's got for pudding, though."_

"_Ooh, that sounds good. The food here is okay, but nothing like Mum's. Now get downstairs before Mum goes spare on you."_

Harry descended the stairs to the growing din below. Fifteen minutes later, the entire Weasley clan, save Ginny, had assembled around the scrubbed oak table. Fleur had indeed fed Victoire and put her down to play so she could eat with the family.

Over apple pie, Arthur called a Weasley Inquisition to order. "Weasleys, Harry, Ron, and Hermione have something they wish to discuss with us. Boys? Hermione?"

"Well," Harry began. "It's more Ron and me, really, but it concerns Hermione directly. Ron and I had a visit from Senior Undersecretary Alastor Gumboil. He was the bloke who tried to rake me over the coals during Mafalda's trial."

"What did he want, son," Arthur asked.

"Dad, he wants to meet with Harry, Hermione, and me about a political awareness group he's started."

"What kind of awareness," Bill asked. "That git…"

"Bill, let Ron and Harry talk," Arthur admonished his eldest son. "Go on, then."

"In answer to your question, Bill, it's an anti-Pureblood supremacy front called ELF. It stands for Equality and Liberation Front," Harry told them.

"And what eez zeese Gumboil man's obzhecteef," Fleur asked suspiciously.

"Well, from what we can tell, he simply wants to bring an end to Pureblood control of Wizarding society in Britain, but how he plans to go about it is the mystery. Dad, what do you know about him?" Harry turned to his father-in-law, giving him the floor. _"Gin, you still there?"_

"_Here and listening."_

"Well, he's a former Hit-wizard with a pretty clean record. During the first war, he was instrumental in bringing in a lot of high-ranking Death Eaters. He should have been an Auror, but he just didn't have the marks in Potions at Hogwarts to make the grade," Arthur told them.

"He's a Muggleborn," Percy added. "He's pretty proud of it too."

"That's true, Percy, but so is our Hermione," Arthur agreed, "Alastor Gumboil and others like him were badly treated during the war and he's gone a bit bitter. He only just escaped that ridiculous—excuse the expression—witch hunt that sent so many Muggleborns to Azkaban…or worse. Harry, you do realise that he was on the team that took Sirius down, yes?"

"Yes, I know. Kingsley told me. But…"

"He's really interested in Hermione," Ron blurted out. The table went silent and all eyes turned to their brother's fiancée. "And I'm not sure how I feel about that."

"Ron, I appreciate your caution, here, but other than a lot of hot air, Alastor Gumboil's pretty harmless. His record is impeccable as a hard-working, conscientious law enforcement agent. I can't imagine he'd be up to anything shady," his father assured him.

"So what do you think then, you lot? Should we meet with him," Harry asked.

"_It can't hurt, Harry."_

"_That's one YEA vote."_

"It's up to you three, but I don't see why not," Arthur advised. "Just be careful what _you_ say and listen very closely to what _he_ says. Bill?"

Bill and Fleur conferred for a moment. "I say meet with him, but do it in a public place just in case. The trial riled a load of people. Charlie?"

Charlie had his head together with Percy and George. After a few moments, Charlie agreed with Bill. "Yeah, meet with him, if for no other reason than to find out what he's really about. Perce?"

"I concur. But like Father said: listen carefully and don't talk too much. George?"

"Right, but if the mouthy git goes spare on you again, hex him." George had little use for Alastor Gumboil since he grilled Harry at the trial. If he'd done the same to Ginny, he might have leapt over the rest of the gallery and beat the magic out of him.

"George…" Arthur warned.

"Sorry, Dad, but the great prat nearly tore Harry apart," George argued.

"But I can't just hex him because he raises his voice, George," Harry said, backing his surrogate father.

"Exactly," Ron added. "Harry'd have to give him a warning first."

"Well then, that leaves Hermione," Arthur said, trying to hold back the laughter until the meeting was over. "What do you want to do, my dear?"  
"Well…I suppose it can't hurt to at least meet with him. I can take notes and if there's anything dodgy, we'll worry about it then," she reasoned. "I mean, from a Muggleborn perspective, what Mr Gumboil appears to want to do is make life a bit easier for everyone, with advancement based on personal merit rather than blood status."

"That's true," Molly agreed. "I understand it's very difficult for Muggleborns to advance, and at the Ministry in particular."

"I hate to say this, Mother, but you're right. I've seen it all from Fudge's administration on, and it isn't pretty. Muggleborns—and even a few Half-bloods—have been passed over for promotions, if not sacked outright, and have been denied seats on the Wizengamot for years. Gumboil only got on because he'd been directly appointed by Minister Shacklebolt."

"Then are we agreed," Arthur asked, passing his gaze around the table. "All in favour of Harry, Ron, and Hermione meeting with Alastor Gumboil?" Ten hands raised into the air with Ginny voicing her approval through the bond to Harry.

"Opposed?" All hands dropped. "It's unanimous. Go ahead with your meeting, children. But we expect a full report." Harry, Ron, and Hermione agreed and that meeting of the Weasley Inquisition was duly adjourned.


	13. Chapter 13 The Devil's In the Details

**Chapter 13 – The Devil's In the Details **

Monday morning found the Golden Trio seated once again around the Weasley breakfast table with Molly and Arthur. The _Daily Prophet_ carried no interesting news, so it lay forgotten on an empty chair next to Hermione. "Any news from Hogwarts," she asked.

"Well…" Molly began with a twinkle in her brown eyes. "Fiona says that she's met a man—a new professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Of course. A new Defence professor," Ron snorted. "What a surprise. Who this time? Dedalus Diggle?"

"No, Ronnie. And Dedalus is a nice man," Molly chided her son. "He and Hestia Jones hid Harry's family during the war, you know."

"Yes, and he's not too bad with a wand either," Harry said. "He may look a bit off, but he's anything but..."

"Minerva would never hire him anyway, son," Arthur interjected. "She thinks he's a nutter. She always has. She was never too fond of Dung either, come to that."

"Although Dedalus is a bit…eccentric…he's at least honest…and clean," Molly said, taking a sip of her tea.

"Well, who then, Mum," Ron insisted. "I'm sure the man has a name."

"Fiona says his name is Rupert D. Watson. Says he knows Bill," she told them. "She says he has quite the sense of humour too."

"Now Molly, I know that look. She's only just met the man. Don't start planning her wedding just yet," Arthur laughed.

"Oh, you! I was doing nothing of the kind. I just think it's nice that she's met a man who might be interested in her," Molly said defensively. "She's twenty-one years old and she needs…"

"Molly…" Arthur wanted to head this discussion off at the pass. There simply wasn't enough time to see it through. "Is there anything else?"

"No, just that, really, and some hellos from Poppy and Minerva," Molly sighed, draining her cup.  
"This has all been very enlightening, people, but it's quarter of and we need to get to work," Harry said, rising from his seat. "See you this evening, Mum." Harry kissed Molly's cheek and made for the door. The others followed suit and the four of them hurried down the path to the Apparition point.

In just a few minutes, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Arthur arrived at the Apparition point just outside the Atrium checkpoints and headed for the lifts. Since Harry and Ron were Aurors and Arthur was Head of DMLE, they weren't required to check their wands. Since Hermione was with them, she wasn't required to either.

"I'm going straight to my office, boys, and you two had better be down the hall at eight sharp," he sternly warned his sons. "Goodness knows if Gumboil's watching you now."

"I hadn't thought of that," Ron said with a gulp. "Guess we won't be setting off any dungbombs in the corridors today, eh mate?"

"Damn, and I filled my pockets this morning," Harry chuckled. "Oh well…there's always Diggory's office."

"Don't you dare," Hermione snarled. "Do you want to get me sacked?"

"Hermione, I didn't bring any dungbombs," Harry laughed outright. "But I do have…"

"Shut it, Potter," she snarled again. "I don't want to know."

The lift finally arrived and the four of them stepped on. "Level Two, please," Arthur said.

"Level Four, please," Hermione added.

A plump witch closest to the buttons pressed both numbers and the lift began to descend. At the second level, Harry and Arthur pushed their way through and exited the car. Ron stayed behind to escort Hermione to RCMC.

"Level Four," the sickeningly sweet voice said. "Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, all divisions."

"That's us," Ron said, taking Hermione's hand and pulling her through the still-crowded lift car. "How that thing can handle so many people at once mystifies me."

"It's magic, my love," Hermione said, rising on her tiptoes and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Let's go. Paradise awaits."

"In my dreams," Ron replied, wrapping a long arm around her. He took her into his arms at the glass doors outside the RCMC office, and gave her a passionate kiss and a nip at her neck.

"I'd better get inside. I still have a few more files to go through and I'm hoping to finish them today." She gave him a chaste kiss and opened the door. "Besides, Selma doesn't need a show."

"See you at lunch, 'Mione. I love you," he said as she closed it.

"I love you too," she mouthed in reply.

Harry arrived in their office and sat down behind his desk. A few memos had followed him in, landing on his desk, while a few others taxied to a stop on Ron's. "What wastes-of-parchment do we have today," Harry asked himself, shuffling through the newest squadron. "Heads' luncheon for some old nutter's retirement hosted by the Department of Mysteries, _pass_. War Orphans' Fund, _definitely_. Another form change—_bugger!_ Just post this rubbish on the departmental bulletin boards, for Merlin's sake!"

Before he might forget, he wrote a bank draft for five thousand Galleons payable to the War Orphans' Fund. "There's more where that came from if they need it," he thought out loud. "I think I'll put out a jar in the break room and threaten any Auror who doesn't contribute at least ten Galleons to it, and that includes Ron."

"What about Ron," his best friend said as he came through the door.

"War Orphans' Fund. I ponied up a hefty sum. You lot need to pony up too. Fifty Galleons, my friend."

"Fifty! Harry…" Ron about choked. "Harry, I've got a wedding to plan for and it's not cheap!"

"I'm kidding! How much do you think is fair," Harry asked, laughing at the horrified look on his friend's face. "You _are_ my assistant after all. We should discuss this since it affects the entire Auror Office."

"Well, twenty Galleons apiece should about do it. Or we could just pass the hat and glare at everyone until they cough up," Ron snickered. "I doubt twenty Galleons should break anyone."

"Great. I'll match whatever you lot contribute," Harry said rubbing his hands together.

"But Harry…"

"But nothing. What's the point in having complete control of the Potter and Black fortunes if I don't use them," Harry argued. "I just think my parents and Sirius would want me—and Ginny—to do something like this with it. Merlin knows it earns enough interest."

"Harry, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were mental," Ron said, shaking his shaggy red head.

"Aren't wealthy people supposed to be a bit mental," Harry asked in jest. "Or am I just an eccentric philanthropist."

"Let's just stick with mental, shall we," Ron snorted. "Oh look! Boring reports again. Think we should go check on old Dung and take him some coffee and a muffin or two?"

"You just want to hit the coffee vendor down there and get into some of those chocolate chip muffins," Harry teased. "If I'm honest, I could go for a cuppa and one of those spiced currant ones myself."

"Great. We'll drop this lot off with Dad on the way," Ron said, almost leaping from his chair. "Boot and Goldstein should be in just about…now." Just then, they heard the door to the locker room open and close.

"I'll give them the heads-up and then we can go," Harry said, gathering up his reports and handing them to Ron.

A few minutes later, Harry and Ron descended the stairs to the holding cells. Sure enough, Mundungus Fletcher had awoken and sat bleary-eyed on his cot in the cell. "'Ere now, you two. Woss the big idea, lockin' me up in 'ere?"

"Dung, Finnegan brought you in late yesterday afternoon, drunk as a vicar. What were you doing skulking around that poor old woman's shed again," Harry asked him, trying to sound stern without breaking into laughter. The man looked truly pathetic.

Ron took down the anti-Apparition wards on the cell and unlocked the door. "Here, Dung. We brought you some coffee and a muffin or two. Thought you might be a bit hungry."

"Yer a good boy, Ronald Weasley. Your mother's proud o' ye," the dishevelled old man said. "Thank ye, lad."

"So Dung, what's with the skulking," Harry asked again.

"She's got somethin' o' mine, boy," he grumbled. "She's got me ol' barrow."

"You want her wheelbarrow," Harry exclaimed. "Dung, if you wanted a wheelbarrow, all you had to do was ask. Arthur's got at least four of them! And what makes you think that old woman has _your_ wheelbarrow?"

"It was took from me durin' the war," he argued. "Damned Snatchers what done it."

"Whatever did they want with your ruddy wheelbarrow, Dung," Ron asked, now thoroughly confused.

"'Oo knows? Them scalawags'd steal a man's ruddy knickers if they'd a mind."

"So how do you know she's got it," Harry asked, wondering if the man had finally gone round the twist.

"It was 'er bloody son what took it. Said 'is mum needed a barrow for her _garden_," the man spat. "'Ee thought mine was just the ticket, didn't he?"

"Dung, I have an idea," Harry said. "Are you listening?"

"G'on then," the old man said, sipping his coffee and munching his muffin.

"If I get you a brand-new wheelbarrow, will you leave that poor woman in peace," Harry asked. "I'll even throw in a spade if you want."

"A barrow and a spade," Dung asked, his eyes lighting up. "New? Not second-'and?"

"Brand new, right from the shop," Harry promised. "But…"

"Oh 'ere it comes. There's allus a _but_," Dung sighed.

"Dung, I need you to promise me you won't use it to loot or steal. Scavenging is fine, but no stealing, no borrowing without permission, and _no looting_," Harry said firmly. "Do we have a deal?"

Dung scratched his stubbly chin and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "All righ' then. Ya got a deal, Potter. I, Mundungus Fletcher…"

"No Wizard's Oaths, Dung. All I want is your word as an Englishman, nothing more," Harry said, stopping the old man from making a deadly promise they both knew he couldn't keep. Since the locket incident and after a lot of thought as a trained Auror, Harry realised that Dung stole because he was a kleptomaniac, not a hardened criminal.

"Ya got me word, boy—or should I say _sir?_"

"How about just Harry," the Head Auror smiled, offering his hand. "Now, finish your coffee and muffins and then you're free to go. Just stop by Dad's—er, Arthur Weasley's office upstairs to collect your wand and personal effects. He'll have your official release there as well."

"All righ', 'Arry. Yer mum an' dad'd be proud o' ya, ya know. They was good people, James and Lily." Mundungus Fletcher shook Harry's and Ron's hands as they stood to go. Harry could have sworn he saw a tear steal down the old man's grizzled face—a tear for his parents. Perhaps the old humbug had a heart hidden under all those grimy robes after all.

Harry and Ron left Dung to finish his meal and headed back to Level Two. On the way, they stopped for a cup of coffee and a muffin for Arthur. When they arrived, they found a visitor—one Alastor Gumboil.

"Ah, Harry! Ron! We have a visitor," Arthur said, feigning enthusiasm.

"Uh…we see that. Mr Gumboil," Harry said, nodding.

"Uh…hi," Ron said absently, placing the coffee and muffin on his father's desk. "Looking for us?"

"Actually, gentlemen, I was," Gumboil admitted. "I stopped by your office, but…"

"We were downstairs releasing an inmate," Harry said. "Dung Fletcher slept off a drunk."

"That old fool," Gumboil snorted. "They should have locked him up and threw away the key years ago."

"Oh come now, Alastor," Arthur interjected. "Dung's all right. He's just a bit addled."

"Addled? The man's a thief," Gumboil countered. "He'll steal anything that's not nailed down or set with a permanent sticking charm."

"Mr Gumboil, Mundungus Fletcher is indeed addled. He can't help himself…helping himself." Harry tried to keep a straight face while Ron, shook with silent laughter. "He's a kleptomaniac. I'm sure you heard the term?"

"Of course. I wasn't thinking about that. You're absolutely right, Chief Potter. My apologies," Gumboil said in the oily manner that reminded Harry of Peeves, the Hogwarts poltergeist.

"Not at all," Harry replied. "Now I suppose your visit concerns the meeting you requested with my Assistant Head, his fiancée, and myself."

"Well, y-yes. I was hoping…" Gumboil stammered.

"When and where would you like to meet with us? The Leaky Cauldron? The Three Broomsticks?"

"I might have imagined you'd want to meet in public. We can meet at the Leaky. No need to go all the way to Hogsmeade. How about this evening at say…half six?"

"Ron? Does that work for you and Hermione," Harry asked while Arthur looked on.

"Half six? I think so. We'll let her know at lunch," Ron agreed.

"Excellent. I look forward to this evening," Gumboil gushed, clearly relieved. "But for now, gentlemen, I must get back to work. Until this evening. Arthur."

"Alastor."

"Goodbye, Mr Gumboil," Harry said.

"Boys, I must urge you once again to be careful. That man is slicker than bacon grease in a hot skillet," Arthur said with a chuckle.

The two Aurors looked at one another, clearly amused, and then back at their supervisor. "Fiona," they said together.

"Dad, Dung should be up in about fifteen minutes to collect his wand and effects. Tell him his wheelbarrow and spade—don't ask—his wheelbarrow and spade will be waiting for him at that new garden shop at the far end of Diagon Alley," Harry told him.

"Ah yes. Opened not too long ago. Molly's been wanting to visit. The owner is a Muggleborn witch from the Lakes District. She's got some nice greenhouses," Arthur said, his eyes twinkling like Dumbledore's used to. "Plants of all kinds, so I'm told. Vegetables, flowers, herbs—magical and non-magical."

"Wonder if Neville's heard about it yet," Ron said. "He'd be in his glory."

Harry and Ron had finished off sorting and binning the last of their daily flights of parchment aeroplanes for the day and fell to discussing the Harpies' chances this season, with Ginny in as a Chaser, while they waited for Hermione to join them. Ron had asked Arthur to let his mother know that they wouldn't be home for supper since they were set to meet with Alastor Gumboil after work. They would have a bite to eat at the Leaky Cauldron beforehand.

"I'd like to think I might be finished with these ruddy parchments," Ron huffed, waving his hands in the air. "But I just know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the moment 'Mione opens that door, another load of them will come swooping in to bury us in more useless information."

Harry looked up from his copy of the weekly report to send off to Arthur. "I think your hopes would fall to despair, mate," Harry said. "But let's focus on this meeting with Gumboil, shall we?" He dropped his feet from the desk and sat forward in his chair with an upper-body stretch.

"Okay…"

"I'm hoping we can get him to open up so we can find out little more about him, or at least get the full measure of him. I mean, he seemed honestly impressed with our training regimen and he seems to agree with us on what we want to achieve, but still…something just seems off, but I can't put my finger on it."

"Could it be that he might be a bit too aggressive for your liking, mate? I mean, he did tear into you during the trial and he does bluster a bit," Ron offered.

"I don't know, Ron. Maybe it's even good that he's a bit aggressive, especially in the Geezergamot. He might actually inspire those old ponces to get something done. Something worthwhile, anyway."

"Yeah, but I can't help but worry that his tolerance has a limit and what might happen should he act on it," Ron said. "If we need to take action against him in some way, it's good to know what we're dealing with."

Harry looked thoughtfully at his tactically-skilled friend. "You're right. He's a Hit-wizard after all, and a high-ranking Ministry official, dammit all. If he'd go off the deep end, Dad would have no choice but to drop him in our laps, dark arts or not. Could you imagine the Squads against Gumboil and a few of his Hit-wizard friends?"

"Right," Ron snorted. "Gumboil's people would crush the troopers like so many lacewing flies in a Polyjuice potion. Hit-wizards outstrip troopers far and away, so yeah, it would come down to us to bring him down if he breaks the law."

"But he's going to be careful not to, though, because he needs credibility and that begins with us. So we...hope for the best and plan for the worst," Harry half-suggested half-asked.

"Right—a wise general-strategy for anything we do in our line of work," Ron agreed. "Between all of our Hogwarts adventures, the war, and the Mafalda thing, if there's anything we've learned, it's that."

A few minutes later, Harry and Ron were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in, Hermione. It's open," Harry called.

Hermione opened the door to enter, promptly followed by a dozen new memos. "Oh bugger," Ron growled and met Hermione's eyes. "Not you 'Mione, but those pests. Can't you have them declared dangerous magical creatures free for extermination?"

Hermione giggled and gave Ron a much-anticipated kiss. "I won't even start that discussion, since I'm not nearly as troubled by them as you upper-level executive types. Junior Staff status has its advantages," she giggled.

"It's so grand to know I have such a wonderful support system in my fiancée," Ron said ironically.

"Honestly, Ron," Harry interjected. "We pelt Dad and Percy alone with as many as they pelt us with—all pertinent, of course...it's the tossers in the other departments that send all the rubbish."

"Bloody hell, you're right." Ron realized "I'm being Ministry-ized. I might have to send Percy an apology."

"Send away. Percy lives for memos. Remember his obsession with his cauldron reports," Harry snorted.

"Oh yeah, and if he took that rot seriously, you can just about imagine. But since I don't, does that mean there's hope for me," Ron asked with a sigh.

Harry signed his report and sent it off to Arthur. "Off you go, then."

"Are you finished, Love," Hermione asked Ron.

"Just about," Ron said, signing the last parts of his own report. "And this one goes to our tidy little archive." He tapped the memo with his wand and banished it to the file drawer in their office.

"Done," Harry said, "And with about ten minutes to spare until we need to leave if we're going to eat before Gumboil arrives. How was your day Hermione?"

"We can talk while we walk, you know," Ron said. "Let's get out of here!"

"Right you are, mate," Harry agreed. The three of them left the office and Harry set the locking wards. He was satisfied when he heard the tell-tale squelching sound of the sealing charm on the door. "You were saying, Hermione?"

"Well…not too bad, thank you. Diggory left his office only twice and didn't yell at anyone. He's writing some report for Kingsley, which requires his full attention right now. I've finished digging through the archives and managed to gather loads of material for Dobby's Law," Hermione announced happily. "_And_ I ran into Charlie, who needed some request form for cross-breeding Dragons."

"What," Ron asked, as he pressed the call button at the lifts.

"Oh, according to him, a Common Welsh Green male has taken a liking to a Hebridean Black female. But some old law requires the Wizengamot to approve Dragon cross-breeding."

"And if they deny it? Will the Wizengamot skip off to reason with the two rutting Dragons," Harry asked, already laughing loudly. "Keep us updated on this one. I almost pity the poor sod given that task, because facing down a Dragon is hardly a walk in the park on the best of days, unless of course it's a blind one that's so caught up in its newly-won freedom that it doesn't notice a few stowaways."

Their lift arrived. "Level Two. Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Office," the sickeningly sweet voice said as the gate opened.

Ron grinned as he held the gate. "Right. And what will they call the hybrid? An Uncommon Welsh Black?"

"Or a Hebridean Green," Harry added.

"I wonder what colour black and green makes," Hermione mused aloud and then shook her head in disgust.

Harry shuddered at a distant memory. "Polyjuice. Essence of Goyle." Since Vincent Crabbe had been killed in a rather horrific manner, Harry tended to shy away from making jokes about him or any other person, Light or Dark, who died in the war—except for Voldemort. That bastard was fair game.

"Ewww. Poor Dragon babies," Hermione fussed, wrinkling her nose. Realising that she was beginning to sound pathetically like a Mooncalf, she gathered herself into full lecture mode. "Enough already. This is no joke. Charlie and the other Dragonmasters could get into serious trouble, whether they keep the two lovesick Dragons apart or let them have their fun without Ministry approval. But Charlie was thrilled. He says that two Dragons of differing breeds haven't shown an interest in one another in over two centuries."

"She's channelling Hagrid," Ron snorted with an evil grin. "Perhaps you should owl him for a front-row seat, 'Mione. _Fascinatin' creatures, Dragons_." Ron's impression of Hagrid was almost spot-on. Like his singing voice, he had a talent for impression, but didn't make a show of it outside of the family, if at all. As much as he'd once craved Harry's fame and popularity, he learned quickly how much of an annoyance fame could be following the war, and didn't want to bring any more on himself for any reason.

"Two Dragons shagging," Harry grinned, trying not to laugh at Ron's impression of the Hogwarts professor and Gamekeeper.

"That's actually a good idea Ronald," Hermione said. "We should be deeply honoured to witness something like that."

"Two Dragons shagging," Harry said again, howling with laughter. "I'll spring for the Champagne!"

The car stopped. "Atrium. Thank you for visiting the Ministry of Magic. Have a nice day."

Ron opened the gate so Harry and Hermione could step out of the car. He followed them and closed the gate. "Syrupy bint."

"But it would be an historic shag," Hermione announced, trying to maintain some level of decorum, despite Harry's and Ron's snickers.

"Maybe, but I have to wonder," Ron mused.

"Wonder what," Hermione asked him, almost not wanting to find out.

"Erm...well...what do Dragons do for foreplay," Ron said, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably.

That was all it took. It had been a long day with a lot of tedious work. Harry burst into renewed fits of laughter, clutching his sides as he howled. "Dragons? Foreplay? Imagine the noise! They'd hear them in Surrey!"

Ron ploughed on, knowing he had Harry at his mercy. "I've heard that Muggles smoke afterwards..."

Tears flowed down Harry's face and soon, Hermione couldn't contain her own mirth. "Smoke? These are Dragons, Ron! Dragons don't smoke, they flame!"

"Where there's fire..." Harry cried, stumbling as they walked toward the Apparition point, trying to catch his breath.

"...there's smoke! I mean, I could get on nicely without witnessing that." Ron laughed as hard as Harry while Hermione conjured tissues for them all, her own laughter ringing like chimes.

"Too right, mate! I don't want to know about it and I don't want to see it, thanks," Harry agreed, finally catching his breath.

"Couldn't accuse you two of being hopeless romantics, could I," Hermione giggled, trying to collect herself.

"We're romantics all right, but not the hopeless type," Ron grinned. "'Mione, with someone as wonderful as you around there's always hope..."

"Oh Ron..." Hermione cooed.

"Later, Love." Ron whispered to Hermione.

"Promise?" Hermione asked.

"And more..." Ron said.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Harry snorted, pretending to retch.

The three of them reached the Apparition point, sure that they'd collected themselves, and Disapparated to the Leaky Cauldron to have a quick supper before Gumboil arrived. About three-quarters of an hour later, their guest came through the door, seeking them out. Harry waved him over and he sat down.

"Thank you for seeing me," Gumboil said humbly. "I know there are many who wish to meet with you three, and you have your important work at the Ministry."

Hermione looked at the man. He wasn't obviously sucking up to them but she was definitely not totally comfortable with the obviously-forced humility the man displayed.

"Of course we have time for you Mr Gumboil. You're an experienced law enforcement agent. With your public opinions and your new position at the Ministry, we've been looking forward to meeting you," Harry said. "Care for a drink?"

"Oh. Uh…yes, please. Whatever you're having is fine," Gumboil replied, completely taken aback by the Head Auror's cordiality.

"Hannah," Harry called. "Could we have another round, please?"

"Sure, Harry. Coming right up," she replied. A few minutes later, she delivered four Butterbeers to their table. "Neville should be here a bit later. I'm sure he'd be glad to see you."

"Great. We shouldn't be long here, Hannah. Thanks," Harry said, dropping a few Galleons into her hand.

"Harry, this is far too much," she said. "It's only Butterbeer."

"Then run a tab," he smiled. "If we drink more than that, I'll cover the difference. If not, keep the change."

"Harry Potter, you are far too generous for your own good," she scolded good-naturedly. "Just let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you, Mrs Longbottom," Harry teased. "You are the hostess with the mostest."

"_Harry James Potter, you're a married man flirting with a married woman who isn't me!"_

"_Hey, Love. Hang around. We're meeting with Gumboil right now."_

"_Oh, great. I haven't missed it then. Go on. Don't let me keep you."_

Hermione noted that Harry was a lot more comfortable with the act of politeness, honed during their years at Hogwarts were he'd kept a civil attitude most of the time toward Professor Snape, Professor Umbridge, and others in positions of authority.

"I don't think you've been properly introduced," Ron said, officially opening the meeting. "Mr Gumboil, my fiancée, Hermione Granger; Hermione, Senior Undersecretary Alastor Gumboil."

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger. And please, just call me Alastor."

Hermione wasn't ready for that kind of familiarity, so she remained polite and formal. "A pleasure to meet you Mr Gumboil," she said, taking his hand.

"I understand that you hold the Order of Merlin, First Class, Miss Granger," he said, reluctantly releasing her hand, a social gaffe that did not go unnoticed by the strapping redhead at the table.

"I do, and so do Chief Potter and Assistant Chief Weasley," she replied, keeping her formal façade. _I'd better remember to tell Harry about formal introductions and the protocol that goes with them. He's Head of the Houses of Potter and Black... and blimey... formally, he's titled—a lord—which means Ginny is…Lady Potter! I'll bet he has no idea._

Hermione stifled an urge to laugh at the moaning she was certain would come from Harry once she told him. He wouldn't like it at all. She could just imagine his reaction. "_By Merlin's wiener cousin! If either of you ever call me __Lord Anything_,_ I'll curse you to Cornwall and back." Oh, and even better—his position at the head of the House of Black entitles him to a barony. Hmm…Lord-Baron Potter. Sirius must be laughing his tail off! Laughing his tail off…Hermione, you're on a roll._

"Of course. I'd forgotten," Gumboil said. "Please forgive the slip in my manners."

Hermione was amazed by the lack of discomfort Harry displayed as she mentioned the prestigious order. She suspected his relationship with and subsequent marriage to Ginny must have had a calming effect on him.

"Straight to the point, Mr Gumboil. What can we do for you," Harry asked with a tone of authority in his voice.

"_My, aren't we forceful tonight."_

"_Just listen to this git and you'll see why, Gin. We don't trust him."_

Gumboil took a sip of his Butterbeer as he collected his thoughts. He had to carefully phrase his errand. "As you probably know, I oppose the Pureblood supremacy ideal—no offence, Auror Weasley. I know you don't support any of that," Gumboil started. "And it's my hope that we can cooperate to build a just and morally-sound Wizarding community."

"We're listening, Mr Gumboil," Ron interjected, his bass tone intimidating.

"I have founded a group called ELF, the Equality and Liberation Federation. Our goal is to bring an end to Pureblood-domination over the majority of our community. Specifically, we aim to convert the currently-vacant inherited seats on the Wizengamot to elected seats, ultimately ensuring that no one has a seat without the vote of the people. We also need to address a number of old laws still on the books that give Purebloods unfair advantages."

_Technically, the Potter and Black seats aren't vacant, but they haven't been sat in over eighteen years. All Harry needs to do is claim them and stop this fool from taking them. _"Such as…" Hermione asked, her scepticism growing by leaps and bounds.

Well, Miss Granger, one example is the law regulating underage magic." Gumboil now turned to Harry. "I believe you've been a victim of the letter of that law, Chief Potter."

"Yes, that's true. I received my first warning in the summer of 1992 when a House elf performed magic at my Muggle relatives' home. In the summer of 1993, I got away with blowing up my uncle's sister, Marjorie, but in the summer of 1995, I found myself dragged before the full Wizengamot for casting the Patronus charm in front of my Muggle cousin in order to drive off two Dementors. Perhaps you were in the Wizengamot on that day, Mr Gumboil?"

"Indeed I was. I was one of the guards in the chamber that morning. That's the kind of bigotry and corruption I was talking about. In a Pureblood home, under the tutoring of an adult, Pureblood children can practise magic without restriction."

"Mum never let us," Ron blurted. "I wonder if she even knew."

"_Probably not, brother of mine. Probably not. Bastards."_

"_Gin, such language."_

"Wouldn't that still be defined as underage magic, Harry asked.

"No. The detection of underage magic is a complex process. The Trace can't decide whether magic performed in an all-Wizarding home is cast by an adult or a child. In Harry's case, it couldn't even tell the difference between wizard magic and House-elf magic. All it could tell Madame Hopkirk and her people was that magic had been performed in a home with only one known magical signature and that signature belonged to a minor."

"But what about that time we crashed through the wall when the Dursley's Floo was closed," Ron asked. "I mean, Dad had to repair it and set Harry's cousin right—"

"Simple. Arthur had their fireplace temporarily-connected to the network, so the Ministry was well-aware an adult wizard would be at Four Privet Drive, Surrey at that time," Gumboil replied. "Any magic detected could be assumed to be his."

_Four Privet Drive, Surrey? How did he know that? There were wards… _The fact that Gumboil knew where he'd grown up somewhat unnerved Harry, but since he no longer lived there, he let it go. _But what other specifics does this git know about me and my family?_

"So you want to draft a modern law that applies equally to all Wizarding children, regardless of their blood-status," Hermione asked him, just for clarification.

"Exactly, Miss Granger," Gumboil replied, holding back triumph. "In fact I have a parchment here outlining what we wish to achieve if you'd like to learn more about ELF. I think all of us who oppose the old Pureblood ideals need to work together if we are to bring about change."

"I agree with you there, Mr Gumboil," Harry conceded. "However, we don't seem to agree upon other old laws, such as the one governing the Dementor's Kiss. I've had an official report from Auror Finnegan concerning a rather disturbing incident on the Hogwarts Express on the first of September, during which two good friends of mine had been harassed by an older student simply because they're Prewetts."

"_Uh oh. Looks like you might have him in a corner. Go get him, baby."_

"_That's the idea."_

Gumboil paled for a moment. "Yes, I heard about that unfortunate incident myself. ELF does not oppose Purebloods as individuals, Chief Potter, only their outdated traditions and supremacy ideals that taint our laws and divert advantages away from those of mixed blood."

"But what about the Purebloods who will oppose you," Ron asked.

"Surely you are well aware that reaching your goals sometimes requires the sacrifice of a few principles. I can't say as I believe that you defeated Voldemort without... should we say... getting your hands dirty."

"_Actually or figuratively? If memory serves, we were all quite dirty after the battle,"_ Ginny giggled.

Harry hid his smirk behind a hand, pretending to wipe his mouth. _"Figuratively, damn him."_

Hermione admired his arguments. Gumboil had effectively robbed them of the ability to question his potential use of a few dirty tricks to fulfil his agenda.

"Excuse me for saying this because I don't mean to insult you, but what you say sounds awfully similar to the _Greater Good _argument, which is indeed a Pureblood mantra," Ron said.

"_Who is that man and what has he done with my prat of a brother?"_

"_Hermione's had a positive influence on him, hasn't she?"_

"The world is not split into good and evil, black and white, Auror Weasley. It's entirely possible to find and extrapolate similarities between Minister Shacklebolt's administration and Voldemort's Death Eater organization," Gumboil pointed out.

Hermione immediately thought of the DA coins, which she created based on the theory and laws of magic surrounding the Dark Mark. Gumboil was indeed very sharp and argued his opinion with great skill. "I have to agree that there's some truth to that," she admitted.

"_Didn't Sirius tell you something like that once, Harry?"_

"_Yeah, he did. He said the world wasn't clearly divided between Death Eaters and good people. He said there were grey areas. That's what Gumboil's talking about here. Damn, he's good."_

"But to conclude matters, is it correct to assume that you'd like for us to become a part of this federation?" Hermione decided it was time to end the debate, because at this point, the politically-experienced Gumboil would beat them at every turn, leaving them no choice but to agree with whatever he proposed.

"_Don't join, Harry. Ron either."_

"_I'm not going to and neither is he. It's Hermione Gumboil's really after, anyway."_

"_Why?"_

"_She's the cleverest witch of our age who just happens to be the top Muggleborn in Britain. She's __a member magnet, among other things."_

"_It's a credibility thing, isn't it?"_

"_Right in one, Love. Right in one."_

Gumboil seemed a bit startled by Hermione's straightforward question. "Frankly, yes. I believe we want the same things. We're all aware of the necessity to use imperfect methods in a less-than-perfect world in order to reach a common goal." Gumboil paused to take another sip of his Butterbeer.

"Chief Potter, you're a symbol of this struggle. Your compassion and dedication are a great example and an inspiration to Half-bloods and Muggleborns everywhere. Miss Granger, you're the embodiment of what Muggleborns can achieve magically, but still a junior staffer while your Pureblood friends run a prestigious office with little or no education or training, or even adequate experience, to warrant it. Auror Weasley, you're a role model for the modern Pureblood. You're going to marry for love rather than money or power, with no regard for your beloved's blood-status. In addition, your family has long stood up for equality for all magical people, despite the costs."

Harry sighed silently seeking Ginny's strength. _"What do you think, Love?"_

"_It sounds good, but there's just something that's…"_

"_Off?"_

"_Yeah. Dad said to be careful and I think he's right. This man's up to something and it could be nasty."_

"_All right, then. Watch this."_

"_I'm watching."_

"What you propose makes a lot of sense, but as Head Auror, I cannot take part in any political group, no matter how staunchly I might privately support it. I must remain officially neutral in order to safeguard the security of Wizarding Britain. My membership in your organisation might be misconstrued as a conflict of interest."

Gumboil simply nodded. The Head Auror's convictions were airtight and waterproof and there was just no arguing with them. The young Auror's personal values were famously high, for the most part, and history stated that he would not be moved from what he perceived as _the right thing_.

"As a Pureblood of an old Wizarding clan, I cannot, in good conscience, join a group that opposes Pureblood tradition. While I agree that there is a great need to update those old laws and promote equality regardless of blood-status, I must remind you that all Pureblood traditions are not prejudicial. However, I might support you in a number of specific legislative matters, as my vote could be cast without the threat of public scrutiny."

"_Where did Ron learn to talk like that?"_

"_Three guesses; two don't count."_

Gumboil turned to Hermione, but she beat him to the verbal punch. "My passion is rights and legal protection for magical creatures, Mr Gumboil. However, I have, on several occasions, declared pride in my Muggleborn heritage. I will continue to do that and, like my fiancé, most likely openly support any specific viable legislation ELF may present. But I'm getting married in about two months, and I still have a laundry-list of things to do in preparation for our wedding. There's simply too much going on in my life right now to take on another obligation. I'm sorry."

Gumboil skillfully hid his disappointment that they wouldn't join ELF…yet. _Miss Granger still might be swayed. She says she doesn't think she has time for us. We'll see. _"Aurors, Miss Granger, I thank you for your time. It has been a most rewarding meeting."

"It was our pleasure, Mr Gumboil," Harry replied. "I wish you luck in your quest for equality." They shook hands and with that, Gumboil left the Leaky Cauldron to meet with his staff.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to the Burrow at around eight o'clock that evening to find Molly and Arthur in the sitting room listening to the WWN. Molly knitted Weasley jumpers while Arthur rested in his easy chair.

"Ronnie, is that you," Molly called from the sitting room.

"Yeah, Mum. It's us," Ron called back. The three of them walked into the sitting room and removed their traveling cloaks. Ron and Hermione collapsed to the floor in front of the fire, while Harry kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the sofa.

"_Stick around, Sweetheart."_

"_I'm not going anywhere, Lover."_

"How'd it go with Alastor," Arthur asked, adjusting his position in the chair. "What did he have to say?"

"He's got some good arguments and his intentions appear to be honourable, but…"

"But…?"

"He wanted us to join his organisation," Ron said, looking up at his parents. "All of us."

"Did you," Molly asked warily.

"No, we didn't," Hermione answered. "Harry and Ron cited conflict of interest and I told him I had too much going on in my life and didn't have time to devote to another obligation."

"What do you mean, dear," Molly asked. "What obligation?"

"Well, when one joins a club or especially a political group, there are things to be done by the membership, such as tracting, staging rallies, and recruiting. I just don't have time for it," Hermione confessed, leaning back into Ron's chest.

"And you couldn't sit in the background anyway," Harry said. "You'd want to be doing something."

"So what do you think otherwise," Arthur asked. "Did he say anything to make you believe he's dodgy in any way?"

"No, and that's the frustrating part, Dad," Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Something's off, but nothing he said or did directly pointed to anything. ELF—Equality and Liberation Federation—stands for equality and fairness for wizards and witches in our community not of Pureblood status, specifically Muggleborns, through changes in legislation and time-honoured tradition."

"But that's all right, isn't it," Molly asked, leaning forward. She'd never taken much of an interest in politics, even though her husband—and by extension, her family—had been victimized by them for thirty years.

Because of his views concerning Muggles and Muggleborns, the Ministry—Cornelius Fudge in particular—had held him back, passing him over for promotions and hard-earned bonuses. As a result, the Weasleys scraped by, able to afford only the barest of necessities.

"It should be, but what he proposes is tantamount to a Utopian society. It looks really good on parchment, but in reality, it's theoretically impossible to achieve and maintain," Harry sighed.

"What Harry's trying to say, Molly, is that while Mr Gumboil's proposals and objectives are honourable on the surface, such a drastic change brought on too quickly and aggressively could result in anarchy," Hermione finished. "And from what I've managed to suss out in our brief consultation with him, he is _not_ a patient man."

"Nobody could ever accuse Alastor Gumboil of being patient," Arthur agreed. "He's a headstrong go-getter, make no mistake about that. That's what made him such a crack law enforcement agent."

"He really wanted us to join ELF, but when we declined, I expected an argument of some kind to try and change our minds. We didn't get one, Dad, and that bothers us," Ron said with a suspicious tone, absent-mindedly pulling Hermione closer to his chest.

"Ron, you're hurting me," Hermione complained softly.

"S-sorry, Love. I didn't mean to," he apologised, loosening his grip and bringing her hand up to kiss it. "Better?"

"Much," she said and leaned back again and released a contented sigh.

"He looked like he understood, but I don't think he bought into Hermione's rejection," Harry said, casting a glance at his surrogate sister. "Ron and I suspect he wants her specifically."

"Dad, what do you think we should do," Ron asked, almost begging for direction.

"As your father or as your boss," Arthur asked with raised eyebrows.

"Both," Harry answered.

"As your father, I say take a wait-and-see attitude. If this movement of his gains momentum and good things happen, then it's fine," he said resolutely.

"But as their boss," Molly interjected. "What would you have the boys do?"

"As your boss, boys, I say this bears further investigation. Our way of life may be at stake again," he said authoritatively.

"Arthur, I think you're right. I was thinking…" Hermione began.

"What? What, 'Mione," Ron asked. "Tell us."

"Well… Remember when we were in Normandy? The guide was telling the group about the battle and certain Muggle military units?"

"Yeah…"

"They were fighting the forces of Nazi Germany, led by a maniac by the name of Adolf Hitler,"

"Yeah, so…"

"Ron, Hitler rose to power in 1932 or '33. Germany had been all but destroyed after the First World War…"

The Weasleys clearly didn't know anything about Muggle history, let alone conflict. Hermione paused for a moment as if searching her mind for a way to explain, when Harry thought he should help her out. "That's one of two world-wide Muggle wars in the twentieth century. Germany had a load of sanctions placed on her by Allied powers consisting primarily of France, Great Britain, and the United States," Harry added.

"Yes, and those sanctions made life very difficult for the German people. Germany wasn't allowed to build a standing army over so-many strong and had all kinds of economic conditions levied against their ability to freely-trade with the rest of the world. Adolf Hitler rose to power by promising a new Germany, free of the hardships placed on her by the Armistice—the conditions of surrender."

"Wasn't that about the time Grindelwald began his reign of darkness over our world," Molly asked.

"Yes, Molly. While Hitler terrorised Muggle Europe, Grindelwald terrorised Wizarding Europe. There's even conjecture that asserts that the two of them were probably working in tandem to take over the entire world. Hitler seduced an entire nation to do his bidding under the banners of the Third Reich. But in order to unite the German people under the swastika, there had to be someone to blame for Germany's former subservience. He chose the Jews."

"Juice? What kind and why," Ron asked. The Wizarding world, as a whole, really didn't subscribe any organised religion, although a few held to some tenets of the old Celtic faiths. Judeo-Christianity wasn't unheard of, but it didn't hold a notable place in Wizarding tradition either.

"J-E-W-S," Hermione said. "Jews are people of the Hebrew faith, a religion that dates back over five thousand years from Israel and parts of the Middle East. Jewish people began to migrate to Europe following Roman occupation. In fact, Anthony Goldstein's Muggleborn grandfather was Jewish."

"I didn't know that," Harry said, sitting up quickly. "He must not observe it…"

"Unless he keeps it private," Hermione said. "At any rate, part of the reason Hitler chose to target them was because Jews are a very industrious people. For centuries, they've been renowned for their resilience and uncanny ability to survive and even gain immense wealth under the most dire of circumstances. By the time Hitler rose to power, a lot of the real wealth in Germany rested with Jews."

"But anyway, from about 1934 on, Hitler and his cronies in the SS—his version of Death Eaters—manipulated the people of Germany through political propaganda born of half-truths and outright lies. They convinced the general populace to believe that Germans were a purer and more…worthy…race of human beings. Essentially, Nazi blood-purity ideals," Harry added once again.

"Through the efforts of his elite SS force and the iron-fisted police force known as the _Gestapo_, Hitler began a systematic disposal of all Jews. If someone had Jewish ancestry less than seven generations back, he or she became a target. But first and foremost, the Nazis wanted the Purebloods. By the end of the war, some six million Jews had been exterminated. They had been disenfranchised, forcibly taken from their homes, and transported to concentration camps and/or death camps where they were cruelly enslaved, starved, tortured, and most of them summarily executed simply because they were Jews," Hermione told them sadly.

"And that doesn't even include some fourteen million more Slavs, Poles, homosexuals, and the _feeble, _whom the Nazis classified as unfit to suck air," Harry added.

Molly shuddered in her chair. "That sounds like V-Voldemort, but in reverse!"

"What happened during Voldemort's reign was very much like what happened in Nazi Germany. Innocent people died because of a madman's prejudice," Harry confirmed. "But sicker still was that Hitler wanted to breed a new, pure Master Race. An SS man was not allowed to marry unless his chosen bride could be proven and classified in the Third Reich as _pure_."

"Right. So how does this relate to our dilemma now," Hermione asked rhetorically. "We need to understand that the legislation Gumboil wants to push through the Wizengamot is honourable on the surface, but we know that human nature wouldn't allow for…_Shangri-La_. There would have to be a method to enforce the peace in order to maintain the utopian state. With his record as a Hit wizard, his influence over DMLE, and his close proximity to the Minister, he could manipulate your Aurors, Harry, into his own personal Gestapo, with ELF as his SS."

"All the more reason this bears further investigation," Arthur asserted. "Harry, Ron, I want you two to keep an eye on Gumboil. I want to know if he contacts you about ELF any further, and if he does, I want to know how he does it. Understand?"

"Yeah, sure, Dad," Harry replied.

"Well, this has certainly given us a lot to think about, hasn't it," Molly said, putting down her knitting. "Now, who would like a cup of hot chocolate and a few _cookies_ before we turn in?"

"Sounds good, Mum," Ron enthused, stretching his long arms to the ceiling. "'Mione?"

"That'd be lovely," she agreed.

Following hot chocolate and oatmeal cookies, the three friends bid the elder Weasleys a fond good night. When they reached Harry's and Ginny's landing, Harry stopped his friends before they could continue to the fifth floor. "Listen. Get into something comfortable and come back down here. We. Need. To. Talk. Hermione, bring your notes."

Ron and Hermione nodded and made their way up to their room. Harry slipped into the room he and Ginny shared and began to strip off his heavy robes and uniform in favour of a pair of cargo shorts and Nike _Just Do It_ tee shirt he picked up in France on honeymoon. While he waited for Ron and Hermione, he felt the bond open up and his wife's sweet voice and pure love filled his mind and body.

"_Harry?"_

"_Hello again, Gin. So what do you think?"_

"_I'm afraid we're left with more questions than answers."_

"_My sentiments exactly. Feel like hanging around a bit longer?"_

"_I wouldn't miss this conversation for the world."_

There was a knock on the door before it opened. "Harry, are you decent," Hermione's voice asked just above a whisper.

"Yeah, Hermione. Come on in."

"_Here we go."_

"_Right."_

Harry wiped his face with both hands, trying to decide how to begin the conversation. "Let's recap the meeting with Gumboil, shall we?"

"Wait a tick," Ron said, holding up his right hand. "'Mione, what's _Shangri-La?_"

"It's a mystical land hidden high in the Himalayas. It's from a 1930s Muggle novel called _Lost Horizon. Shangri-La_ is often used as a figure of speech for _a perfect world_—there's no such place as Shangri-La," Hermione replied, dismissing the subject. "Now, before we do anything else, I want it understood that I don't like Alastor Gumboil; he gives me the creeps," Hermione asserted, producing her notebook.

"So noted," Harry said with a nod. "But _why_ don't you like him—aside from what we talked about downstairs."

"Harry, he made a serious social gaffe the lowest peon on the remotest moor in Scotland wouldn't make," she complained. "When I shook his hand, he didn't want to let go."

"And don't think I didn't notice that, Love," Ron assured her with a growl in his voice. "Not to mention the fact that his eyes were all over you—even while you were talking."

"What are you saying, Ron," Harry asked.

"What I'm saying is I didn't like the way that git undressed my fiancée with his eyes," he ground out through gritted teeth.

"It made my skin crawl, Harry. That's part of the reason I declined," Hermione confessed.

"He didn't seem terribly put out that you and I declined, mate, but when Hermione did, I thought his face was going to fall right off his skull," Ron said. "I suspect the whole point of that meeting was to sink his hooks into Hermione!"

"Hmm… You may be right. But we have to admit he made some good points. The one that got my attention was about the Trace, since that affected me directly and in very unpleasant ways," Harry confessed.

"Yeah, who'd have thought that all that time, we could've been practising right here at the Burrow and the bloody Ministry would never have known the difference," Ron fussed.

"_That's what I thought, too."_

"_It might have made a world of difference two years ago, Love."_

"I think Arthur's rather worried, though. I mean, last night he assured us that Gumboil was all right—a fine upstanding member of our community—but after our report, he doesn't seem so sure anymore," Hermione said, steering the conversation back on track.

"Yeah, I know. I just don't know what to do. I mean, when he's around us, he acts like we're gods or something. You should have seen him at our training session that day—remember, Harry," Ron recalled.

"Yeah, I do, now that you mention it," Harry agreed. "He acted all worshippy, like a…like a Death Eater before Voldemort, but without the kneeling."

"Now that's scary," Hermione replied with a shudder.

"Scary? It's bloody disturbing, that is," Ron exclaimed.

"_Harry, my skin's crawling now, too. Ew."_

"_Sorry, Love. Be glad you weren't there that day."_

"That said, what should we do about Dad's directive? The only way we can really find out what's going on behind the scenes is to join it, but as I said before, I can't," Harry said, running his hands through his thick coal-black locks.

"Wait-and-see isn't even an option," Hermione said, consulting her notes. "I mean, he wants what we all want, but he wants it now and that's dangerous. I wonder who he's already got on board."

"The only way to find that out is to join," Ron said sadly. "_Or_…we could send someone in as a…a…oh, what do the Muggles call them? Not spies, but…bugger, I can't think of the word! It's an animal. A foal?"

"Mole," Hermione suggested, trying not to giggle.

"That's it. A mole," Ron said, kissing Hermione's temple. "You're a genius, Love."

"A mole is a special kind of spy. Essentially, Snape was a mole, but I know what you mean, mate," Harry agreed, the wheels obviously turning in his head. "But who? Any suggestions?"

None of them spoke for a full five minutes as they each tried to come up with a viable candidate for such a potentially dangerous mission. Harry and Ron ran through their list of Aurors, coming up with only one name.

"Me."

Ron snapped his head to stare at the witch sitting next to him on the bed.

"'Mione? Love, you already declined his offer," Ron argued.

"Ronald, he wants me specifically, and it sounds like he'd bend over backwards to accommodate me, although I can't imagine why," she said, nonplussed.

"Uh…how about that you're set to marry the Assistant Head of the Auror Office and become sister-in-law to the Head," Harry interjected.

"Two men he also wants in his organisation," Hermione said with a growing smile. "He'll want me to at least garner your influence if you won't join."

"But I don't like the way the man looked…at you…" Ron said worriedly.

"I know, and I didn't like it either, but think about it. If we're going to get to the bottom of this ELF thing—provided there's anything to get to the bottom of—the best choice is _me_. You two already told him you couldn't join due to conflict of interest in some capacity, but the only excuse I gave was lack of time. Besides, I can take care of myself. You know that," Hermione asserted.

"Okay, supposing we agree to this: How do you plan to explain the extra time in your very busy life," Ron asked superiorly.

"Simple. I'll wait a few days and then send him an owl telling him that after I'd given the matter some thought, I was able to delegate a few items on my To-do list, which opened up some time to devote to ELF," she replied.

"Well, I suppose you have a point or two there, but…what if he uses the fact that you're a member of the Golden Trio," Ron argued again. None of them fancied having their names bandied about by anyone, especially for political purposes.

"This goes back to what we talked about this afternoon and last Friday, Ron. He will use it, there's no doubt in my mind—but that's politics. I mean, they're supposed to be an advocacy group, right? Who better to legitimize it than the smartest Muggleborn witch in history? If there's really anything wrong, Hermione's information could give us what we need to shut Gumboil down," Harry explained.

Ron didn't answer for a moment, but it was obvious he was growing more and more apprehensive about sending his love into what was shaping up to be an elaborate sting operation. "I have no doubts Hermione could accumulate enough sound evidence to trounce the ruddy git, but it's her safety I'm concerned about, mate."

Hermione was about to protest when Ron cut her off. "Love, I know you can take care of yourself—Merlin knows I've seen you kick more DE arse than most of the Order combined, but still…"

"_Harry, why not send someone in with her?"_

"_Good idea, Gin. But who?"_

"_Seamus Finnegan. He's a Half-blood and the Number-three Auror, right? Gumboil'd love to have him, wouldn't he?"_

"_Remind me to make mad, passionate love to you when you come home. You're brilliant!"_

"I have an idea," Harry said, dispelling what might have become a full-scale bicker between the two lovers in the room with him.

"Fine," Ron said, grateful for the interruption. Lately, he just didn't have the heart to argue as hotly with Hermione as he used to. "Let's hear it then."

"Grassroots organisations like this start small. ELF is small right now, but it can grow. It has an honourable objective—we all agree on that. But organisations grow through recruitment. Like we said before, they could stage a rally, but ELF isn't big enough for that yet. They're going to have to recruit from within, meaning each and every member will be encouraged and expected to bring in new members. Now, other than me, myself, and I, we have another rather popular Halfblood right here in our ranks." When Harry finished, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

A smile stole its way across Ron Weasley's face for the first time since this conversation began. "I think I know who you're thinking of."

Hermione looked back and forth between the two Aurors as though she were watching a tennis match. "Well this is quite lovely, but do either of you care to clue _me_ in?"

"Sorry, Love," Ron apologised again. "We're thinking of Irish, right, mate?"

"Right in one, brother-of-mine," Harry confirmed. "He's perfect."

"You want me to recruit Seamus Finnegan," Hermione asked incredulously.

Harry laughed at the shocked look on his surrogate sister's face. "Yes, Hermione, but there's a reason—he's an Auror. Gumboil would kill to have a mighty Auror in his little club, but more so because Seamus is Third-in-Command for the entire division. Now, it's not that we believe for a moment that you can't take care of yourself—on the contrary, we just want to be sure there's someone covering your back."

"'Mione, Aurors work in teams anyway, so it's like you'll be deputised," Ron said, hoping to get her to agree to their plan.

"_Harry, that's not a bad idea. Could you deputise Hermione for this?"_

"_I don't know, Gin. I'd have to check with Dad."_

"_Seamus could recruit Dean Thomas, you know. I'm sure he could find a job in the organisation."_

"_Ginny, you're about to be ravished right now. The wards you're under won't stop me if I want in, you know."_

"_Promises, promises. Besides, you wouldn't want me sacked before the season even begins, would you?"_

"_All right, all right. I promise not to storm the stadium tonight."_

"I was also thinking that Seamus, once he's in, would be required to recruit someone. Who's his best mate," Harry asked, his demeanour turning slyer and slyer by the minute. He really liked this _James Bond_ stuff.

"It's still Dean Thomas isn't it," Hermione asked.

"As far as I know," Ron answered. "I think I get it now. The premier Muggleborn in Britain, the Halfblood Third-in-Command hot-shot Auror, and another artistically-talented Half-blood who happens to be a former arse-kicking member of the storied DA! Those are some mighty heavy-hitters, as Fiona would say."

"Ronald, language," Hermione chided with a smirk. "But all three of us are former…oh bloody hell! All three of us are former arse-kicking members of the DA, but what does Dean's artistic talent have to do with anything?"

"Propaganda," Harry said. "Words are good, but visuals are better. There's almost nothing Dean can't draw or paint. They'd have him on that in a heartbeat."

"By the way, Harry—are you and Dean…okay? I mean, I know there was some bad blood between you two at one time," Hermione said cautiously.

"Yeah, we're good. There wasn't really any bad blood between us; just a few hard feelings over Ginny that got out of hand just before the war heated up. I think Dean felt worse about it than I did," Harry said running his hands through his hair again.

"_I didn't know you and Dean fought over me!"_

"_We didn't, Love. It was just testosterone on parade—a bloke thing. I'll tell you about when you come home, yeah?"_

"_You're bloody well right you will, Potter."_

"Honestly, I think Malfoy Manor had a lot to do with that," Ron offered. "We all really needed to stick together that night."

"I thought so too," Hermione agreed. "But I had to ask."

"We talked…briefly. We're over it—it's all good," Harry assured her. "So…what do you think? Should we send our lovely mole here into ELF?"

"We need to know what they're up to, Ron," she said softly, holding his troubled face in her soft hand.

"'Mione, Love…are you sure you're up for this. I just don't trust that Gumboil git around you," Ron whispered into her hair.

"I'll be fine, Ron. And it's not like I'm going off to war or anything. I'll be coming home every night with you," she assured him, stroking his furrowed brow. "And I promise you I'll walk away if it gets dangerous. Come to that, Seamus would probably stun me and drag me away for fear of incurring the Wrath of Weasley if he didn't."

Ron's mind warred with his heart. On one hand, he knew their only hope of really keeping a watch on ELF was to have a mole inside and Hermione was the perfect choice; on the other hand, he was afraid for her—afraid she could be seriously hurt or even…no! He couldn't even imagine that possibility. "All right, Hermione, but you'll do nothing until we talk this over with Dad and see about having you deputised. Harry, it's the only way."

"I couldn't agree more, mate. Deputising you, Hermione, will give you a little more legal elbow-room if something were to happen that would cause you to have to defend yourself in the ultimate way. Seamus could only protect you so much," Harry warned her. "Now…are you sure?"

"Positive," she said, crossing her arms.

"All right then, welcome to the ranks, Deputy Auror Granger," the Head Auror said with his heart-melting Harry grin.

"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best," she replied, pulling her surrogate brother into a hug and planting a noisy kiss on his cheek. "You'll see."

"Yeah," Ron said under his breath. "We'll see."

Harry and Ron paid an official visit to Arthur the following morning in his office to discuss their bedtime conversation and the legality of deputising Hermione and eventually Dean Thomas for the mission. The two top Aurors outlined the plan the three of them had come up with and Arthur conceded that it was sound.

"You have my permission to deputise Hermione Granger and Mr Thomas as moles, but keep it classified from the official records for now," Arthur allowed. "And Auror Finnegan will be on the team as well, correct?"

"Right, Dad," Harry answered. "We don't want to send her in there unprotected, so we thought that since we know Gumboil would jump through hoops to get at least one Auror in his organisation, Finnegan would be the best choice. Thomas is his best mate, so it's only natural he'd recruit him."

"Fine. I'll send a memo to Amos in RCMC requesting Hermione's presence at two o'clock this afternoon. You two get in touch with Seamus and Mr Thomas and have them here at that time as well," Arthur said, pulling out some parchment forms. "We'll have a preliminary briefing and then deputise Hermione and Dean, provided he's agreeable."

"Oh he'll be agreeable if Seamus has anything to do with it," Ron snorted. "They've been thick as thieves since our first year at Hogwarts."

"Seamus is off today, but he'll come in if we ask him to," Harry said. "Come on, brother. We've got an owl and a Patronus to send."  
That afternoon in Arthur's office, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Seamus, and Dean met to discuss the initial plan of action.

"Mr Thomas, do you wish to take part in this mission," Arthur asked with an official tone.

"Y-yes sir, Mr Weasley. I'm willing to help my mates in any way I can," Dean replied. "Once DA, always DA."

"Good man," Arthur said, handing him a parchment. "You need to read this over carefully. If you have any questions, please ask. When you're satisfied, sign and date it. Hermione, same deal."

Hermione already understood what the form would say because they had already had this discussion over breakfast. Molly voiced her doubts and concerns, but finally caved when Hermione assured her that she could take care of herself even though she'd have a fully-fledged DA Auror and another former DA member at her side. She scanned the document, mostly for Dean's benefit, signed it at the bottom and dated it 7 September 1999. A few minutes later, Dean followed suit.

"Very good. Now for the swearing in," Arthur said, rising from his leather chair. "Chief Potter, I trust you have their credentials?"

"I have, sir," he replied. Since this was an official, but classified, DMLE ceremony, Harry, Ron, and Seamus adopted a professional and almost military protocol for the duration.

For the first time in sixty years, two civilians raised their wands and swore their oaths as Deputy Aurors in service to the Ministry, promising to uphold the Auror standards to the best of their ability. With a flash, the oaths were recorded and sealed.

"Deputy Auror Hermione Jean Granger, receive this badge and Auror Handbook as tokens of your office," Arthur said. Harry deferred to Ron, allowing him to pin her silver badge on her robes above the RCMC crest on her left. He wanted to kiss her, but that wasn't appropriate, so he shook her hand and winked instead.

"Deputy Auror Dean Arlan Thomas, receive this badge and Auror Handbook as tokens of your office," Arthur said again. Harry stepped up and pinned his silver badge on the jet-black dress robes Dean had brought for the occasion. Harry then stepped back and shook his hand.

"Welcome to the zoo," Seamus said with a twinkle, breaking the stuffiness of the atmosphere. They all burst into relieved laughter. Arthur conjured a tea service and finger sandwiches to celebrate.

"You first mission is to read those manuals and commit as much of it as you can to memory," Harry told Hermione and Dean. "There's some rather useful information and a couple of extremely important rules you need to know."

"Yeah, and don't be afraid to ask any of us if you don't understand something. That stuff is bloody important," Ron added. "Hermione, Love, you know most of it already, but you should still read it."

"Of course I'll read it, Ronald. It's a book," she said with a smirk.

"Right," Dean said. "It's a book and we all know about Hermione and books, don't we?"

"She'll have the ruddy thing memorised to be sure," Seamus snorted. "She'll be the smartest witch on the force!"

"Now, Hermione, I don't want you to contact Gumboil until Thursday or Friday. That's ample time for you to _think it over and delegate_," Harry ordered. Since he was Head Auror, all orders to her and Dean would come through him.

"All right. That's what I was thinking too…sir," Hermione replied.

"After that, ladies and gentlemen, we play it by ear. Understood?" Harry eyed each person in the room.

"Understood," they answered in broken unison.

"Then, people, we should get back to work. Deputy Thomas, we'll keep you posted. Meanwhile, do not discuss your association with the Auror Office. Business as usual," Arthur said.

"Yes sir. Right sir," Dean replied. "I'll just be getting back to my studio then. Cheers!" He and Seamus left together, laughing and talking about their days in the DA.

"And I'll return to my House-elf files," Hermione stood with a sigh. "I'll see you later." She rose up on her tip-toes and gave Ron a chaste kiss.

The Aurors filed out, leaving Arthur alone in his office to finish some paperwork and nervously contemplate the ramifications of what they had just done. _Merlin, help us all_.

That evening while the denizens of the Burrow were just finishing supper, a tapping came from the window above the sink. It was an owl of the Hogwarts variety with a letter attached to its left leg.

Ron stood to let it in. "I've got it, Mum." He opened the window and owl swooped in, landing on the table in front of Harry.

"A Hogwarts owl for me," Harry asked no one in particular. "Hmm. Interesting." The owl lifted its leg, allowing him to alleviate it of its missive. Harry offered it a bit of chicken, which it accepted with a grateful hoot and flew off through the window into the dark. "It's from Dennis Creevey."

"Oh? What does he want," Ron asked curiously.

Harry didn't answer immediately, he just read the short note and a smile spread across his face. "It's a cry for help, mate. He's Quidditch Captain and hasn't a clue how to run a try-out," Harry said, trying not to laugh. "Listen."

_Harry,_

___You're not going to believe this, but I've been appointed Gryffindor Quidditch captain! I'm really grateful for all the help you gave me last year coaching me. I'm very proud to be captain, but also very nervous. Merlin, Harry, I'm scared stiff! What if the team don't accept me?_

_I've got some big shoes to fill, since you and Ginny are my predecessors and I don't think I can live up to that standard. We're expected to defend and retain the House Cup. I need your advice. If there's anything from your experience as Captain you think would help, I'd appreciate it, but I understand that you're busy and might not have time to write me back.___

_Cheers,__  
__Dennis Creevey_

"Well," Hermione asked. "Are you going to help him?"

"Once a Gryff, always a Gryff," Harry replied. "Ron, think we can help the lad?"

"Oh I'm sure we can come up with a few pointers," the ex-Keeper offered.

Ron and Harry discussed the possibilities and managed to compose a reply.

_Dear Dennis,_

_Hey mate, good on you! Congratulations! We'll be sure to let Ginny know your good news._

_Captaining a Quidditch team isn't that hard. It's the try-outs that can be unnerving. It sounds like you've scheduled that part already. If you haven't, do it within the next week—second-years and up—and don't forget to reserve the pitch. Never mind that I played as a first-year. I was an aberration._

_For your try-outs, you need to divide the hopefuls up into groups according to position. You, as captain, are in charge. I'd say the fair thing to do is to require that everyone try out for a place on the team, veterans included, and don't be afraid to replace yourself if the situation calls for it. However, since __I__ trained you, that'll never happen. Ha, ha._

_For newcomers, use your veterans to put them through their paces. Start with the Chasers, then the Beaters, then the Keeper, and finally the Seeker. Chances are that your veterans are going to hold their spots, but be very careful not to favour them if a newcomer is better. It's a good idea to form a reserve team like Ginny did. Accidents do happen and you wouldn't want to come up short a player due to illness or incapacitation due to injury._

_Dennis, I'm going to remind you of something I told you last year when you tried to be everything to everyone. As captain, you'll be tempted to do that again. Your job is to control the match, yes, but don't let your own job on the team suffer. You'll learn how to balance that during practises by trial and error. As Seeker, you'll have the best vantage point on the pitch. Take note of the match and then schedule a post-game meeting during the week to discuss it with the team so you can find ways to improve together…and always include your reservists._

_You said you're concerned that the team won't accept you. Rubbish. You were a great help to Ginny last year and that's what earned you the Captain's badge. Don't be afraid to come down on errant players, but __never__ berate anyone in front of others. You'll never earn their respect that way._

_The most important piece of advice I can give you is to __have fun__. That's the key to a winning season, really. And don't worry about my ruddy schedule—we're here for you._

_Good luck,_

_H. J. Potter, OMFC_


	14. Chapter 14 I Believe I Can Fly

**Chapter 14 – I Believe I Can Fly **

_Dear Mr Gumboil,_

_Following our meeting of Monday last, I had some time to consider the points you made about the plight of wizards and witches of non-Pureblood status in Britain. To sit back and do nothing when it would be in my best interests to act is uncharacteristic of me, at best._

_With some careful planning, I have managed to delegate a few of my obligations in order to open up a few hours per week. If my talents can be put to use, then I hereby answer your call. Please feel free to contact me by Owl to let me know what I can do to help. I look forward to hearing from you._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione J. Granger, OMFC_

"What do you think," Hermione asked Ron and Harry. "Is it too stiff? I don't want to sound too casual with him yet, considering we all acted so formal in the meeting."

"Looks good to me," Ron replied, handing the letter back to her. "You haven't promised anything specific other than a few hours per week, and your talents."

"Yeah, leaving options open to him gives him enough rope to hang himself," Harry added. "The letter's fine."

"Then can we leave early tomorrow? I don't want to send Pig with this. He's a family owl and a bit too…flighty…to be trusted with this," Hermione said, biting her lip to stave off a smile.

"Sure, Love," Ron replied thoughtfully. "Good thinking. We'll hit the Post Office in the Alley and mail it from there."

"I just had a thought," Harry said, once again running his hands through his hair. "If he's having you followed, Hermione, and I think he is, we might be able to identify the tail."

"Why would Gumboil have Hermione followed," Ron asked, a bit perplexed. "I mean, he wants her for ELF, but—"

"Ron, call it a hunch," Harry interrupted. "But he since wants her to validate his little social club and she declined his offer with a rather lame excuse—sorry Hermione—he's going to want to know where she goes, what she does, and how often."

"Sounds like something a private investigator would do…" Ron's voice trailed off. "Bloody hell! And he'd do it because he can!"

"Right in one, mate," Harry replied.

"Bloody hell," Hermione breathed and leaned over to rest her head on Ron's shoulder. Hermione's job as a DMLE mole just became complicated.

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Fiona hurried down to the Great Hall for breakfast. She had decided to sleep in an extra half-hour because as much as she loved her job, apprenticing in a school of more than three-hundred students took a lot out of her. The down side to her lie-in was that she would arrive after the Breakfast Society had already begun at the staff table. _Thank Merlin I don't have to wear that damnable Matron's get-up with that glorified coffee filter on my head._ The scrubs she'd finally convinced Poppy and Minerva to let her wear instead allowed her greater movement, but the best part was that the light cotton breathed.

On her way to the front of the Great Hall, she passed by the Gryffindor table. For some reason, she felt compelled to stop by and say hello to the Munchkins. "Good mornin', Prewetts! Joseph. Patricia," she sang with a smile and a twinkle in her sky-blue eyes. "Y'all seem happy today."

"Yes, Miss Fiona," Joseph answered. "Captain Creevey announced last night that there'll be try-outs for the Gryffindor team this weekend. Em, Rica, an' me are gonna try to win a place on the team."

"And what about you, Miss Patricia," Fiona asked.

"I love flying, but I don't have the ambition or the desire to play Quidditch other than just for fun," she said.

"Aw, c'mon, Pats! It would take too much time from your studying," Erica snickered.

Patricia eyed her friend with a mild scowl. "Well, I did get three extra classes fitted into my schedule, so yes, I think Quidditch practice and matches would be a bit too much."

Fiona shook her head, casting her long red braid over her shoulder. "We can't all be athletes, can we," she said wisely, hoping to diffuse a possible disagreement. "So that said, I wish you three good luck with your try-outs, and Patricia, with your studies. And by the way, kidlets, I'll be watching the try-outs."

"Ya will," Joseph asked, his eyes wide before his face fell in confusion. "Why?"

Madame Pomfrey's orders, Joe," Fiona replied matter-of-factly. "Just in case. I hear Quidditch can be…what was the word my cousin, George, used? Brutal?"

"That it can, Miss," Joseph agreed. "Them Bludgers can do a load o' damage, they can."

"Those Bludgers, Joseph," Patricia corrected.

"Oh leave him be, Pats," Emma said. "I think his Cockney grammar is cute." She leaned over and gave her boyfriend a peck on the cheek, causing the boy to blush scarlet.

"Y'all oughta hear me when I get goin'," Fiona laughed. "I'm a south'ener from mongrel America! We got the worst grammar on the planet! See y'all on the pitch!"

Fiona continued on to the staff table smiling to herself and shaking her head. She looked up just as she was to turn toward the short end when her eyes met Professor Watson's. Suddenly, she felt conscious of her appearance. Today was the first day she arrived at breakfast in Muggle surgical scrubs instead of that god-awful horror she'd been wearing for the past few weeks. With a polite nod, she quickly found an empty seat next to Hagrid.

"Mornin' Healer Prewett," Hagrid growled affectionately, his beetle eyes shining.

"Good morning Mr Rubeus," Fiona replied, placing her napkin on her lap. "How're our critters this mornin'?"

Hagrid blushed behind his beard at being called _Mr Rubeus_. "Healer Prewett, jes' call me Hagrid. Ev'eyone else does."

"I'll remember that, Hagrid, and please just call me _Fiona,_" she countered. "Could you pass me the salt, please?"

"'Ere ye go," the half-giant said, carefully picking the shaker up between his sausage-sized fingers."

"Thank you, good sir," she giggled. "You're a gentleman and a scholar.

If not for his overall hairy appearance, one would have been able to detect and shy grin on the big man's face. _A breath o' fresh air, that one is_.

Fiona liked Hagrid. He had the same straightforwardness many of the people in the Holler, he was interested in the welfare of magical creatures and all wildlife—well, a little too wild at times if Cousins Harry and Ron were to be believed. That reminded her of a message she had been asked to pass on.

"I spoke with the Burrow through the Floo last night. I was told to pass on an invitation from Cousin Charlie," Fiona told Hagrid.

"Oh," Hagrid asked, knowing that Charlie was _in the business,_ it might be something good.

"It seems that two Dragons of different breeds have become rather fond of each other. Apparently it's somethin' that ain't happened in somethin' like two centuries and because you helped with some contest a few years ago, Cousin Charlie pulled some strings and managed to have ya invited to the...event...as an assistant to oversee the…um…activities."

"Tha' woulda been the Triwizard Tournament, Fiona," Hagrid explained, his countenance darkening for a moment. He seemed lost in thought for a moment and then suddenly brightened again. "Me," Hagrid asked with a voice trembling with emotion. "Assist Charlie wi' supervisin' two Dragons matin'?" Hagrid had tears in his eyes from gratitude and happiness.

"You could Floo him or send an owl," Fiona added. "I'm sure Deeds wouldn't mind carryin' a note for ya."

Hagrid rose up and pushed the table three feet forward in the process. He lifted up Fiona and gave her a big hug before setting her down again. "Thank yer. Thank yer, Fiona."

"Hey, I'm just the messenger, but you're welcome. The Weasleys did point out you'd probably appreciate the opportunity."

"Fiona. This's one o' the biggest things in modern times fer anyone dealin' wi' magical creatures." Hagrid said, deeply touched "Thanks fer offerin' Deeds, but I'll Floo 'im right off instead."

Hagrid lumbered off while Fiona cast an examination charm on herself, looking for any cracked or broken ribs from the huge professor's enthusiastic hug. Satisfied she'd come through the encounter unscathed, she finished her breakfast. Sensing that someone was watching her, she raised her face…and looked straight into Professor Watson's eyes.

"Are you all right, Healer Prewett," he asked in a friendly, yet concerned tone.

"Y-yes, thanks, Professor Watson," Fiona replied and felt suddenly nervous. "I'm fine. Just a little more compact is all."

"Can I escort you back to the hospital wing after breakfast," he asked with a genial smile.

"I don't know, Professor. Can you," she asked with a smirk and a lilt.

A wide grin broke across his kind face. He chuckled a bit as he caught on to her pun, and without missing a beat, he spoke again. "Let me rephrase my question, as I am quite capable of escorting you anywhere you wish to go. _May_ I escort you back to the hospital wing after breakfast?"

Why thank you, Professor Watson. You certainly _may,_" she giggled. "And you may do so right about now, since I'm finished."

"Your servant, ma'am," he said with a mock southern-American drawl. He offered her his arm and as she took it, she felt her heart beat a little faster. Some of the students watched curiously as they left the Great Hall together. A few of the older girls giggled behind their hands and turned to whisper amongst themselves about the apparently-budding romance between their handsome new defence professor and the young healer.

Professor Watson and Fiona climbed the stairs to the next level in relative silence, broken when Professor Watson turned her head toward her. "Miss Prewett, have you enjoyed your first week at Hogwarts?"

"Very much, Mr Watson," she replied "Hogwarts is a wonderful place. I wish I'd gotten to come here to school. I'd've been with my cousins, Fred 'n' George, 'n' Ron, 'n' Ginny—'n' Harry, of course."

"Yes. I stared in '75. I was a seventh-year when your cousin, Bill, started. It seems an army of Weasleys followed after that. I haven't seen this place since I graduated in '83. You'll no doubt get to know the staff and students if campus life is anything like it was back then. I take it you know the Gryffindors you spoke to earlier."

"I'm getting' along fine, thank you. I know the Breakfast Society so far, and I've met a student or two—a few minor injuries and feminine complaints, mostly. Mr Longbottom promised to show me the greenhouses. But yes, I do know the Gryffindors you saw me talkin' to his mornin'. The twins are distant-relatives o' mine and the other two are their best friends. They're all fired-up about Quidditch try-outs for the Gryffindor team this weekend."

She thought she'd better stop there as her answer teetered on babble. _My, how you do run on, Fiona Francine!_ There was no denying it though; Fiona found this ruggedly handsome and charismatic professor very attractive.

"Do they play Quidditch in America," Professor Watson asked.

"Oh yes, but not in the Holler. That's Rook Holler, where I'm from." Fiona said "I've never seen a match, though."

"You'll get to see them here. You and Madame Pomfrey will most likely be at every match, prepared to tend to any injuries."

"Madame Pomfrey asked me to go to this weekend's try-outs," Fiona said quickly, unable to avoid Professor Watson's eyes. "Just in case."

"It's probably a good idea. You know, there are many strange injuries in the history of Quidditch. One of the strangest I've witnessed was when a Chaser for the Wimbourne Wasps had an owl deliver a Howler to him mid-flight... you know, they explode unless you open them... anyway, the player raced for the ground to avoid the explosion, but was too late. About ten feet above ground the Howler exploded and burned every strand of hair from the Chaser's head. He fell off his broom and crashed to the ground, breaking both of his legs. At the same time, a Bludger fell onto his private parts."

"Oh that poor man," Fiona gasped, trying to hold back her laughter. "Did…did he make it?"

"Well, his legs were mended in a heartbeat, but the charms used for the Howler made hair re-growth problematic, and I think it was a few days before he was fit to mount a broom again without discomfort. Well, the referee checked the rulebook and apparently there was no rule banning Howlers from being delivered mid-match—at least not at that time, but there is now, so the Wasps had to continue the game one Chaser short. I guess the one sending that Howler had a few come his or her way in return."

Fiona finally let go and allowed herself to laugh. She felt a twinge of guilt for finding humour in another human being's pain, but the circumstances, at least as related by the smiling wizard at her side, were hilarious. And what's more, she had no way of knowing whether the man had made the story up or had even really been at the match.

When she finally collected herself, all she could say—again—was, "Poor fella At least he was all right in the end. But whatever the case, I'll see _my_ first match when Cousin Ginny plays _her_ first match in a few weeks."

"Ah, I assume the Weasleys are Harpies fans then," he asked.

"Not Cousin Ron. He's a Chudley Cannons fan," Fiona revealed. "His brothers—and Harry—tease him mercilessly over it."

"Poor bloke. They never win. They've got the worst record in the history of the game. They're so bad, the league banished them to the minors," Rupert said with a snort.

They reached the entrance to the hospital wing and Fiona turned to the professor. "Thank you for your company, Mr Watson. I enjoyed it."

"The pleasure was all mine, Miss Prewett," he said capturing her eyes with his own. "If I may be so bold... I'd like to escort you to the try-outs this weekend."

Fiona looked at him for a moment. "I think I'd like that," she said.

He took her hand, made a gentleman's bow, and kissed the back of her hand. "It'll be my pleasure," he said smoothly and headed off before he was late for his first class.

_Rupert Watson, you are funny and quite the gentleman—living proof that chivalry is not dead._ Fiona watched as he disappeared around a corner and was gone from her sight. With a sigh and a flutter, she pushed her way through the double-swinging doors of the hospital wing.

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Saturday morning dawned crisp and sunny—not too cold, but not too warm either. It was, in fact, perfect weather for a Quidditch try-out. And that was the trouble for a sixth-year Gryffindor about to embark a new adventure as Captain of his House team. Dennis Creevey could hardly eat any breakfast. He felt a heavy weight on his young shoulders as he was to succeed none other than Ginny Potter, who led Gryffindor to the greatest victory in the history of the House Cup, herself a professional contract with the powerhouse Holyhead Harpies.

Adding to the pressure, Ginny had succeeded Harry Potter, the youngest Hogwarts House team Seeker in a century, and a very successful one at that, captaining his team to victory as well. Adding to Dennis' anxiety was the fact that the two of them also were two the nation's five most-celebrated war heroes. Sure, Harry's advise and encouraging letter helped a little, but he still couldn't shake the dread of facing the hopefuls and building a competent team.

Dennis stared down at his plate of untouched scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, beans, tomatoes and mushrooms—the full English builder's fry-up—unable to touch a bite. Who was he? Dennis Creevey, former member of Dumbledore's Army. His older brother, Colin, fell at the Battle of Hogwarts and was hailed a hero, thereby permanently branding the name of Creevey into the annals of magical history. _I'm no hero—Colin was the hero. I haven't a clue how to lead. Harry's a leader; Ginny's a leader, but I'm just little Dennis Creevey._ _How can I lead this team?_

In hopes of steeling his failing nerves, he had spoken with the members from Ginny's legendary team who still had another year to go at Hogwarts—Keeper Jessica Spinnet, veteran Beater Jimmy Peakes, and the only remaining Chaser, Demelza Robbins. They had all congratulated him on becoming captain and pledged their support. He knew they all would like to keep their place on the team and according to Harry, they probably would. They were all in sixth and seventh year, Peakes being the seventh-year. Dennis hoped some talented younger students would earn a place on his team and do well this season.

"Oh Captain, my captain..." Jessica chirped, taking a seat next to him, reciting a poem they had read in Muggle studies. "You'd better get some breakfast in you, Dennis. It's going to be a long day."

Dennis faked a smile and took a bite of the now-cold fry-up covered in slightly-congealed sausage grease. He dropped his fork and forced the food in his mouth down and groaned. He sat there with his hands over his face.

"What's wrong, Dennis," Jessica asked, now concerned. "You look like you're in pain or something."

"I'm going to die out there, Jess," he cried, dropping his head to the table and lightly banging it on the hard wood.

"Nonsense," Jessica snorted. "Aren't you listening to the table?"

"Huh?" As soon as she said that, he turned his attention to the chatter along the Gryffindor breakfast table and noticed there was a lot of talk about Quidditch. A stray sentence from a student that appeared to be a hopeful lifted his spirits.

"... you know, Dennis was trained by Ginny Potter—well Weasley, then—but coached _personally_ by _Harry_ Potter. Dennis is an excellent Seeker and I think he'll be a great captain..."

Of course the expectations were a weight to bear, but the confidence his team mates and his fellow Gryffs had in him lifted some of the weight of the burden of those expectations. "That's nice, Jess, but I…"

"Dennis, if you're thinking you have to live up to the Potters' accomplishments, forget it. Nobody expects that of you. You're not Harry and you're certainly not Ginny. You'll do fine and before you know it, you'll have developed a style all your own."

Without thinking about it, Dennis squeezed Jessica's hand. "Thanks, Jess. Just remind me of that on the pitch, okay?"

A little shock ran up the girl's arm and lodged in her chest. She dipped her head to hide her blush behind a curtain of dark wavy hair. "Erm…anytime…Dennis. I-I'm glad to help." _Wow. What was that?_ With a deep breath, she tucked her hair behind her ear and pasted a friendly smile on her face. "Now…how about that breakfast?" With a wave of her wand and a quiet Scourgify, she cleaned Dennis' plate and heaped it with a fresh serving of fry-up. "Eat it, Creevey."

After breakfast, Dennis headed back to Gryffindor Tower to pick up his broom and change into his practice robes. When his Captain's badge arrived with his sixth-year Hogwarts letter, his parents presented him with a Nimbus 2001 racing broom in celebration. Of course he'd dreamed of someday owning a Firebolt like Harry's, but they were terribly expensive, and the Nimbus 2001 was a still very competitive broom.

He couldn't help gazing in the mirror at the red and gold badge on his chest. "My, you've grown into a fine, strapping young man," the mirror said with a grandmotherly voice.

"Uh…thanks," Dennis replied, still not used to the idea of talking mirrors. "I'd better get going."

Dennis jogged across the open grounds and arrived on the pitch ten minutes before the try-outs were to begin. There was quite a crowd waiting, so he started by sending away all non-Gryffindors, which was more or less a tradition, if not a mild annoyance. He surveyed the group of hopeful Gryffindors who were there to win a place on the team. The stands were dotted with fellow Gryffindors content to observe the proceedings and call out suggestions, as was also a tradition on any given Try-Out Day.

Professor Hagrid towered over everyone in the stands, and a few not in the stands, watching protectively, eager to find out who would join his House team this year. Fiona, dressed in traditional Medi-witch regalia for the occasion, sat on a bench with her first-aid kit, directly on the pitch in front of the Gryffindor stands in the company of Professor Watson. She cursed this silly outfit as impractical for a sporting event, and certainly not for this date of sorts. But as Quidditch Try-Out Days were official school functions full of tradition, she piled on the layers and did her sworn duty as a Healer's Apprentice. She hadn't noticed, but the Defence professor had all he could do to keep his eyes off her.

"All right, you lot, listen up," Dennis called a little shakily. "Welcome to Gryffindor Quidditch try-outs. I'm Dennis Creevey, your captain and team Seeker. Today, we're trying out for a Keeper, a Beater and two Chasers, plus a full reserve team. Please gather in groups by the position you seek. Seekers stay with me, Chasers to the centre by Miss Robbins, Beaters at my left by Mr Peakes, and Keepers to my right by Jessica Spinnet. Go!" The group scattered to their respective places on the pitch, leaving only three potential Seekers, all of them third-year girls.

Dennis had taken Harry's advise to divide group up by position, and as soon as he did, he immediately understood the wisdom in it. Smaller groups are just easier to work with. He also employed his veterans who would be trying out as they put the potential rookies through their paces. "All right, you lot, Chasers first. To warm up, we'll begin with flying. Show me speed, manoeuvrability, braking and acceleration. Those of you who prove yourselves sufficiently able to handle a broom will continue on with Quaffle-handling drills. The rest of you stay in your groups, but wait in the stands over there by Healer Prewett."

Dennis was right about that. Some of the Chaser applicants were barely able to get the broom off the ground, let along fly it, and two were unable to mount it at all. With an apology and hopes for better luck next year, Dennis excused them to either the castle or to the stands to watch if they wanted to. He felt bad for some of them, especially the girls whose dreams of becoming the new Ginny Weasley were crushed. _Why in the name of Merlin's deep-purple Pygmy Puff would anyone want to show up knowing he or she couldn't fly, let alone execute the complex and co-ordinated manoeuvres necessary for Quidditch?_

Shaking his head to dispel random thoughts, Dennis returned his attention to the sky over the pitch and studied the candidates. The first two he recognized were the second-year Prewett twins, friends of Ron and Hermione and the Potters. The two girls were definitely fast and competent flyers for their age, clearly inspired by Ginny's playing style. _I can't wait to see how they do with a Quaffle._

There were a couple of others, third- and fourth-years that Dennis didn't know all that well, who seemed to fly really pretty well, too. After about fifteen minutes, he blew his whistle, a gift from Hagrid, signalling Demelza and the potential Chasers to land.

As soon as everyone dismounted, Dennis looked at the group of hopeful students again. "All right, then. Demelza, team up with the Prewett twins and you three... Mark, Carol and Matt, isn't it..." he asked them and got a nod from them in return, "you team up against them."

He instructed them to play a game of keep-away with the Quaffle. "Off you go," he called, throwing the red ball into the air and blowing a short blast on his whistle. Dennis had thought the younger twins with the seasoned Demelza against third- and fourth-years would be an even match, but it soon stood beyond the shadow of a doubt that the twins and Demelza were superior in every way. With some training, they'd be glorious. The Prewetts worked with natural coordination, and the speed they showed without the Quaffle was rather surprisingly increased with the ball in the game.

After a while, Dennis blew a long blast on his whistle and signalled them all to land. "All right, great flying and passing, people. I've considered each one of you as individuals rather than as trios, and after watching you in action, I've chosen Demelza Robbins, Emma Prewett, and Erica Prewett as Chasers for the 1999-2000 season."

The other three bent their heads in disappointment before Dennis could finish. "But Mark, Carol, and Matt show great skill and promise. You three will serve as our Reserves. You'll practice regularly with the starters, and you will attend any and _all_ team meetings. For now, though, you're dismissed unless you want to hang around and watch." Their faces split into grins at the prospect that they still might be able to score a goal for Gryffindor sometime this season after all.

"Thanks for that, Captain Creevey," the fourth-year Reservist called Matt said, shaking his hand. "Last year, I washed out entirely. Thanks, mate!" He then shook hands with the starters and made for the stands to watch the rest of the try-out while Mark and Carol headed back to the castle to study.

_Well, that went well_. "Chasers, I'd like you to stay so I can address the whole team after Reserve Seeker, Beater and Keeper try-outs," Dennis called. "For now, hit the stands. Demelza, stay."

Demelza nodded, relieved at having kept her place on the team. She had to admit that the five who passed initial muster flew very well and handled the Quaffle well, too. Even if she'd been bested, she respected Dennis' decision to require that she defend her place on the starting team. It was only fair.

"Okay, Beaters, mount up! Just like the Chasers, I want each of you to show me what you can do on a broom." He turned to Demelza and leaned in. "How'm I doing so far?"

"Jess told me about this morning, Dennis, and she was right. You're brilliant," she replied. "This lot's going to be a bit more difficult, though. There are more of them. Watch."

Dennis sent out the Beaters and, as with the Chaser group, he had to send a number of them off for their lack of flying ability. Demelza was right about the Beater group. Those who were sent off in the first round were not happy. Among ones left were Jimmy Peakes and young Joseph Pointer. Dennis recognised Pointer as another one of the Golden Quartet's friends. _Isn't Pointer going out with one of the Prewett twins? Bugger, this could be messy if Pointer makes it and…_ Dennis blew air through puckered cheeks and shook himself from random thought once again. "All right, that's some brilliant flying, you lot. Now, each of you take a bat and mount up again!"

Each of them scrambled to the crate holding the bats, some pushing their way in hoping to find the best weapon. Joseph took Peakes' lead and held back while the others fought for dominance. This did not go unnoticed by the captain. It proved that the two JPs were not hotheads.

"All right. I'm releasing the Bludgers," Dennis called, opening the crate and blowing his whistle for the action to begin. "Anyone managing to stay out of the hospital wing is definitely stands a better chance of joining the team," Dennis joked.

The Bludgers were off and the Beaters did their best to strike them away from themselves and toward their rivals. Fiona paid close attention at Rupert's insistence because a Bludger could knock a player off his broom and send him or her plummeting to the ground.

"Rupert, those Bludger things are a menace! How can they allow children to…"

"It's all part of the game, Fiona. No worries. If any of them fall, I'll slow their descent, all right," he promised, covering her trembling hand with his.

Fiona didn't retract her hand or appear to notice. But she did notice, and she liked it. "Yeah, but what about the broken bones when that thing slams into their poor bodies," she fussed.

"That's what you're here for, remember," he reminded her with a snicker. "I have the utmost faith that you'll be able to patch them up good as new."

Fiona's face reddened. His kind words of encouragement shot straight to her heart like one of Cousin George's Filibuster Fireworks, and what's more, his hand still covered hers. _Keep yer head about ya, Fiona-girl. He likes ya—don't screw it up._

After a while and to Fiona's relief, without incident, Dennis flicked his wand and a number of dummies appeared from another crate on the sidelines. He levitated them, floating them around over the pitch. "All right, Beaters, I want you to show me you can do more than just hit the Bludgers. You'll need to hit them with purpose, too. This time your purpose is to knock out the dummies. Go!"

Before long, the first dummy vanished in a puff of purple smoke as it took a vicious hit from one of the enchanted iron balls lobbed by veteran Jimmy Peakes. His skill born of experience was impressive. Peakes knocked out another two before young Pointer scored a hit. After some twenty minutes, all the dummies were gone and Dennis calculated the final score.

"All right, then. Top scorer and First Beater for Gryffindor this year is... Jimmy Peakes! Congratulations, mate," Dennis smiled. Jimmy sighed in relief and joined the elected group of Chasers.

"Second from the top and our new Second Beater for Gryffindor is... Joseph Pointer! Congratulations, Pointer. Welcome to the team." Two fifth-years who scored third and fourth were admitted as Reserve Beaters and given the same instructions Dennis gave the Chasers. "Well done, lads!"  
At this, they all jumped at the sound of a joyful scream from the Chaser section of the stands.

"You made it Joe, you made it," Emma cried and flew into his arms, rewarding him with a moderate snog right there in front of half of Gryffindor House." Joseph and Emma had certainly exchanged chaste kisses in private, but never had they engaged in anything remotely resembling a snog and certainly not in front of anyone. As they blushed and broke apart, their Housemates regaled them with wolf-whistles and applause.

"I guess the Kneazle's out o' the bag then, eh Em," he smirked.

"Um…yeah, I guess it is," she giggled. "And there are more Kneazles where that came from if you're interested."

"I've always liked Kneazles," Joseph replied.

_Yes, Pointer was definitely dating one of the twins_. Dennis sighed and sent the Beaters to the stands, where Joseph and Emma sat close together, holding hands and chatting with Erica and Patricia.

Deciding instead to try the Seekers first, he saved the Keeper try-out for last, since he'd come up with something special for them. He called Jessica, Jimmy, and Demelza over for a consultation. "Jess, I've decided to try out the Seekers first, so sit tight. As Captain, it's my prerogative to keep my place on the starting team, but if you lot think one of _them_ is better than me, say so. All right?" He jerked his thumb toward the three Seeker hopefuls.

"Yeah, sure, mate, but that's not jolly likely, is it," Peakes argued. "I mean, Harry Potter trained you."

"Yeah, that and I doubt very highly any of them can pull off the Wronski Feint at over one hundred miles per hour," Demelza added.

"Creevey, don't be a prat," Jessica said, slapping him lightly on the back of the head. "They're third-year girls who have only the tiniest fraction of your skill and experience. For the Reserve Seeker, your best choice is the one who flies fast _and_ pays attention."

"Seekers! Front and centre," Dennis called. "Let's go! We have lunch in less two hours and we've got Keepers to try out yet!" Dennis thought how glad he was that he let Jessica's good-natured bullying convince him to eat a good breakfast. Had he not eaten, he'd be ready to pass out about now. This captaining thing was hard work.

The three hopefuls clamoured to the pitch from the stands, their brooms over their shoulders. "All right, ladies, here's the plan. First, we need to find out if you can fly."

The girls snickered, having seen the poor showing among the Chaser and Beater groups.

"You need to fly fast and be able to manoeuvre. Can any of you do a Wronski Feint?"

The snickering stopped immediately and the three of them shook their heads, blushing furiously.

"No need to be embarrassed; very few can," Dennis said, gratified that the question had the desired effect. "How about a Sloth Roll?"

This time, two of the girls nodded; the third shook her head.

"All right, how about tight turns? Can any of you make a tight hairpin turn," Dennis asked.

Again, none of the three could say they could.

"If you make the team, you'll learn because I'll teach you," Dennis promised. "Now, fly!"

The girls kicked off and rocketed skyward, screaming around the pitch at a pretty good clip. None of them flew like either of the Potters, of course, or even like Dennis himself, but they could give Demelza and the Prewett twins a run for their Galleons.

Dennis placed the tip of his wand to his throat and joined the potential Reserve Seekers in the air. _Sonorus_. "Sloth roll," his voice boomed after them. The two who claimed they could do it, executed a sloppy but successful roll and continued on.

The third girl, not wanting to be shown up, tried and failed miserably, her hands losing their grip. She fell screaming toward the pitch. Fiona's heart stopped as she stood and grabbed her first aid kit and sprinted toward the spot she expected the poor girl to land.

"Holy shit," Dennis cried, executing a perfect Feint to get to the ground as fast as he could and skid to a stop several metres away.

"_Arresto momento_," Rupert shouted, his wand trained on the falling teen. Instantly, her fall slowed considerably. The professor then cast a quick cushioning charm to further protect her as she landed with a soft thud in the grass.

"Is she all right, Healer Prewett," Dennis asked, terrified. "Merlin, she said she didn't know how to Sloth roll. I didn't think she'd try it!"

"It's all right, Mr Creevey," Professor Watson assured him. "She's had a nasty fall, but I caught her before she could hit the ground too hard."

The girl lay on the ground, her eyes wide in terror, and her body shaking violently. Fiona knelt next to her, checking her vitals and running her wand back and forth, searching for broken bones and other internal damage. "It's just a concussion, honey," Fiona cooed. "And you'll hurt all over for a day or two, but thanks to Professor Watson, you'll be just fine."

"I… Thanks, Healer Prewett. I-I don't think I want to play Quidditch anymore," she croaked, tears now beginning to stream down the sides of her face and down her neck.

"I don't blame ya one bit, darlin'," Fiona agreed. "Let's getcha on a stretcher and up to the hospital wing to Madame Pomfrey so she can give ya the once-over just to be sure, okay?"

"O-okay," she said, wiping her nose with a handkerchief Dennis had conjured for her.

"Professor, would you mind takin' Miss Easton to the castle. I need to stay here until try-outs are done."

"My pleasure," he agreed and conjured a stretcher with a soft pillow. "Miss Easton, I'm going to immobilize you and then levitate you onto the stretcher. You won't feel a thing, all right?"

"Y-yes, Professor," she replied, still sniffling. "I-I'm ready, sir."

"_Immobilus_," he muttered and Sandra Easton's body stiffened. "_Levicorpus_," he said and moved her onto the stretcher. "_Locomotor __stretcher__,_" he incanted again and they began to move off the pitch toward the castle.

"Don't you worry, Mr Creevey. She's just fine," Fiona assured the shaken team captain. "And don't you go blamin' yerself, young man. She chose to try that move, knowing she didn't know how to do it right."

"Yes, ma'am," Dennis acquiesced. "Please keep us posted?"

"I will do it," Fiona assured him. "Now you finish puttin' this here team together, hear?"

"Yes ma'am," Dennis smiled and then turned toward the other two girls. "All right, ladies! I'm going to release the Snitch. The first one of you to catch it wins the Reserve Seeker spot. Got it?"

The two remaining hopefuls nodded and took to the sky. A moment later, Dennis released the Snitch and joined them. "Three…two…ONE!" Dennis tossed the tiny golden ball with silver wings into the air and watched as it darted away to who-knew-where within the confines of the pitch. The girls rocketed around the pitch, searching high and low for the elusive prize while Dennis and his returning veterans watched from above.

"Either one of them is good," Demelza commented. "They fly like the wind and pay attention."

"I see that," Dennis said. "That's why I had to turn this into a race after Sandra fell."

"You knew she wasn't going to make it before she tried the Sloth, didn't you," Jessica asked him.

Dennis ducked his head. "Yeah, I did. But I still had to let her try out, you know?"

"Of course you did, mate. You couldn't count her out just out of hand," Jimmy agreed. "It's…it's something…Potter would have done."

Dennis couldn't believe his ears. _Did Jimmy just say I did something worthy of Harry?_ "W-what do you mean?"

"Honestly, Dennis, are you that thick," Jessica huffed. "You're about fair play and giving everyone an equal chance even though you know as well as they do they aren't up to the job! Harry ran the team just like that."

"Wow," Dennis said humbly. "Thanks for that, JP. I was so worried I'd be rubbish today."

"No, mate, you're brilliant. McGonagall and Hagrid made the right choice," Peakes assured him.  
The four of them continued to watch as the two girls tore around the pitch looking for the elusive Snitch. Suddenly, a glint of gold flashed in the corner of Dennis' eye on the north side of the pitch. "There it is," he whispered to his friends, pointing toward the north rings. "Down there by the bottom of the right ring."

"It does look like…oh," Demelza said. "Kaylie saw it! Oh, and so has Vanessa!"

"Looks like the race is on," Dennis grinned.

Kaylie saw the Snitch first and made a quick U-turn and screamed north toward the far-end of the pitch, he eyes never leaving the winged ball that hovered around the right and centre rings. Vanessa, who couldn't turn as quickly, looped around and tore after her, body flat against the handle of the broom. She hoped Kaylie would look back to check her progress, but she never did.  
Vanessa urged her broom forward. "Come on, come on! Almost there. Almost… DAMN!" Just as she was about to draw even with Kaylie, the Snitch darted toward the ground, causing both girls to adjust their speed and direction. But in the end, Kaylie was quicker and caught the Snitch as it tried to shoot straight up. Kaylie snatched it mid-flight and screamed in elation, pumping her arm in the air, clutching the struggling ball for all she was worth.

"I did it! I caught the Snitch! Whoo hoo," Kaylie hollered, landing solidly in front of the Gryffindor stands.

"Congratulations, Kaylie! You're the Gryffindor Reserve Seeker this year," Dennis said, shaking her hand. "Vanessa, you were brilliant! That was one helluva chase you gave her!"

"Thanks, Dennis," Vanessa said, somewhat mollified. "I guess I'll try again next year, yeah?"

"Absolutely. I'd love to have you at try-outs next year," Dennis said. "You're pretty good. Just keep working on your manoeuvres."

"I will. Thanks. Well done, Kay. Congratulations," she said to her friend.

"Thanks, 'Nessa. See you at lunch?" Kaylie hugged Vanessa and watched as she walked away toward the castle.

"Okay," Dennis said, clapping his hands together. "You're up, Jess!"

There were only two Gryffindors after the Keeper position, Jessica Spinnet, and a fifth-year boy who had tried out the year before for a place on Ginny's team. For the sake of consistency, Dennis put them through their paces, calling up the Chasers to the attack. "All right, you two. I saved the Keeper try-out for last because we have a bit of a surprise for you. You will have your skills tested to the limits of your ability. It will be a one-on-one, five shot shootout. The one making the most saves wins the starting Keeper position. If there's a draw, we continue with shots one by one until we have a Keeper. Any questions?"

Jessica and her opponent looked at each other, shrugged, and then back at Dennis, shaking their heads.

"Well then, allow me introduce your opponent." Dennis made a gesture towards the team locker room. A dark green bolt of lightning flashed with a streak of red. After a fly-by over the stands she came to stop. Her robes read _POTTER 6_.

"You all remember Ginny, don't you? I asked and she kindly agreed to test you," Dennis declared.

"So all that rot this morning about being nervous was a load of…"

"No, Jess. I really was nervous, but I had to play it up to keep from blowing the surprise," Dennis admitted. "I wrote Harry and he and Ron gave me a few pointers. Believe me, I was still scared to death, but once we got started, that all just went away."

"She knows my style inside and out. I'm doomed." Jessica groaned. "I'll get you for this Dennis Creevey!"

"Hey, at least you've got a load of training with her under your belt," the other moaned.

They looked both devastated and excited to be afforded the opportunity to face down Ginny Potter. With her first two shots, Ginny scored on both of them easily. But on the third round, Ginny scored on Jessica but missed the other shot because she was forced out of angle. Ginny scored another two goals in the fourth round.

Jessica nervously flew to the rings for the fifth round, knowing she had to make the save if she wanted to keep her starting position. She followed Ginny's every move as she prepared her assault in a furious attack. Her ability to squeeze out the last ounce of speed from her Firebolt was amazing. Jessica knew the shot would come from a short distance. There would be no time to let Ginny shoot and cover that ring. Jessica guarded the middle ring so the shot would come at the left or the right one.

In the moments before Ginny took aim, Jessica instinctively thought of the similarity between this attack and the last goal she scored in the House Cup last year. That shot had gone through the left ring. Jessica took a chance and stretched out in a diversion to the right and then slid left. The Quaffle hit her in her chest and almost knocked her off the broom, but she made her save. Ginny scored the next shot easily.

"It's a draw," Dennis declared. "Spinnet, Tanner, stay on your hoops!"

Jessica positioned herself again, rubbing her chest thinking about the bruise forming. She'd be petitioning Healer Prewett for a bruise remover for sure when this was over. With a blast from Dennis' whistle, Jessica forgot about the pain the focused once more on Ginny, barely visible at the speed she flew. This time she made a Sloth Barrel roll, which was a nightmare for any Keeper. The shot could come early, leaving her no chance to react left or right, or make it very difficult a very hard shot at the completion of the roll. Against a player of Ginny's calibre, Jessica begged whichever gods were listening for a little bit of luck.

A less skilled player wouldn't be able to make hard shot at the nearest ring, but would be forced to aim for the farthest one. Jessica again chose to take a chance. Ginny would shoot at the nearest ring, and moved accordingly. But as she did so, she noticed that Ginny hesitated, as she indeed had intended to score in that ring. Since Jessica moved to cover it, Ginny tried to shoot at the farthest ring, which Jessica had left wide open.

Fortunately for the veteran Keeper, it was no mean feat to switch aim that quickly, so Ginny's shot missed, ricocheting off the outside of the hoop. No one in the crowd realised that it was Jessica's skill as Keeper that caused Ginny to miss, thinking it was simply bad luck for Ginny. Jessica eyed her competition at the other end of the pitch; he was clearly rattled by what he had just seen, so Ginny scored on him without batting an eye, winning Jessica her starting spot at Gryffindor Keeper.

Ginny landed mid-field so Dennis could call his team together without any distraction from her. "Jessica, Demelza, Erica, Emma, Jimmy and Joseph, you are Gryffindor's finest and I'm proud of you. We start practice next week, hard and fast. We're going to drill together with the Reserves until we're sharp as Gryffindor's Sword. We'll work hard to come together as a team and win the 2000 House Quidditch Cup for Professor Hagrid. Ginny, thanks again for helping us out."

"It was a pleasure, Dennis. When Harry told me you'd been appointed Captain, I knew you'd do a good job. Emma, Erica and Joseph...I'm so proud of you," Ginny shouted and hugged the twins and placed a kiss on Joseph's cheek. "Kick arse and take names, Joseph."

Joseph blushed heavily. "I'll do my best, Miss Ginny."

Ginny left the celebrating Gryffindors and approached Fiona and Professor Watson, who had returned in time to watch Ginny shoot. Fiona, who had been packing up her kit jumped up to hug her cousin. "Cousin Ginny!"

"Cousin Fiona," Ginny replied with gales of giggles.

"Ginny, this is Professor Rupert D. Watson, Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"I'm honoured, Mrs Potter." the professor greeted her, shaking her hand. "I understand you earned an _O_ in the subject."

"Yes, I did," Ginny said with a slight blush. "Actually, I had a lot of help from Harry preparing me for my NEWT. I hope you'll have better luck with the post than your predecessors, Professor."

"Thank you Mrs Potter. I hope so too," he smiled.

"How's your training camp comin', Cuz," Fiona asked.

"Brilliant. Gwenog works us pretty hard I'm starting to feel quite exhausted, but there's only one week to go and after that, get some time off with only light practice before the premier," Ginny said.

"I wish you luck, but I must confess that I'm a Wasps fan," Professor Watson interjected.

"Thank you," Ginny replied. "Well, I'd better be off. We're practising a number of co-ordinated stunts today and I was given this time off because the Beaters are working their bit now. I'll see you next weekend at the Burrow, Fiona?"

"Of course. Aunt Molly invited me last week," Fiona said.

Giving Fiona a hug and shaking Professor Watson's hand, Ginny left them and jogged to the gates in order to Apparate back to Holyhead.

Fiona and Professor Watson headed back up to the castle. Lunch would be served very shortly and they were both quite hungry. But just before they passed into Entrance Hall, he leaned in and gave her a kiss on her cheek.

"Would there be any chance I might take you on a proper date, Fiona," he asked her.

"There might." Fiona said feeling her cheeks radiate, especially the one he'd kissed. "What did you have in mind, Rupert?"

"Well... Miss Prewett, would you accompany me on a date to Hogsmeade," he asked her cordially.

"I'd love to, Professor Watson," Fiona said accepting his invitation.

Feeling quite happy, Fiona returned to the hospital wing to drop off the medical kit and change into her scrubs before heading off for the owlery to check on Mr Deeds and then down to lunch…and Rupert.

Harry sat on pins and needles in the office he shared with Ron, bouncing his leg and running his hands through his hair, loosening it from the thong tying it back. Finally, he gave up on the thong and pulled it loose.

"Harry," Ron grunted clearly annoyed about his friend.

"What," Harry replied, trying to keep his leg from bouncing.

"It's still...thirty minutes before you leave," Ron informed him. "But you look as though you're about to fly out of that chair and crash straight through the wall!"

"You said that thirty minutes ago," Harry moaned.

Ron sighed. "I know you love her, I know you're bonded, I know you're married, I know you haven't seen her for six weeks other than that day in court and that couple days after you were sick, I know you can't wait to see her and... do whatever you do that I don't want to know about... but pull yourself together, mate. She's finally coming home and you'll be there waiting at Harpies Stadium to pick her up in...twenty-nine minutes," Ron patronized his friend in a very passable Hermione-esque lecture mode.

Harry gazed forlornly at his friend, partner, and brother. "Stun me and wake me up in twenty-eight minutes," Harry pleaded.

Ron broke into a big laugh. "I'm not going to do that, but since we won't get any work done, let's go to the cafeteria. It's closer to the Apparition point and maybe...just maybe you'll get another Ginny Potter Chocolate Frog Card," Ron suggested. "And by the way—did you remember to bring the bike along?"

Harry checked the extra pocket in his robes and then broke into laughter too. "Blimey, thank Merlin it's only us here! What if the rest of the office knew their Chief is such a pathetic sod? And yes, I have the bike."

"More like a lovesick puppy. C'mon, you. Let's get a cuppa and you'll be off to see Ginny in no time," Ron said dragging Harry off.

"By the way: I already have too many Ginny Potter cards. Nothing but the genuine article will do now," Harry snickered.

"And please spare me the details." Ron grabbed Harry by the robes and dragged him to the stairwell. "You _are_ bloody pathetic, mate."

Soon the two friends sat in the cafeteria with a cup of coffee each and a few Chocolate Frogs. "Bloody Hell! I got a Lockhart," Harry exclaimed.

"He's still got a card," Ron asked with a disgusted snort.

"Well, apart from us and a few select friends, no one knows the truth about him, right? To the general public and a load of bored housewitches, he's still a hero suffering the effects of an unfortunate accident," Harry reminded him.

Looking at the erstwhile award-winning smile of Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Harry decided he'd had more than enough of the useless fop as a student at Hogwarts. "I think I'll bin this one. I don't want this git in my collection. And the frog tastes faintly of _Skele-Gro_," Harry said. "Who did you get?"

"It's our lucky day today, isn't it," Ron huffed. "I got Victor-ruddy-Krum."

"You're not still jealous of that scowling berk, are you," Harry asked.

Ron thought about it. His first instinct was to admit that he was, but as he thought about it, it wasn't jealousy at all; it was more like…guilt. "No, not really. I guess it's rather the fact that he reminds me that I acted like a major prat in fourth year. Harry, how could I have been so blind to not ask 'Mione to the ball when I had the chance?"

"Ron, I could say the same. You want to talk about being a major prat? I pined after Cho and ended up going with Parvati, but did I even consider Ginny," Harry asked rhetorically. "I mean... I should have known she was the one for me right there in that accursed chamber, Ron, when I stabbed that damned diary. I should've asked her to that ball..."

"It turned out all right in the end, so cheer up. You're married to Ginny and I'm marrying 'Mione and Riddle and Krum can sod off."

Harry didn't respond immediately, as if he contemplated Ron's words. Krum could certainly sod off, but Riddle…he _was_ the sod.

"Yeah, you're right, mate. We've got the rest of our natural lives to make it up to them. Hey," Harry exclaimed as his watch beeped. "It's show time!" Harry flew out the cafeteria doors and ran all the way to the Apparition point. With a turn, he was gone.

"Mental," Ron huffed, snatching a Chocolate Frog Harry had forgotten about. He opened it, hoping to find a long-awaited Agrippa. "Damn. It's me."

Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies, surveyed her team. "We've had six weeks of hard training, ladies, and you've all done well. I'm very pleased to that our new addition has settled into our routine well above our expectations. You have the coming week off—"

Before she could finish, players and staff erupted into cheers and applause. Rather than try and stop them, she let them have their fun. It had been a tough training camp and if she was honest, she'd have to admit she was ready for a bit of fun herself. After a few minutes, they shushed one another and turned their attention back to their captain and star Beater.

"As I was saying: I suggest you use your off time to rest, restore your strength and, for Merlin's sake, have fun. Ginny, give our love to that devilishly handsome Auror of yours." Wolf-whistles and catcalls flew around the room.

"Devilishly handsome? Annoyingly adorable, maybe," Ginny said with a smirk, earning her a couple of friendly shoves from two of her team mates as the others oohed and ahhed at her.

"One last note and then we can go, so listen up. The next few times we meet will be for light practices before the match against Puddlemere United. We've all worked our ruddy arses off and we'll crush them under our boots. Now get out of here!"

As one, the Holyhead Harpies for 1999-2000 rose from the tables and hugged each other. Despite the fact that they all longed to be reunited with friends and family, it was still hard to leave each other. They'd lived together, ate together, and sweated together for the past six weeks and the team gelled as a surrogate family. While the group hug continued, Ginny knew Harry had arrived because she felt a wave of warm desire wash through the bond.

"_Harry, are you really here?"_

"_C'mon Gin, you know I am."_

Ginny restrained herself enough to turn towards the tunnel entrance so she could actually see Harry coming in with a group of her team mates' family members. "Harry!" Ginny broke loose from the team hug and pelted towards him, her flaming locks flying behind her.

Harry followed suit and they crashed together in a tight embrace, their lips seeking purchase only a fraction of a second later. Tears flowed as tongues danced. Neither Potter wished to let go of his or her spouse, even though they'd attracted quite an audience.

"_Gin... I've missed you. Being able to talk to you has made it bearable, but..."_

"_I know—it's not the same. I've missed your lips, your touch, your...you-ness."_

"_Oh Gin, I can't begin to describe what I've missed, including your…you-ness."_

"_I guess Mum's prepared a feast, hasn't she?"_

"_A veritable Smorgasbord."_

"_Harry, Mum can say what she wants, but I'm sitting in your lap tonight at the table, in the sitting room, in the garden—wherever you are, I'll be in your lap. I need to feel you close to me, touching me."_

"_Merlin. Now I know why Ron couldn't keep his hands off Hermione after she woke up from her coma last May."_

"_Hmm…and I want your hands all over me tonight! I love you and I love this bond. It's kind of fun to be able to kiss and talk at the same time."_

"_I love you Ginny, our bond makes us closer and I love anything that makes us closer."_

"_And tonight Mr Potter."_ Ginny grinned wickedly and sent a few images of what she wanted to do with him.

Harry gasped at the strength of Ginny's lust. "_You little minx."_ Harry reluctantly broke the kiss and gazed into her chocolate brown eyes _"Mrs Potter, you won't be disappointed. We'll test the effectiveness of those silencing charms all…night…long."_

Ginny broke into laughter. "Oh Harry," she purred. "I can't wait."

They kissed again and broke apart only after they'd decided they'd temporarily had enough of each other for the moment, so they just stood there taking in the surroundings. They expected to find other couples and their families reuniting, hugging and kissing and sharing news. To their amazement, they found the others staring at them in amazement. Ginny looked quizzically at her teammates and finally to Gwenog with an inquisitive raise of her eyebrows.

"I have heard that love can make you feel like you could fly..." Gwenog said. "But this is ridiculous!" She crossed her arms over her chest and began to laugh hysterically. Nonplussed, Harry and Ginny checked themselves and discovered that they were floating a foot above ground.

"_Harry, what's going on?"_

"_I don't know... I mean, it is possible to fly without a broom... and you make me fly, but never before in the literal sense."_

Concentrating their magic to break what was probably a levitation charm, they settled gently to the floor. "Um... We've missed each other," Harry said.

"A lot..." Ginny added starting to blush.

"We were just married this summer," Harry explained to the smiling and snickering crowd. "Training camp started only a couple of weeks after our honeymoon."

Gwenog smiled too. "We know, Love. It was quite sweet actually, if rather unexpected," she told them, still giggling.

"_We'd better restrain ourselves, right?"_

"_Um…yeah. At least for a few hours."_

They both sniggered about it while Harry shrunk Ginny's trunk and put it in the pocket of the very form-fitting and very faded Levis purchased on honeymoon in France. With a wave of his wand, his robes disappeared only to be replaced with full biker regalia, complete with Dragon leather jacket and boots. With another wave, Ginny's simple jeans and jumper vanished and were replaced with a more feminine version of the same outfit.

"You know, Muggle gentlemen actually risk breaking their backs to carry their beloveds' luggage.

"I don't mind carrying the trunk for you, but I must admit I'm glad I'm not a Muggle."

"Me too. I prefer my husband with a healthy back," Ginny purred, stroking her husband's muscular torso and along his spine. Harry shuddered and took his wife into his arms and kissed her long and deep. He had to stop before he took her right there outside the stadium.

"Let's go, beautiful, before I lose control," he growled into her mouth.

"Mmm…mount up, biker-boy," she breathed.

Harry groaned and released her. He turned around and swung his leg over to straddle the powerful machine. Ginny climbed aboard behind him, scooted forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head on his strong shoulder. With a mighty down force on the ignition, the old Triumph roared to life. The reunited lovers drove off into the twilight, took flight, and headed for the Burrow.

The wind whipped through their hair as they thundered across the darkening night, their bond wide open carrying their love and their thoughts through the link. It was a wonderful way to communicate, as the noise would have forced them to shout and that wouldn't have been at all pleasant. After a three-hour ride in the mid-September evening, their throats would have been quite raw and the last thing they needed was physical discomfort this night.

"_It's a beautiful night for flying. A little chilly, but rather nice."_

"_You wanted me to bring the bike, you know."_

"_I know and I'm not complaining. Just making an observation. Look at the stars, Harry!"_

"_Amazing, isn't it? Makes me feel rather insignificant in the universe."_

"_Insignificant? You? The Chosen Boy-Who-Lived-to-Become-Saviour-of-the-Wizarding-World? Hardly."_

"_Oh so the truth comes out. I married a fan-girl."_

"_No, you married the right girl. It just took you a while to get with the programme."_

Harry laughed out loud._ "I've been accused of being a bit thick sometimes."_

"_I think you're brilliant…and sexy…and sweet…and brave…and cute…and…" _She left little nips all over his neck with each accolade.

"_Please, stop! My head's going to be too big to…"_

"_I'll manage. Trust me."_

"_It's not you that has to manage, my sweet."_

"_I can always use a shrinking charm."_

"_But that might cause other problems."_

"_Oh, dear. You're right. Maybe we'd better stick to Astronomy."_

___"Good plan."_

"_I wonder how many stars there are out there."_

"_Billions and billions. Some are being born right now while others die out."_

"_Professor Sinistra didn't teach that in Astronomy. Where'd you learn it?"_

"_Muggle Primary school. Science. We got to watch lots of films about different stuff."_

"_I wish I could've gone to Primary school. It sounds fun."_

"_Well, I suppose it should've been…"_

"_Oh Harry, I'm sorry. I forgot…"_

_"It's all right, Love. Maybe someday I'll forget, too."_

"_I'll help you forget it all, Harry. I'll not rest until the pain is gone and you have nothing but fond and happy memories."_

"_Thanks, Gin. I appreciate that. You're good for me, you know that?"_

"_Mm-hmm. You're good for me, too. I just figured it out before you did."_

"_Yeah. weren't you about four at the time?"_

"_About that, yeah."_

"_Great. I think I was about twelve, but I had a case of HIB Disease."_

"_HIB Disease? What's that?"_

"_Head-In-Bum."_

Now Ginny laughed out loud. _"Oh. That. A rather common affliction. I've suffered from it a time or two."_

"_I think it's chronic for me."_

"_That's okay. It's part of what makes you so annoyingly irresistible and I love you very much."_

"_I know you do, but I love you more."_

"_Do not."_

"_Do too."_

"_Not."_

"_Do."_

"_Okay. Let's compromise. We love each other more than anybody ever loved anyone elsemever in the entire history of the world."_

"_Agreed."_

"_I knew we'd get there eventually. Oh look! Is that…"_

"_Ottery St-Catchpole. We're almost home, Love."_

Harry banked right and began a slow descent over the Burrow, touching down at the end of the driveway. Harry guided the rumbling motorcycle up the dark drive to the house. With a final rev of the engine, he cut power and set the kick-stand. "Need help?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine," Ginny replied, sliding off to the left side of the bike until her booted foot met earth. "That was an amazing ride!"

"Mmm…the best," he agreed, taking her once again into his arms and kissing her deeply and passionately. "You taste so good, Gin."

"You're quite succulent yourself, Harry, but I believe Mum's waiting supper for us. We'd best get inside," she replied. "We have all night to _snack_."

"Mm…I'll bring the chocolate and strawberries," he teased.

"I'll bring the whipped cream," she giggled. "Now, let's go in the house before Mum goes spare."

"Your servant, Milady," he said with a bow.

"Go, knave!"

The two of them spilled through the door to the welcoming cries of Molly and Hermione. Ron and Arthur appeared from the sitting room and crossed the room to welcome the youngest Weasley home.

hphphphphphphphphphphphphphp

Joseph sat next to Emma in the Gryffindor Common Room, writing a letter home to his parents with his good news. The twins had already sent their own letter home, telling them all about Quidditch try-outs and how they'd both won starting places on the team last weekend. Patricia was also writing, but an Ancient Runes essay. Erica sat opposite them playing Exploding Snap with Joseph's self-shuffling cards. He lifted his eyes from his work and gave his girlfriend a fond glance. He returned to his letter and scanned what he written so far.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Last weekend was Quidditch try-outs and I decided to give it a shot. Since I wanted a spot on the team I chose to go for Beater. You know my dream would be to play Seeker, but honestly I don't know if I'm really Seeker material. Dennis Creevey, captain this year, had everyone, even Ginny's veterans try out. The Beater try-out consisted of showing of our flying skills and later on a competition to strike Bludgers at target dummies. I had no chance against Jimmy Peakes, but I finished second and won my place on the starting team. Both Emma and her sister, Erica, made the team as Chasers. It's so great we'll be on the team together. Patricia is quite good on a broom, but she decided to apply for extra classes and didn't try out._

Joseph looked over at Emma again and smiled before picking up his quill again. He hadn't told his parents about them being together yet. They only knew they'd been dating and had been writing each other all summer.

_Mum and Dad, you know I've owled Emma all summer, and I guess I might just as well tell you that once we arrived back at Hogwarts, or actually on the train, we decided that we're past just dating and now she's my real girlfriend. I even met her parents at the platform soon after you left._

_I'll write you soon to let you know when we play our first match. I hope you can come and watch, and perhaps meet Emma, and of course, Erica and Patricia too._

_Your son,_  
_Joseph_

"Emma," Joseph said "I'm off to the owlery to send this letter. But I can wait until you're finished if you'd like to go with me."

"I'd love to. Just give me another couple minutes," she replied.

"Off to the Astronomy tower again," Erica teased.

"There aren't any school owls there," Joseph said innocently.

"Of course not, you prat, but it's loads more romantic than a broom closet," Erica told them.

"Now, what would _you_ know about _that_," Emma asked slyly.

"I don't have a boyfriend, Emma, so don't even go there," she huffed."But if I did I'd go to the Astronomy tower."

Patricia suddenly looked up from her essay. "Erica, a Hufflepuff third-year asked me earlier today if you're dating anyone," she said. "I think he'd ask you to Hogsmeade if we were third-years..."

Erica looked inquisitively at Patricia. "Is he cute," she asked, her eyes wide and twinkling.

"Well... I'll point him out and let you decide that. You might even get him to skip Hogsmeade and spend the day with you here at the school instead."

"No, that won't happen. He'll ask a third-year girl instead," Erica sighed. "Stupid rules."

"Harry sneaked into Hogsmeade," Emma said.

"Well, he's Harry and he won more points than he lost... if we'd sneak into Hogsmeade and got caught we'd have some very irate fellow Gryffs to deal with," Patricia pointed out.

The card game finished, Joseph and Emma skipped off hand in hand. "See you in a bit."

"She's so lucky," Erica sighed again. "Joe's such a nice boy and he treats her like a princess."

"I'm sure he thinks he's a lucky boy," Patricia said. "And he'd better treat him like a princess. Harry'd kill him if he hurt her."

"We'll get lucky too, one day. I just know it," Erica told her friend as she rose from her seat. "I'm off to bed. Emma won't be back until after curfew anyway, and I don't want to disturb you anymore, so I'll just go on up and let you finish your essay."  
Patricia smiled a thank you and returned to her work.

That same evening, a Hogwarts Post Owl swooped into the Prewett kitchen through an open window. Heather was about to try some repair spells on the kitchen clock that had been malfunctioning for the past few weeks. Her husband's hand on the clock had somehow gotten stuck at _Up to Mischief_.

As she watched, Emma's hand moved from _At School_ to _Up to Mischief_. Looking at the clock that showed the time and knowing that Emma was safe at Hogwarts, Heather suspected Emma might be sneaking away with her boyfriend for a snog. Did it worry her? Not really. One's Hogwarts career could never be complete without breaking curfew a few times or being busted while snogging in a broom closet. That and all the pranks that Filch added to his growing banned list every year were also part of what made Hogwarts so special. Surely she didn't want to deny her daughters the whole Hogwarts experience. Besides, Joseph appeared to be a sweet young man and the four children had been friends all first year. What's the harm?

The owl dropped a letter on the kitchen table. She read the envelope which confirmed it was from their daughters.

"Desmond!"

"Coming, Love!"

Desmond jogged into the kitchen from his study and planted a kiss on her cheek. "What is it, Heath'?"

"Dear, we have a letter from the girls," she said, showing him the envelope.

They shooed Milton and Sass from their chairs and sat down to read the letter.

"_Mum and Dad! (Especially Dad)_

_We, your loving daughters, proudly present two-thirds of the Gryffindor Chaser team: US! We made the team, and not even as reserves. We're starters!"_

"Ha! That's my girls," Desmond shouted happily. "I'm so proud of them! I'll teach them all I know!"

Heather sighed. Her husband would certainly try to give them advise, drawing from his extensive career consisting of half a match. "Love, you spent more time in the hospital wing than on the pitch," Heather cooed. "And if they want help, they'll get it from Ginny."

Desmond looked at his wife, trying to act hurt. "Well, she might be a better player than me."

"You are such a boy sometimes," Heather said.

"That's why you love me," Desmond grinned.

"Read on, you insufferable prat," Heather said with a sigh, knowing he told the truth.  
"_Joseph also made the team as a Beater! Jessica kept her spot as Keeper, and the Keepers had the worst possible try-out. Dennis had arranged for Ginny to test them in a one-on-one shootout. We're playing with Demelza, a veteran who got on the team when Harry was captain._

_I think we'll make a good Chaser trio. We both know each other inside out and Demelza pointed out that we're very inspired by Ginny's playing style, and that's what Demelza got hammered into her head last year too. We feel very co-ordinated already. Along with Jimmy, a veteran Beater, the team is complete."_

"So Joseph and our girls took the empty spots and the veterans kept theirs," Desmond said.

"Yes. I mean, we knew they were fast on their brooms, but making the starting line-up in second year is quite an accomplishment," Heather admitted.

"It really is, and we might even have a Quidditch captain in our family in a few years," Desmond said dreamily. "Was that all?"

"Almost."

"_Patricia is telling us to get started on our homework. We'll write again soon. Patricia says HELLO._

_Hugs from the future Gryffindor Star Chasers,_

_Erica & Emma"_

"She's a good friend to them, Patricia," Desmond said.

"She certainly is. And I really like the Templetons," Heather said.

"Maybe we should contact them. They did invite us for a visit during that lunch after seeing the girls off," Desmond remembered.

"Yes. Let's send them an owl and see if we can't set something up."

Desmond summoned parchment, quill, and ink from his study and he and Heather began to compose a letter to their non-magical friends. It didn't seem right, somehow, to refer to Paul and Diana as _Muggles_. To use the word in reference to Patricia's parents seemed almost…vulgar.

_Dear Paul and Diana…_


	15. Chapter 15 Reunions & Celebrations

**Chapter 15 – Reunions and Celebrations**

Ginny's homecoming feast had been set for Saturday evening. Molly had asked Harry to take Ginny out of the house for the day to keep her out of the way and so they could have some quality time together.

"Come on, Gin," Harry called up the stairs. "Hurry up!'

"I'll be down in a minute," she called back. "I'm trying to decide what to wear!"

"Gin, we're just going to do a little shopping. You'll look beautiful in whatever you wear," he argued.

Finally Ginny rushed down the stairs in a pair of low-cut jeans and a royal blue jumper. "Do I look all right?"

"I told you you'd look beautiful in whatever you wear," Harry said, giving her a chaste kiss. "Now let's get out of here before Mum decides she wants me to vanquish the entire British population of gnomes!'

"Race you, Mr Potter," Ginny grinned wickedly.

"You're on, Mrs Potter," Harry agreed. "On your marks, get set, GO!" The two of them tore out the kitchen door and down the path the Apparition point. Harry arrived only a fraction of a second before Ginny and took her in his arms. Neither had so much as broken a sweat or even panted for breath. "You're in fine shape, my dear."

"I could say the same for you. Working out on a regular basis has done a lot for both of us, it seems," Ginny agreed. "I have an idea."

"Hold that thought. We need to get going. I'm taking you into Muggle London today," Harry told her. "And don't bother to ask, because I'm not telling you…yet."

Ginny snorted in mock disgust. "You enjoy torturing me, don't you?"

"Immensely. Ready?"

"When you are."

"Then we're off," he said, pulling her in closer. They spun together and were gone with a barely audible _pop!_

Molly had been watching from the kitchen door. "It's about time! I thought she'd never come down," she said to Hermione. "I was ready to send him up there to pick her up and carry her down here so they could leave."

"Oh Molly, you know how Ginny is about her appearance in general, but now that's she's a public figure—a celebrity independent of Harry—she has to look her best all the time," the younger witch reminded her.  
"My daughter, the Quidditch star. It seems that only yesterday she'd broken into the shed to steal Charlie's broom," Molly reminisced with watery eyes. "She thought we didn't know, but we did. Arthur caught her, but didn't have the heart to stop her. He just stayed hidden so he could watch her."

"Arthur's a very sweet man," Hermione said. "But I wouldn't want to tangle with him in anger. I saw what he did to those Death Eaters at the last battle."

"Arthur is the consummate Weasley, Hermione. He's as kind and gentle as a lamb most of the time, but when angry or threatened, Gryffindor's lion comes through," Molly told her. "I can't tell you how many times I snogged the daylights out of him after he'd defended my honour at school."

"That explains a lot, then," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Ron's the same way—it just took him a little longer to get to the snogging part." The two witches turned from the kitchen door, giggling like schoolgirls, and began preparations for the feast. They had just begun peeling and chopping vegetables when they heard a whoosh from the sitting room indicating that someone had Flooed in.

"Hey! Anybody up yet," a Carolina twang echoed through the Burrow.

"We're in the kitchen, dear," Molly called. "I thought you were coming through last night."

"I wanted to, but we had a couple of cases come in just after supper," Fiona replied, hugging her aunt. "Hey, Hermione."

"Hey," she said, peeling a pile of potatoes. "Care to join me?"

"Many hands make light work," Fiona replied, conjuring a potato peeler.

"So what were the cases," Molly asked, placing a cooling charm on some onions to chop.

"Fights. There's been a few crop up lately," the Healer reported. "Fights about who's a Pureblood 'n' what not. Sounds like a mess o' bullsnot to me."

Molly and Hermione exchanged meaningful looks before Hermione asked the obvious question. "Were the Purebloods the attackers or the victims?"

"Not sure, but Joseph Pointer was one of the boys who came in purty bloodied up. He had a broken nose and some scraped-up knuckles," Fiona told them, picking up another potato to peel.

Hermione gasped. "Joseph Pointer? Emma's Joseph?"

"The same, darlin'. It appears our young lion was defendin' his lady's honour against a couple o' older boys who were givin' them girls a hard time—all three of 'em. Patricia too."

"What about Patricia," Ron asked. "Fiona, we thought you were coming in last night."

"If ya hush up, I'll tell ya," Fiona replied, swatting her cousin on the arm. "There was some trouble last night after supper, so I couldn't git away."

"Fights, Ronald. Pureblood fights," Hermione cut in.

Ron appeared to wilt a little. "Not again. I thought we put an end to that crap once we took out all the DEs."

"Not like that, Ronnie," Fiona told him. "Joseph Pointer came in all bloodied-up from a fight. He told us there was some older boys givin' 'is girl 'n' her sister a hard time. They'd started in on yer Patricia fer just bein' with 'em. Joseph tried to defend them, but wound up with a broken nose and some scraped-up knuckles."

"Were the girls all right," Ron asked, obviously fuming.

"Just a little shook up, but they're all right," Fiona assured him. "But one o' them boys who was causin' the trouble won't forget the beatin' Joseph gave 'im before the other two got their licks in."

"Who took the report," Ron asked.

"Report? What report," she asked.

"The Auror report. Violence in the school is supposed to be reported to the Auror Office. Minerva should've Flooed the on-duty Aurors," Ron said, becoming frustrated. "We can't help if they don't tell us!

"Now hold yer Hippogriffs, Buckaroo," Fiona said defensively, her hands up as if to ward Ron off. "I din't say Miss Minerva din't call on yer Auror friends. I just din't know about a report."

"Sorry," Ron mumbled. "It's just that those four kids are special to us. Harry's going to have a power-surge of epic proportions when he hears about this. So did an Auror come?"

"Yeah, a couple o' females—one a strawberry blonde like me—"

"Susan Bones," Ron and Hermione said together.

"And the other one was Chinese or somethin'," Fiona finished.

"Cho Chang," Ron and Hermione said together again.

"Cho and Bonesy'll get to the bottom of it," Ron assured her. "Those two are from our DA Aurors' Class. They're both smart, talented witches and won't take a load of guff from anybody."

"But they're both very nice, too," Hermione interjected. "Cho and Harry dated for a short time in our fifth year. It didn't work out."

"Well, it didn't work out because it wasn't meant to be, was it," Molly said curtly, peeling the papery skin from a rather large yellow onion. "I mean, the bond Harry shares with our Ginny is testament to that."

"Molly, lighten up," Hermione giggled. "Harry and Cho kissed once and had one disastrous date at Madame Puddifoot's."

"Yeah. When we asked Harry how the kiss was, he said," Ron began to snicker. "Wet."

The four of them broke into giggles and guffaws. "Wet," Molly asked. "What on earth does that mean?"

"Cho cried a lot that year," Hermione explained. "She and Cedric Diggory had been an item in our fourth year. He took her to the Yule Ball. She took his death really hard. Since Harry was with Cedric when he died, she sort of gravitated to him."

"Yeah, and it was ruddy annoying, too," Ron added. "You couldn't even look at the girl without her turning on the water works. Drove Harry mad, really. He asked her out on a Hogsmeade weekend. She insisted upon going to the pink palace—Madame Puddifoot's tea shop. The poor bloke didn't know what to do with her."

"Then I ruined it," Hermione confessed with a smirk. "I didn't mean to, but I needed Harry to meet me at the Three Broomsticks for his Quibbler interview with the beetle—er, Rita Skeeter."

"Yeah, that was it. Cho was madder than a wet Fwooper," Ron laughed. "She thought Harry was throwing her over for Hermione and left him. He was more confused than ever…and I think a bit relieved, come to that."

"Like I said," Molly repeated. "It wasn't meant to be, that's all. Harry was meant for our Ginny and Ginny for our Harry."

"Well, whatever the case, those two gals was the Aurors that came and talked to Joseph. They talked to the boy Joseph pounded, too. He said something about the two girls bein' Prewetts and mentioned a Matilda or something like that."

"Mafalda," Molly, Ron, and Hermione said together. "Mafalda Prewett was a fifteen-year-old Death Eater—quite mad really," Hermione explained.

"She was one of Tom Riddle's—Voldemort's—people. To make a long story short, the crazy bint wanted to expose our world to the Muggles at a football game that millions of Muggles would've seen on their jellies."

"_Tellies_, Ron, not _jellies_," Hermione snickered, picking up another potato.

"Oh yeah. I think I remember y'all tellin' me about that," Fiona nodded, now understanding. "This has all got to do with that trial, don't it?"

"Yes," Ron answered. "That damned trial stirred up another can of Flobberworms for us to deal with and kids are involved again."

"You mean that Voldemort fella had kids doin' his dirt for 'im," Fiona asked incredulously.  
"Are you kidding? He had his bootlickers everywhere, including Hogwarts," Ron replied. "Draco Malfoy let a bunch of them into the school toward the end of our sixth year, which led to the murder of our headmaster."

"Draco Malfoy is the son of one of Voldemort's highest-ranked henchmen, Lucius Malfoy, who's serving ten years in Azkaban right now," Hermione explained.

"Should've gotten life, if you ask me," Molly huffed. "That man took great pleasure in the torture and murder of magical and Muggle alike who didn't go along with V-Voldemort's agenda."

"I know, Mum, but he had the gold to cut a deal. And because they co-operated with the authorities, he got a lighter sentence. But still, they snapped his wand—well, a fake one since his was already gone—and forbade him to ever practise magic again," Ron explained.

"Anyway, Draco and his friends were all Slytherins," Hermione explained. "Slytherin House had a reputation for nurturing the dark arts, and while that was mostly true, not all Slytherins were bad."

"But they're probably going to be prime targets," Ron said, shaking his red head. "Most of them are Purebloods. I'm sure Minerva's keeping an eye on them."

"There's a young fella in Hufflepuff that caused some trouble on the train—" Fiona began.

"Yeah, Irish—sorry, Seamus Finnegan broke that up. He's the Auror you met on the platform. Harry was livid when he read the report," Ron cut in. "So you might want to keep an eye on Mr Stiles and his mates. They might be our new Malfoy Gang."

"Well, you can rest assured that Professor Sprout saw to it that Stiles paid the price for his stupidity," Fiona said. "An' 'is Housemates weren't pleased none neither. Their Prefect personally apologised to the twins on behalf of Hufflepuff House."

"That's the Puffs for you," Ron said with a smile. "They're a good lot and can't stand injustice. They've suffered enough of it through the years. There's really nothing weak about them. Susan Bones is a Hufflepuff and so were many of our best fighters in the DA."

"That's right," Hermione said. "Ernie MacMillan and Hannah Abbott-Longbottom are forces to be reckoned with, so what that Prefect did comes as no surprise at all. I would have liked to have seen Professor Sprout go after that boy, though."

"Pomona Sprout may be an old dear, but once she's in a dither, stay out of her way," Molly told them. "She was a sixth-year at Hogwarts when I started. She didn't take any nonsense from any other student, Slytherin and Gryffindor alike."

"It sounds like we're in for a messy term, then," Fiona sighed. "Damn. I hate to see a kid hurt as a result o' violence."

"I think we need to talk to Harry about this," Ron said. "If this kind of stuff's going on inside that school, we need to send in some kind of security."

"Cousin Ronnie, I think that's a damned good idea," Fiona agreed.

"I think so too, dear. But let's leave it until after the feast, all right," Molly asked, finishing chopping her onions and reaching for a pile of carrots.

"Of course, Molly," Hermione said. "Hey, I think we're done peeling this field of potatoes. What do you want us to do with them?"

"Rinse them really well and then cut them into chunks to boil," Molly replied. "Ginny loves mashed potatoes and that's what those are going to become."

Several hours later, guests filled every square foot of the Burrow. Molly was just about to start worrying when Harry and Ginny stepped through the kitchen door, his arm around her waist, her arm around his shoulder. Not willing to be physically apart, they reluctantly let go of each other so Ginny could greet her family.

"My little girl," Molly said scooping Ginny into one of her famous hugs. "Look at her, you lot. She's so...fit."

_Little_. Except for Ginny being quite short like her Mum, few but Molly would dare say _little girl_ to Ginny. She looked strong and confident, and everyone at the Burrow knew of the young woman's vast magical powers.

"Mum, we've done physical training six days a week... I'm in better shape than ever... but thanks for noticing."

"I still don't think they've fed you enough," Molly huffed, causing the rest of the family to roll their eyes and snicker.

"We're fed by professional nutritionists, dieticians, and chefs. You're a better cook, but the food was plentiful and the meals were well-balanced and…edible."

Ginny turned into her father's waiting arms. "Did you have a good time today, Ginny-girl," he asked, picking her up off the floor like he used to do when she was just a little girl.

"Daddy, it was wonderful," Ginny replied.

"Good. Only the best for my favourite Chaser," Arthur said with a nod and wink to Harry.

Ginny surveyed the crowd in the kitchen. All of her brothers were there with Fleur, Victoire, Angelina, Hermione, Fiona, and Andromeda Tonks with a wiggling Teddy in her arms.

"Sis, you've made me a Harpies fan," Bill admitted proudly.

"Geeny," Fleur said, kissing Ginny on both cheeks. "And 'ere is Victoire."

"Look how she's grown, Harry," Ginny exclaimed.

"Oui, she 'as. Beel insisted that she wear ze 'Arpy green dress you sent 'er," Fleur added. "She looks adorable een eet."

"Of course. She looks just like me," Ginny agreed, taking the little girl into her arms. "She's a raving beauty, aren't you sweetie?" Victoire giggled as her aunt peppered her little face with kisses. "See, Uncle Harry? She's gorgeous."

"Just like her Aunt Ginny," Harry said, tickling the baby's belly. Victoire laughed again and Ginny handed her back to Fleur.

"Teddy-bear," Ginny cried, holding out her arms for the boy. He giggled and screwed up his face to change his hair colour from turquoise blue to flaming red and his eyes from slate gray to emerald green. "How are my Godson and his grandmother," Ginny asked Andromeda as she kissed Teddy's little forehead.

"Growing up fast, as you can see," Andromeda replied. "And his grandmother is fine, thank you."

Ginny turned her attention exclusive to Teddy. "Did Harry take you for your broom ride yet?"

"_Blimey, I haven't yet. Thanks for reminding me, Ginny. With the wedding and the honeymoon I never got around to that during the summer."_

"_Get with the programme, Potter."_

"Bwoom. Hawwy," Teddy said, causing Harry to nearly burst with pride.

"He said my name," Harry shouted. "Teddy said my name! He said _Harry!_"

"He's been saying that for ages," Andromeda reported. "He points at your wedding picture on the side table and says Harry! Ginny! Harry! Ginny! Over and over. I had to hide that broomstick you bought him because he kept trying to mount it."

Those within earshot chuckled as Teddy continued to wiggle and extend his chubby little arms toward his Godfather. "Come here, buddy," Harry said, taking him from Ginny's arms. The little boy's hair immediate morphed from red to jet black and grew to his shoulders. "It seems as though you and I need to make a play date, yeah?"

"Bwoom," Teddy shouted again. "Hawwy!"

"Okay, okay, Teddy. We'll have that broom ride as soon as we can, all right?" Harry couldn't help but feel proud as he held Remus' and Tonks' son. He promised the Lupins at their grave that he'd take care of Teddy and Andromeda and see that they wanted for nothing. Harry wanted to be everything to Teddy that Sirius couldn't be for him. _Remus…Nym…Ted…Teddy'll grow up loved and healthy and never have to suffer the way…we had to suffer._

"Da-da-da-da-da-da-da," Teddy cried, his eyes suddenly fixed at a point outside the window to the back garden and giggled again. Harry shot a questioning look at Andromeda.

"Harry, he's been doing that since he started talking. He'll be playing on the floor and then all of a sudden, he'll stare at the stairs and chatter away like that. Usually, it's the _Da-da_ diatribe, but sometimes it's _Ma-ma_ or even _Pa-pa_."

"You don't suppose…" Harry began. "But that's not…"

"Harry, I'm sure I don't know," Andromeda said, shaking her head slowly. "I'd like to think that he sees them, but…none of them were afraid of death, Harry. This doesn't make much sense."

"If I was to hazard a guess, and this is only a guess, I'd say Remus, Nym, and Ted have found a way to check in on you." Harry wondered briefly if his own parents had been granted such a privilege when he was Teddy's size.

"Perhaps you're right," Andromeda agreed. _How long will it last? How long before you can't visit anymore, my darlings?_

"I'm so proud of you, Snitch" Charlie said, giving his sister a squeeze. Charlie was Gryffindor's star Seeker in his day and could very likely have made a career of Quidditch if he had really wanted to.

"Thanks, Charlie," Ginny beamed. "One of us had to play professionally, and since you wanted to chase Dragons, it was up to me."

"Welcome home Gin-Gin," George said with an evil grin. "At last, Ickle Harrykins will be his good old jovial self again."

"He's been that bad," Ginny asked. She had to restrain herself from saying that she'd had no indication that he was in a bad way when they chatted at night.

"Well, I don't see him every day. Ron's the one who's taken the worst of it," George said.

"He's been missing you, Sis. Frankly, I've missed you too," Ron admitted and scooped her into a hug.

Percy was next, extending his hand in a formal greeting. "Welcome home, Ginevra."

"Oh Percy, you are such a prat," Ginny giggled, pushing his hand away. "Come here, you." She wrapped her arms around his neck and embraced him lovingly.

"Oh..well..yes. I suppose a hug is in order," Percy admitted, returning her embrace.

"I knew you'd do great when I saw you play at Hogwarts you know, but a starting Harpies Chaser..." Angelina gushed. "That's so cool! Congratulations, Ginny!" Angelina had been a star Chaser on Oliver Wood's Gryffindor team, but she knew Ginny was the far better player.

"Fiona! Is Hogwarts all right," Ginny asked her. "And how about that handsome Professor Watson?"

"It's good, Ginny. I've about learned my way around the castle now, but I still end up in new corridors every now and then thanks to those damned moving staircases. They're a menace," Fiona replied. "And Rupert is just fine, thanks."

"It's normal to get lost a lot at first, but that's part of its charm," Ginny said hugging her cousin. "And it's Rupert now?"

"Now, don't go gittin' ideas, Ginny. We're just friends," Fiona said with a twinkle in her eyes. "And it appears that's all we'll ever be because I can't decide when he's funnin' me or tellin' me the truth."

"What do you mean," Ginny asked, releasing her.

"I'll tell y'all later. I don't wanna go into it right now. This is your day," Fiona told her.

"I'll hold you to that," Ginny promised.

Lastly Ginny threw her arms around her best friend. "Hermione!"

"Did you have fun with Harry today," she asked. "Where did you go? What did you do?"

"I'll tell you later, but it was fun. We had lunch in _Rome_, Hermione," Ginny giggled.

"How did you…" Hermione began.

"Harry's Head Auror, remember? Really, I'll tell you later," she promised.

"Whatever the case, I still don't get the whole flying around on brooms thing, but I'm looking forward to watching you play. Welcome home, Ginny."

Ginny was still hugging Hermione when the Floo erupted in green flames. Harry and Ron had their wands drawn and trained on the fireplace, switching into full Auror-mode, waiting for the new arrival to step out. Ron let go a disappointed groan when a plump, elderly witch appeared through the flames. It was a few moments before Harry and Ron cancelled the alert and tucked their wands away.

"Sorry I'm late," she said majestically, as though the party had to be held off until she arrived. "I had to Floo in because there's some nutter at the door making a big deal about my being a Prewett. Can you believe that?"

The Weasley assemblage exchanged furtive looks, silently asking the same question. _Why is Aunt Muriel here?_ Fiona studied the old woman and wondered who she was, taking note that she didn't seem to be welcome.

"What about you being Prewett," Arthur asked cautiously.

"That ponce seemed to think that all Prewetts supported _Mafalda_," Muriel huffed. "Now I ask you: would any self-respecting Prewett support the daughter of the family Squib and his Muggle wife only because she's technically a Prewett? What a load of manure... but don't you worry Arthur. I told him off. _Squibs_, I told him, _Prewetts or not, should not breed_. _After all, castration __is a perfectly acceptable practice among other species. Mafalda got off far too easy_, I said to him."

Fiona nudged a rather disgusted George. "An ounce o' pretension's worth a pound o' manure."

"You have no idea, Onie," George whispered. "Mum didn't invite her because she's a living nightmare. She isn't supposed to be here."

"So I noticed. Who is she anyway?"

"Mum's Aunt Muriel. She thinks she owns us all," George huffed. "Ginny's always been her favourite, but that isn't saying much. She just doesn't insult or embarrass Ginny as much as she does the rest of us. Her favourite target is Dad."

"Great," Fiona breathed. "Sounds like a real fruitcake to me."

"Just watch," George said, nodding at the old witch.

_Don't worry,_ she said. That was exactly what Arthur was beginning to do. His wife's aunt wasn't evil or ever a supporter of Death Eater activity. In fact, she had worked as an unofficial member of the Order during the war and agreed to let the Weasleys live in her house, taking dangerous risks herself. But her old-fashioned ideas combined with her way of speaking her mind without any restraint could get the old witch into trouble with the law, making it Arthur's obligation to worry about it. He was about to respond when Muriel spotted Harry and Ginny.

"Harry," she spat. Her tone came as a surprise to him and Ginny because she usually treated Harry with respect and even something akin to kindness. "I hear you're part of the reason Mafalda was spared the Dementor's Kiss. Seeing how you and your wife can't keep your hands off one another, I find it hard to believe you're against kissing."

Harry found himself at a loss for an appropriate answer. Ron, on the other hand, had already worked up a Weasley head of steam, red face and all. Hermione wrapped her hands around one arm while Bill took hold of the other to restrain him.

"Ginevra, I guess you're skinny enough to let a broom carry you at ludicrous speeds, but really! You're a married woman and your place is by your man's side. You need to put a stop to this Quidditch foolishness and put some meat on those bones. You've been married for almost two months, young woman. Do your proper duty as a witch of your station and get yourself knocked up."

Fiona watched the strange old witch who was apparently a Prewett who took it as her right and privilege to insult everyone she met. Before anyone was able to interrupt her, she spotted the unfamiliar faces.

"Have we met, young woman," Muriel asked Angelina, who didn't answer immediately out of pure shock. "Of course. You don't speak English, do you? I've always wanted to meet an African native. H.E.L.L.O..."

Angelina heard countless horror stories from George about Aunt Muriel, but meeting her in person took her off her guard. She had always thought George was having her on when he told her crazy stories about the eccentric old witch because they seemed too outlandish to be true. But no, the old witch was precisely, if not worse than, what George had reported her to be.

The younger witch had all she could do to keep from falling all over a horrified George in fits of mirth. _This woman is stone crazy!_ "I'm Angelina, George's girlfriend. You must be his Great-aunt Muriel."

Muriel sized up Angelina for a moment and then turned to George. "So you've taught her English and told her about me. How sweet of you George. It's good to know you're not completely useless," Muriel said, grabbing his cheek pinching it.

George held back the sudden impulse to retch. "Uh…er…thanks, Aunt Muriel," he choked.

"And you, girl. Who might you be? You _look_ like a Prewett," Muriel demanded.

"Yes ma'am. Fiona Francine Prewett, daughter of Fabian and Rhiannon Prewett."

"Oh, you're that American witch Molly told me about," the old woman replied. "The product of Fabian's dalliance with that little Irish whore, I'll wager."

"I beg your pardon," Fiona replied, bristling. "My momma was not a whore! She was a fine hard-working woman who loved my daddy 'til the day she died!"

"She was shanty Irish through and through, young woman, and our Fabian was a proud Prewett," the old witch snarled. "No doubt Fabian did the right thing by marrying her when he finally knocked her up to give you and your sister a name!"

"My daddy loved my momma, damn you, and it broke his heart to send us away," Fiona shouted. "You got no call ta be sayin' such things about them. My daddy was a hero!"

Muriel stared at Fiona in utter shock. But in the next moment, she schooled her features and turned calmly to George. "Hero indeed. George, perhaps you might try to teach this disrespectful wretch proper English too, since you've done such a good job with your African woman."

"How dare you, you crazy ol' cat! You wanna hear proper English, I'll give you proper English," Fiona snarled, switching to her best Virginia lilt. "Ma'am, you ah moah than out of line. You ah despicable in every sense of the wuhd, devoid of even the slahtest of social graces. You would do well to apologise to these fahn people and take yoah leave immediately, as it is painfully obvious that you ah not welcome heah."

It had become quite clear to the old witch that she in no way intimidated Fabian's daughter in the least. _She's a strong girl, just like her father, even if she is the spawn of that Irish whore._

George made to applaud, but Bill held him back. "It won't help anything, little brother. But she's damned good isn't she?"

Ron's mood had turned darker and darker by the minute, and he dreaded what he knew was coming next. Hermione had stood by Fiona and showed solidarity with her, so he knew without a doubt Muriel was going to round on his love.

"I remember you, girl. You're the Muggleborn come to contaminate the Weasley bloodlines through young Ronald here, aren't you?"

Ron shook himself free of his fiancée's and his eldest brother's grasp with an enraged roar, drew his wand with no regard for what his Mum would say, and glared daggers at the squat old witch who had boldly and mercilessly insulted his sister and her husband—his best friend and partner, his brother's girlfriend, his cousin, and the love of his life.

"That will be enough, Muriel," he growled deep and threatening, his wand barely an inch from her wrinkled throat.

"Ronald Weasley, how dare you..." Aunt Muriel began, thinking to cow the young man as she had so easily done in the past.

"Shut it, you miserable old hag! You have badmouthed this family for the last time. You had better take your leave right now before I lose my temper, and you don't want that—"

"Now see here, young man," Muriel began again.

"Silence, dammit! I'm not finished with you, old woman! No one makes scathing remarks about Hermione's family or her heritage. Her family is my family, and to besmirch their name them is to besmirch mine. To reiterate my cousin's mandate, you will apologise for the insults you've directed at herself, Ginny and Harry, Angelina, and my Hermione! You are through, Muriel Prewett! We don't need you or your damned money if the price is to take your constant abuse! Now make your apologies, leave this house, and don't show your face here again!"

Ron continued to glare furiously at her, his chest heaving and his blue eyes blazing, daring her to challenge him.

Harry released Ginny and moved next to his best mate, brother, and partner. "I'm with Ron on this one," Harry stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I stand by my husband," Ginny declared, moving next to Harry to wrap her arms around his waist.

Muriel turned to Molly. "Dear little niece, I'm disappointed. Did you raise your children to speak to their elders in this manner?"

"I raised them to stand up for themselves and what's right. I'm very proud of them," Molly told her sternly and moved to stand next to Ginny.

Muriel stood there, leaning on her cane, speechless. Ron took the opportunity to for the rest of the Weasleys, Percy included, who had sided with him. "It's obvious you have no intention of apologising, and I must say none of us are surprised," Ron growled again. "Leave this house, Muriel Prewett, and never return."

"Well, I won't apologise for speaking the truth, Ronald Weasley, and I shall take my leave, but mark my words, this family is doomed to extinction if it continues to mix with those of—"

"That will do," Arthur boomed. "Go now before I remove you myself!"

With a sneer and a final glare, she stepped into the fireplace and Flooed away.

"That insufferable hag," Fiona huffed. "I can't believe I'm actually related to her."

"George," Angelina said "I'm sorry. I thought you made up all those stories about that...what did you call her, Fiona... _crazy ol' cat_."

"I've got to say this for her—she really outdid herself today," George observed. "Fiona, you were wonderful! Ron, a stellar performance! Bravo!" The Weasley Assemblage broke into applause for their cousin and youngest brother who faced down a Dragon and beat her into submission.

"Angelina and Fiona... don't worry about her. She insults everyone," Bill said. "But I'm a little disappointed. Ron tossed her out before she got around to the length of my hair!"

"I could give it a trim if you're that worried about it," his mother suggested. "And Ronnie and Harry could stand a trim."

"Not a chance, mother," Ginny interjected, smoothing Harry's ponytail. "The hair stays."

"Hear, hear," Hermione added, snuggling Ron and caressing his ginger locks.

Fleur ran her fingers through her husband's own thick red locks. "Beel is like my Samson, non? Eet would be bad luck to cut zere beautiful locks. And zat crazy ol' cat sinks my Veela 'eritage weel take me over and drive me to keel 'eem een our bed. Zut! C'est impossible! L'aime beaucoup."

"Merci, ma Cherie," Bill replied, kissing her hand. "Je t'aime."

Angelina and Fiona let the uneasy feelings go, and turned to Ron. "I thought you were going to curse her into oblivion," Angelina said with awe. "I never thought you had it in you."

"I wanted to. It was bad enough that she started in on you lot, but when she turned on Hermione, I snapped," Ron admitted.

"My hero," Hermione said, sliding into his arms. She raised herself up on her tiptoes and kissed him deeply.

"_Knock you up? Is she mad? You've just started a career, for Merlin's sake!"_

"_Not to worry, my darling._ _I have no immediate plans to go off the potion or stop charming myself, but we can still practice the art of baby-making…tonight, Love?"_

_"Hmm hmm…practice makes perfect."_

"_So I've been told. Now kiss me and mean it."_

Nobody seemed to notice the newlyweds snogging right there in the sitting room while they all milled about discussing Ron's and Fiona's eloquent dressing-down and expulsion of the annoying Aunt Muriel.

"Ron, you did the right thing," Arthur said slapping his youngest son on the shoulder. "All that Auror training has paid off. I'm proud of you."

"You too, Dad," Ron replied with a snicker. "You shocked the hell out her when you shouted like that. You scared the hell out of _me!_"

"It's been a long time coming, son, and it was time," Arthur admitted, grinning madly. "I have to admit—it felt damned good!" Father and son shared a bonding moment with smiles and chuckles. Their moment was broken when Molly called them to the table.

"Let's have a feast, shall we," Molly called shakily and herded her flock to the table. "Harry! Ginny! Let go of one another, for Merlin's sake! It's time to eat!"

A wave of warm laughter passed over the table as the guest of honour and her red-faced husband joined them. True to her word to Harry the night before, Ginny seated herself right in his lap.

"Ginevra Weasley," Molly huffed. "There is a chair right next to Harry just for you."

"Thank's Mum, but I love the stuffing in this one," Ginny snickered and gave her husband a peck on the cheek. "And the name's Potter. Ginevra Molly _Potter_."

Molly sighed. "I don't suppose there's any point in arguing, is there?"

"None at all, Mum. I'm comfortable right here, thanks," Ginny replied saucily. "Right, Love?"

"Whatever you want, Gin. It's your party," Harry replied. He rather cherished having his wife in his lap from time to time, and to have her there at a meal was a new adventure.

"Well…all right, but only for tonight," she gave in, failing miserably to sound sharp. "Harry, you spoil her."

"She's worth it," he replied, kissing her hand. "And more."

Arthur flicked his wand at the special cupboard, summoning a dusty bottle of oak-matured Odgen's Old Firewhiskey. He conjured twelve shot glasses, poured a measure into each, and distributed the glasses. He stood and raised his glass and surveyed his extended family, his eyes coming to rest on Ginny. "To my daughter, Britain's youngest Chaser, and to the success of the 1999-2000 Holyhead Harpies! _Slaínte!_"

"_Slaínte,_" answered the Weasley chorus and they all threw back their whiskey.

"Thanks Dad," Ginny grinned. "We won't let you down!"

"Of course you won't, dear," Molly placated her daughter.

"Tuck in, Weasleys," Arthur called. Dishes of Molly's grand feast passed around the table while Ginny remained in Harry's lap. They fed each other from one plate with two forks and their fingers, earning them one of Molly's icy glares. "Let them be, Molly, and just be grateful Ginny has a man who loves her so deeply—as much as I love you."

"Arthur, they're acting like children," Molly whinged.

"Of course they are. They're in love," he smirked. "Now just enjoy the company. This is a wonderful feast, as always, my beauty."

"I hate it when you're right, Arthur Weasley," she grumbled with a sly grin.

"Pardon my insolence this one time, dear," Arthur replied, taking her hand under the table.

Harry's and Ginny's happiness in their reunion showed in the way they held one another's gaze, the small caresses around one another's faces, and the sweet kisses they exchanged when they thought no one was watching. As Ginny fed Harry with her fingers, sometimes he'd capture one of them between his teeth, sucking the juices from it.

"_Harry, if you don't stop that, I'm going to force you to take me right here on the supper table."_

"_Don't tempt me, woman."_

"_Later, Love. Let's just get through this and I'm all yours."_

"_You're all mine whether we get through this or not."_

"_This is true."_

Ron and Hermione watched the two of them while they ate—well, at least Hermione did. Ron's only other thoughts, while he stuffed himself with his mother's fine cooking, dwelt on the beautiful, smart, funny witch beside him who would soon be his beautiful, smart, funny wife.

"Ronald, what do you suppose they're doing?"

"Who," he asked, just barely having swallowed a mouthful of mashed potato. "Harry and Ginny?"

"Yes, look at them," she said suspiciously. "Watch their faces…and their eyes. It's like they're having a private conversation."

"'Mione, they're not saying a word—they're just making eyes," Ron said, spearing a chunk of carrot on his fork. "Great feast, Mum! What did you do to the carrots?"

"Thank you, Ronnie, dear. The carrots are Fiona's recipe," Molly said.

"Oi, Fiona," Ron called down the table, interrupting what appeared to be a rather amusing discussion with George, Angelina, and Percy.

"You bellered, Cousin Ronnie," she replied.

"What's with the carrots? They're excellent," Ron complimented her. "Mum says it's your recipe."

"Well, thank you, but it's really Granny's recipe and yer momma did the cookin'," she said. "But all ya do is cook the carrots 'til they're soft and then throw 'em in a skillet with some honey, brown sugar, and butter then let them glaze over on a low flame. That's it."

"'Mione, I think I love glazed carrots," Ron grinned, taking a leaf from Harry's book and offering her a bite.

At first, Hermione just stared at him as though his face had gone green, but then rather coyly opened her mouth to accept it.

"Do you know," Ron whispered into her ear. "That that was the sexiest thing I've ever seen you do still dressed?"

Hermione blushed and ducked her head. "Perhaps we should feed one another more often, then. It is rather sensual, isn't it?"

"Not you two now," Molly winced.

"Molly, have a bite of chicken," Arthur said, presenting it to her on his fork.

She sighed and then returned her husband's grin. "If you can't beat them, join them." She leaned forward and removed the meat from her husband's fork, gazing into his watery blue eyes. "You, Arthur Weasley, are a hopeless romantic."

"And you, Molly Prewett, are the cause of it," he said, brushing a stray hair from her face.

Fleur had brought along a few bottles of Burgundy wine she picked up the last time she and Bill visited with her parents in France. She had been saving it for a special occasion and she couldn't think of anything more special than this one—a great triumph for the Weasley family. It matched the food quite well and lent a warm glow to the feast. By dessert, three empty wine bottles stood in the middle of the table, but Hermione's initial shot of Firewhiskey had worked its way through her system and left her a bit giddy.

When the last morsel of Ginny's favourite chocolate cake with strawberry filling disappeared and Molly excused the family to the sitting room while she cleared away, Hermione stayed behind to assist Molly in a most surprising way.

"Molly, what if, just this once, you asked Harry to allow Kreacher take care of this? I mean, you did cook and prepare the entire meal yourself, so you've more than earned the break. Besides, I think he'd appreciate being a part of it."

Ron, who had hung back to wait for Hermione, couldn't believe his ears. _Is this our Hermione Jean Granger suggesting the use of a House elf? Unthinkable! Unheard of, I say._

Her fiancé's teasing caused Hermione to blush hotly, expecting him to tease her because of SPEW and her current work with Dobby's Law. "Ronald, I don't want House elves to become unemployed, I just want them to have a few basic rights, among them assurances that ill-treatment will not go unpunished by law," she said in all-out Hermione lecture-mode.

Before Ron or Molly could slip a word in edge-wise, she continued her rant. "I've also learned that their interpretation of fair treatment involves inclusion in the day-to-day running of the household, including assisting their masters and mistresses with child-care. I might have complained if Molly had asked Harry to let Kreacher do all the work for this feast, which he'd have been thrilled to do, but in this case, I think your mum's earned a rest and should be free to visit with her family."

Ron's jaw dropped in awe of his fiancée. "Merlin! All that research has finally paid off, Love. At the rate you're going, Dobby's Law is as good as passed!"

"Thank you, Hermione. I must say that's quite an argument, and I really grew quite fond of old Kreacher while we worked together with Harry's and Ginny's wedding," Molly said, impressed by Hermione's concern for her. "I wonder if he'll still answer to me. Kreacher!"

_Crack!_ "Madame Weasley," the old elf croaked with a deep bow. "What can old Kreacher be doing for the Great House of Weasley?"

"If it doesn't conflict with what you do for Harry—and if you want to—would you consider helping us tonight by taking care of the kitchen? We're celebrating Ginny's return from training camp and I'm truly exhausted."

Kreacher's tennis-ball sized eyes looked up at Molly adoringly, as if she's just presented him with the trophy for House-elf of the Year. "Master Harry asked Kreacher to help Madame Weasley if she is needing him, and Kreacher does," the elf said. "Mistress Ginny's mother should join her family. Kreacher will clear away."

"Thank you Kreacher. I do appreciate it and I'll tell Harry you're here," Molly promised.

"As you wish," he said, bowing again and setting to his work.

Molly, Ron and Hermione headed out into the garden were the others were gathered. Harry didn't object to Kreacher helping out at all. "He answered your call, then," Harry asked.

"Yes, why wouldn't he? He says you gave him a standing order," Molly nodded.

"It was less an order than a request, Mum, but I'm glad he chose to answer you anyway. I think he likes you," Harry teased. "And calling on him was _your_ idea, Hermione?"

Hermione giggled, which caused Harry to look at Ginny inquisitively with raised eyebrows.

"_Wine and Firewhiskey?"_

"_Must be, because a sober Hermione rarely, if ever, giggles."_

"Yes, it was," Hermione said haughtily. "Molly needs to visit with her family without having to worry about a load of housework."

"She did. I heard it myself and was stunned," Ron added, kissing her temple.

"Blimey, Hermione, there's hope for you yet, creature crusader," Harry grinned.

"And for you too, slave-driver," Hermione responded in kind.

"Witch," Harry said in retort.

"And proud," Hermione smiled royally.

"As you should be," he replied with a curt nod, ending their friendly debate with a hug.

The family had all gathered in the back garden with Butterbeers and full bellies. "So how are you all doing," Ginny asked. "Hermione, how's your new job?"

Conversation during the feast had been sparse as compared to the usual cacophony of sound that accompanied any meal at the Burrow. First of all, they were Weasleys, and hungry ones at that, and secondly, it took this scrumptious feast to lift the slight pall Muriel's unwelcome invasion left behind.

"I'm getting to know my way round the Ministry, Hermione began. "Diggory's a demanding, if not reclusive boss, but the staff is nice, especially Selma. And I see Charlie almost every week. I have a few projects I'm working on, but I'll tell you more about them later."

"It's heady times for Dragonmasters," Charlie announced, telling a laughing Ginny about the love-struck Dragons and the upcoming mating. "Hagrid's going to come in and give us a hand."

"Blimey, he must be right giddy," Ron snorted.

"Merlin's flame-thrower, he's had little else on his mind," Fiona said. "His classes've been all about nothin' but Dragons all the live-long week. Care 'n' feedin', matin' habits, the whole shebang. Miss Poppy's been worryin' herself sick that he'll bring one into the grounds and git himself or one o' them kids burnt to a crisp!"

"Merlin's flame-thrower," Harry howled. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time Hagrid's brought one of those cuddly little creatures to Hogwarts. Remember Norbert, the sweet Norwegian Ridgeback?"

"How could we forget," Hermione huffed. "Our little adventure with him left Ron with a nasty bite that nearly destroyed his hand and you, me, and poor Neville stuck in detention with Malfoy in the Forbidden Forest helping Hagrid locate a wounded unicorn!"

"Norbert's a girl, Hermione," Charlie laughed. "Honest. She is!"

"Bloody hell. Not only is the ruddy beast a man-eating menace, it has identity issues too," Ron groaned.

Charlie laughed. "So long as she's fed and allowed to roam around the preserve in the mountains of Romania, she doesn't give a damn what her name is."

Ginny next looked at Ron. "So…what have you and my gorgeous husband been up to?"

"It's business as usual at the Auror Office, considering we have such a pathetic joke for a boss," Ron grinned.

"Hey, Dad's not a joke," Ginny protested.

"Not Dad, Gin-Gin," Ron retorted, smirking at Harry.

"Yeah? Well, except for you, the annoying staff work is fine," Harry countered.

"Boys," Arthur sighed. "Honestly Ginny, they do a fine job."

"Percy, what about you...what is it you actually do, anyway," Ginny asked, catching her middle brother off-guard.

"I... work for the Ministry... you know that," Percy replied.

"Well, I also work for the Ministry," Harry said. "I'm Head Auror. What is it you work _as_, Percy? I've never quite understood what position you hold, other than that of Memo-pelter us all with memos day in and day out."

"Air-traffic control," Hermione snorted, spilling a few drops of Butterbeer down her front.

Percy sat there scratching his wavy red head. No one had actually asked him this and he'd never really thought about his title. He worked on-staff for the Minister for Magic, doing really important work, that was for sure, but what exactly?"I...well...used to be some sort of assistant to the Minister."

"For Fudge," Ron said. "But that was three Ministers ago. You're not Kingsley's assistant."

Percy listened to his brother's words and scratched his head some more. "No, I'm not... I guess…but he's very pleased with the work I do."

"And exactly what kind of work _do_ you do," Harry asked again.

"The important kind," Percy proudly stated.

Harry sighed. "I'm getting a headache," he grunted.

"So basically, _you_ don't know what your job is, _Kingsley_ doesn't know what your job is, but you and he are both very pleased with your work," Hermione asked aghast.

"I think so," Percy answered with a puzzled look.

"Our tax Galleons at work—how perfectly bureaucratic. I'm glad the Harpies are a bit more straight-to-the-point or we'd have seven very confused people flying about on brooms without a clue as to why they're there," Ginny laughed. "Well, keep up the good work, bro'. How about you, George?"

"With Angelina's and Verity's help, business is booming. Angie's quite the saleswitch and Verity keeps the place in some semblance of order. I must admit I'm pants at that sort of thing. It seems that all I'm good for is making money and creating havoc," he reported. "Speaking of new inventions, Harry, I've got a few designs you might be interested in."

"Is that so," Harry replied sneakily. "Anything…explosive?"

"Oh I think when they _burst_ onto the scene, they'll make quite a stir," George grinned evilly. "I think you'll get a right _bang_ out of them!"

"George Gideon Weasley, you'd better not so much as _think_ about selling dangerous pranks to children," his mother scolded.

"No, Mum. Like I said—these designs would be of special interest to _Harry_," George said, defending himself. "These are nothing that should ever find their way into the hands of impressionable children."

"You'd better hope not, young man," she scolded again.

"I'll owl you later this week with the designs," George said just about a whisper. "And bring Ickle Ronnikins with you. It concerns him too."

"Stop calling me _Ickle Ronnikins_, you git! Do you realise I could haul you in under suspicion of sedition with all that exploding stuff you make," Ron snarled.

George held his hands up as if to defend himself against his younger brother's wrath. "Just joking, Auror Weasley. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"That's my job," Hermione snickered, wiping a dribble of Butterbeer that had escaped from the side of her mouth.

"Ron, you need to cut her off," Ginny said with a wicked smile. "She's had quite enough, I think."

"Are you incinerating, Pinevra Jotter, that I am drunk," Hermione asked. "Only House elves can become drunk on Butterbeer!"

"No. I'm stating it outright. You're toasted," Ginny laughed. "Between the wine and the whiskey, the Butterbeer's only intensifying the effect."

"Posterperous," Hermione huffed and blinked her eyes blearily.

"That's it, Miss Granger. You're on pumpkin juice for the rest of the night," Ron said in his official Auror tone. "You can't even say your own name."

"I most certainly can," she retorted, trying to make a show of straightening up. "My name is Hernum…Merninom…Nerhiminee…"

"Give it up, _Her-my-own-ninny_," Ron snorted. "Come here and sit on my lap so I can hold you up."

"Hey, you're not Viktor Krum. You're too sweet and handsome. You must be my Ickle Ronnikins," Hermione laughed, falling back into his chest and curling up close.

"Bugger," Ron moaned, kissing his tipsy fiancée tenderly on the forehead.

Ginny turned her attention toward her oldest brother. "And what have you to say for yourself, O master curse-breaker and handsome oldest brother-of-mine?"

"I have nothing special to report." Bill said curtly, still snickering at Hermione.

"Have you heard about our new Defence professor," Fiona asked. "Rupert D. Watson. Says you worked together in Egypt?"

"Rupe Watson? I haven't heard from him in years," Bill said, his blue eyes dancing. "Is he still as funny as he used to be?"

She took a long pull from her Butterbeer. "Actually, I'd say he's a prime, Grade-A smart-ass! I honestly don't know if his stories are bull or actually true. But he's a damned good wizard. Saved a little girl's life when she fell several stories from a broom."

"Watson's seen more peculiar things than anyone else I know. Because he freelanced, he was often called upon by people who wanted to avoid Ministry involvement…or interference. I'd say most of his stories are true, but I wouldn't be surprised if he_ embellishes_ a bit for entertainment value. But I don't think he makes up outright lies and passes them on as the truth...much," Bill said.

"Oh, that's most...enlightenin', Cousin Billy. Thanks a bunch for clarifyin' that for me," Fiona laughed.

With the summer warmth fading away into the cool of the mid-September night, Arthur cast a few heating charms over the garden, leaving it most pleasant to sit and take in the fresh pre-fall air.

"Do you know I am a very happy witch," Ginny asked giddily, stealing a kiss from Harry.

"As you should be, your highness," Hermione said, having stood up to curtsy and kiss her engagement ring with an intoxicated giggle. "Your Exalted Worship, Lady Potter, Baroness Black."

Harry, Ginny, and Ron, who were the only ones present in the moment, the others having drifted into other conversations, stared at her in shock.

"Huh," Harry asked.

"What are you on about 'Mione," Ron asked her suspiciously. "It was only one shot of Firewhiskey after all, and that was before supper."

Hermione blinked twice at her fiancé. "Ronald, I assure you I have my wits quite about me, thank you, and I thought you and Ginny knew, what with your Pureblood Wizarding upbringing and all."

"Know what?" Ginny asked.

"Ginny, Harry's the Head of the Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Potter and Black," Hermione said as if that was explanation enough.

"Yeah, so? We know that," Ginny said.

Hermione spotted Arthur and emphatically waved him over. "Arthur, would you be so kind as to enlighten your daughter and son-in-law to their formal titles and the privileges thereto?"

"Hermione's on about Baroness Potter- Black or some such rot," Ron snorted. "I think she's still a bit tipsy, Dad."

"It's no rot, son. Hermione's quite right about it," Arthur stated frankly.

"Wha-wh... WHAT," Harry asked.

Arthur looked at Harry and sighed, running his hands over his face. "Damn. I'd quite forgotten you haven't been schooled in these old Wizarding traditions and family histories."

"Do I want to know," Harry groaned.

"I'm afraid it _is_ rather important and you _do_ need to know this, Harry. Since Sirius was the sole male scion of the Black family, when he died and named you heir, you became the presiding chief of the clan, as our Scottish brethren would say. As such, your formal title is _Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black_, shortened simply to _Baron_. When you married my daughter, she automatically received her title as _Baroness_."

The Potters listened to the Weasley patriarch in stunned silence as the man continued. "When your parents were killed, Harry, you remained—as Sirius had—the sole male scion of the Ancient House of Potter. But there's a difference. The Potter estate is an earldom, whereas the Black estate is a barony. Since you are the sole heir, you are officially recognised as Lord-Baron Harry James Potter-Black and my daughter is the Lady Ginevra Molly Potter, Baroness Black."

"And our children will be what? _Baronlings,_" Ginny shrieked in horror. She and Harry tried very hard to be the plain-as-dirt witch and wizard they felt they were. They didn't flaunt their wealth or find ways to make headlines the society column—or any other column—of _The Daily __Prophet_. Harry treasured his privacy and this was just one more imposition on it.

Ron howled with laughter. He found the panic on his best mate's and his sister's faces very amusing, since Harry was the least-pretentious man he'd ever met. Ginny's suggestion for the titles of their future children were plain hysterical. _Baronlets. How about Lordlings?_  
He kept on laughing while Hermione seemed to sober up the rest of the way. "You honestly didn't know anything about this at all," she asked.

"Not a clue, Hermione. I mean, I knew there was a lot of gold and a few properties, and so did Ginny, but titles? I really don't know what to make of this or what to do about it," Harry admitted.

"And we're stuck with those titles," Ginny asked, now shaking and fighting tears. She could feel Harry's apprehension and trepidation through the bond. In return, Harry picked up on her own shock and eased her body back against his chest.

"_It's all right, Love. We'll work this out."_

"_But Harry, you really didn't bargain for this and I don't know what we'll do if it gets out."_

"_If this is legal, it's already pretty-well out. We just need to be who we are and not make a big deal out of it."_

"_You know I'll support you in whatever you want to do with this…rubbish."_

"_I know you will, Gin. We'll do whatever we have to do together."_

"They're rarely used, but when they are, it's only for traditional and formal occasions. They're not even used in weddings, as you know, unless the bride and groom request it," Arthur enlightened them.

"That's a relief," Ginny sighed, wiping her eyes of the unshed tears.

"And before you lot get any ideas," Harry said gravely, pointing to them all, "Ron and George especially—don't even _think_ about calling us _Milord_ or _Milady_."

"Oh please, can't we," George mocked his raven-haired brother in a sing-song voice.

"No," Harry and Ginny replied in chorus. "We're the same Harry and Ginny we were fifteen minutes ago. Those titles are just a lot of sanctimonious rubbish."

"We Americans don't set a lot o' store by titles and such," Fiona said in an attempt to disarm the situation. "Constitutionally, private citizens can accept titles from foreign monarchies and actually use 'em, but active military, government employees, or any government official on any level cain't. It's illegal."

"I guess you Yanks are a bit more relaxed, then..." Percy began, but a fierce look from Fiona silenced him.

"I am no damn Yankee, suh. I am a southe'nuh and proud of it! I bleed Confederate gray," Fiona said sounding mildly hostile, but very insulted.

Percy looked confused, but snapped to in his own defence. "You're an American, aren't you? A Yank."

"Percy," Hermione began in hopes of diffusing a potentially explosive situation. "Even before the American Civil War a little over 130 years ago that nearly ripped the USA apart, fought between the Union _Yankees_ in the north and Confederate _Rebels_ in the south, it was damned important who and what you were, and it still matters today. Right, Fiona?"

"Yes ma'am, it does. While the war's been done 'n' over with since 1865, 'n' slavery abolished, southerners like me 'n' mine still hold to our heritage, which is a proud one, Cousin Percy." Fiona confirmed.

"So, you see, Percy, for you to call Fiona a _Yank_ is like calling either Seamus Finnegan or Professor McGonagall _Englishmen_."

Percy paled with remorse, realising his mistake. "Blimey, Cousin Fiona," he said, imitating her way of using titles with them. "I had no idea. I do apologise."

"It's all right…this time," Fiona said and they hugged each other. "You know I love ya more'n my luggage, dontcha…Bubba."

"_Bubba?_ Why did you call me that," Percy demanded. "Are you…"

"Relax, Cousin Percy, honey. Just about every family in the south has its _Bubba_—you're just ours now," Fiona explained. "Bubbas, always men, are very special to their families."

Percy's face turned bright red at the idea that someone in his family thought enough of him to bestow upon him a revered nickname. But in return, he decided he would do a little research and see if he could come up with a special nickname for Fiona.

Hermione was the brightest witch of her age for a reason, and today she knew that the Weasleys, Ron in particular, were up to something. They hadn't said anything about it being her twentieth birthday at breakfast, or at all. On the other hand, she noticed their curious glances at Ron, who had been acting nervous and genuinely out-of-character, since it was a rarity for him to be out of bed at seven o'clock of a Sunday morning unless he was on duty. At any rate, Hermione let the family glance and let Ron prepare whatever he was preparing. All she knew with any real certainty was that her parents had something planned for her at their home in Oxford.

_Their home_? _When did home become just _their_ home?_ _Where's _my_ home now? I guess I live at the Burrow for now, but where will Ron and I live and have _our_ home?" _Over the past several years, Hermione had come to realise that she belonged in the Wizarding world, but still felt strange and a little sad that she couldn't share it fully with her Muggle parents. However, she was glad that after her mum and dad had learned about her relationship with Ron, and even more after the engagement, they had taken a greater interest in her world, asking questions so they could understand their daughter's new way of life.

Hermione had started reading one of the books in her never-ending pile of unread books. This one was a book from the eighteenth century entitled, _The House-Elfe—A Moste Helpful Item to Thy Manor,_ by Archibald Nott, and an insightful treatise outlining views and customs concerning House elves during that time. Mr Nott didn't consider House elves as living, sentient beings and compared their loyalty to the effects of the Imperius curse. He referred to them as _it_ throughout the book, never once entertaining the thought that the humble House elf had feelings. As she read, one section made her furious:

"_To remove it from thine house, a moste amusing way is to bestowe upon it an article of clothing. It will display near life-like emotions, possible to imagine, those being agony or despair and ultimately, many simply expire."_

_He murdered them for fun by forcing clothes on them, the bastard!_ Her studies in the development of House-elf rights, or the truthful lack thereof, proved most rewarding for her first drafts of Dobby's Law.

She glanced out the window and noticed that Ron, Harry and Ginny weren't flying around the orchard any longer. Ginny had invited them out to show them a few stunts she'd picked up in training, but since Hermione couldn't see them out there any longer, she though they must be finished. In fact, she could almost bet on it because it was close to noon and Ron would be hungry...er. Only a few minutes later, Ron walked into their bedroom, red-faced and windblown.

"Hello, you" she said, lifting her eyes from the book. "Learn anything death-defying this morning?"

"Nothing a lowly Keeper would want to try," Ron said, his blue eyes twinkling. "Care to join me for a shower before lunch?"

Hermione closed the book. That eighteenth-century Pureblood sod could bugger off for now. "Love to," Hermione agreed, taking his hand.

They washed each other's hair and bodies and engaged in a fair amount of snogging before they finished. Ron told her to dress up nicely, but comfortable. Since it was a warm day for September, she chose a knee-length skirt, a matching top, and denim jacket. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and applied light make-up she quickly adjusted with a few flicks of her wand. Hermione rather enjoyed dressing in a more feminine way occasionally, especially since Ron seemed to like it. He opted for a pair of jeans, a shirt, and an amazingly sharp-looking knitted Weasley pullover.

"Happy birthday, 'Mione," Ron beamed, pulling her into an embrace and kissing her deeply. "I am taking you on a bona fide date, Milady."

Since Ron had been so secretive, not even so much as hinting at his plans, Hermione knew she would enjoy it, wherever they might go. "Thank you Ron, Where are we going," she asked, taking his hand.

Ron led her out of the Burrow and past the Apparition point. With a _pop!_ they Disapparated. Hermione gazed at Ron nonplussed when they appeared in one of the popular Apparition spots close to King's Cross Station that many parents used at the start and close of term to send off and meet their children.

"London," Hermione said with pleasantly surprised voice. "I must say, Mr Weasley, I am intrigued."

Ron led her down the stairs to the Underground section of King's Cross Station and proudly bought two one-day tickets.

"Weird money they call _Quidditch_, but since it's what Muggles use..." Ron grinned as he returned the change to his pocket.

"_Quid,_ Ron. _Pounds Sterling_, if you're Percy, but many prefer to say _quid,_" Hermione told him.

Ron stopped to check the map of the Underground and led Hermione to the Piccadilly Line. "I've never been on the _cube_ before," Ron declared excitedly as they stepped onto the platform.

"The _Tube_, Ron," Hermione whispered, giggling. She had to admit that she thought it was more than cute when Ron mispronounced Muggle things.

"Ah, that makes more sense. There's nothing cubical about this place. It's definitely more circular…and very long," Ron replied.

Ron carefully watched each station they passed, and after Leicester Square, he told her they would get off at the next stop.

"That's Piccadilly Circus," Hermione guessed. "We could have Flooed to the Leaky and walked from there."

They got off at Piccadilly Circus and headed upwards. "I know, and we could have Disillusioned ourselves and Apparated right to...where we're going, but then I wouldn't have had the chance to try the Tube. And the Tube is a more Muggle way, and this is a Muggle-themed date," Ron grinned.

"Oh, I see," Hermione said with a smile. "And where are we going?"

Ron shook his shaggy head, returning her smile. "My dear 'Mione, considering the time of day and that I planned this date, do you have any doubts?"

"Food, then," Hermione guessed.

"We are going to eat at a fine establishment called _McRonald's_...I love the name," Ron said proudly.

Hermione laughed. "It's _McDonald's™_...but they do have a mascot—a clown called _Ronald McDonald_®, with bright red hair and everything."

"Bollocks," Ron huffed.

"He's big and has your name and red hair. You're quite like him, actually," Hermione snickered.

"So now I'm a Muggle clown," Ron said, acting hurt.

"He's a rather engaging fellow, really," she demurred. "Ron, planning a Muggle date for me was very sweet of you. I'm having a great time already," she assured him.

Ron led her to the closest McDonald's™. When it was their turn to order, Ron deferred to Hermione. "Anything you want, Love."

"I'll have a Big Mac® with medium chips and a cola," Hermione told the clerk.

"What do I want," Ron asked her.

"My fiancé will have one of each burger on the menu—no onions, large chips, a large cola, and a large strawberry milk-shake," Hermione told the cashier.

"Are you sure," the clerk asked in shock. "I mean, that's a lot of food!"

"I'm sure," Ron said. "I'm a lot of bloke!"

The cashier gave him the once-over and glared briefly at Hermione._ That you are, sir. Too bad you're taken. _"Will that be all, then?"

"Yes, thank you," Hermione replied.

It took four trays to carry all of their food and drinks. "How did the Muggles fix so much food so fast without magic," he asked Hermione as they tucked in.

"It's called _fast food_ for a reason, Love," Hermione lectured, clearly enjoying this date more and more. "There's a whole team of people working in the kitchen—like the House elves at Hogwarts."

Finishing his McDLT® and reaching for another burger, Ron looked at Hermione, a quarter into her Big Mac®. "I heard that this a common place for Muggles our age to eat," Ron said.

"I guess that's true. It's inexpensive, but still quite edible," Hermione said. "This is a perfect Muggle date."

"I'm glad you like it," Ron said, tearing into his Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese®.

Hermione had sipped the last of her soft drink as Ron finished the last of his burgers. The loving looks he had given her throughout the meal made her blush prettily. He really was trying to acquaint himself with the Muggle world. His harsh words to Muriel were not empty invective.

"Now, I'm going to take you to the mover theatre."

Hermione gasped. "_Movie,_ and where did you learn about all of this?"

"Patricia, mostly. She's a living, breathing Muggle encyclopaedia. Poor Pig has had quite a workout, taking extra letters to Hogwarts," Ron revealed. "First I asked Seamus, since he knows a bit about Muggles, but his knowledge involved mostly drinking games and what to think of in a Muggle environment."

"Patricia's so sweet. I'll have to thank her for helping you out," Hermione said.

"Ready?" Ron offered her his arm and led Hermione to the cinema. "I got tickets for something I hope you'll be some day," Ron murmured into her ear, causing her to shudder. "A mum."

"Once we're married, have a home, and we're settled in our careers, I want to give you babies, Ron," she said softly. "I do want us to be parents someday."

They walked on until they arrived at the cinema. They surveyed the NOW PLAYING posters. "_The Mummy_," Hermione giggled. "You want me to be a mummy?"

Ron blushed. "Bloody hell! How did I know that the ruddy movie's about cursed corpses? I didn't know Muggles even _knew_ about mummies."

"Ron, do you know what to expect from the film," Hermione asked.

"Well…Patricia said they use loads of tricks to make things look real when they're really not," he said tentatively.

"That's called _special effects. _They do a very good job, so don't be too surprised if it looks like magic, because it isn't. It's _technology_," Hermione said.

Once inside, Ron looked around in awe of the lights that flashed overhead and the smart uniforms the staff wore. "This place is huge! And look! They have something like the Honeydukes over there!"

Breathing in a delicious smell, Ron dragged Hermione toward the concession area. "We need cockporn, right?"

Hermione broke into near-hysterics, gasping for air. "Ron...Love...this is not _that_ kind of film!"

"But Patricia said—"Ron insisted.

"We need _popcorn,_" Hermione corrected him. "_Cockporn_ is for the dodgy cinemas in Soho and if you were to ask that young lady for cockporn, she'd slap you and they'd toss us out on our magical bums."

"Oh. Can we go to one of those sometime too," Ron asked.

Hermione was biting her lip trying to avoid howling from laughter again. "Certainly not! You have enough ideas as it is."

"What ideas," Ron asked.

Hermione rose up on her tiptoes to whisper in Ron's ear. His colour started out slightly pink and progressed to beetroot red by the end of her explanation. He gulped loudly. "They actually film that?"

Hermione nodded. "But it's the sort of thing that would show in Knockturn Alley if it existed in our world."

"Trust me, Mione, it exists, just not in movie from," Ron snickered. Charlie used to hide _that_ kind of thing under his mattress. One day, Molly found them while she was cleaning. Everyone's ears rang for a week afterwards and Charlie had to do all of their chores for a month.

"Anyway, we still need popcorn," Ron said. They stood at the counter and looked over the various sweets, snacks, and beverages available. Ron chose a fair selection based on Hermione's recommendations. Fully loaded down with goodies, they headed for their seats.

The movie was less than romantic, but a bit funny at times and mostly scary—enough to snuggle close together and hold hands. By the end of the movie, Ron and Hermione weren't the only couple snogging as the house lights came up.


	16. Chapter 16 Happy Birthday Dear Hermione

**Chapter 16 – Happy Birthday, Dear Hermione**

Arthur disappeared into his shed to take further inventory of his cache of plugs, batteries, Muggle tools, and other bits and bobs he'd collected over the years. Molly had been after him to clean that self-contained junk yard out and make some sense of it if he insisted upon keeping it all. He whistled while he worked conjuring crates with labels such as _Whatsits, Hoosits, Thing-a-ma-bobs, Doo-hinkies_, and _Unidentified_. He thought he should ask Harry what a lot of it was, since he had some degree of familiarity with Muggle objects.

Very soon after Ron and Hermione left for their date, Harry and Ginny holed up in their room. Talk about their titles the night before set them both on their respective ears. It wasn't that they were upset about it, really, it was just quite a shock. It afforded even more incentive for Harry to call upon Bill to make an accounting of his and Ginny's holdings.

Harry and Ginny sat up against the headboard, cuddled up as they talked. All of this talk of Lord-Baron and Lady had resulted in a very restless night's sleep. Flying about the orchard with Harry and Ron earlier that morning helped settle her nerves, but it resulted in a desire for physical intimacy. Harry's mind, however, was a million miles away. His love flowed through the bond and he returned her kisses, but the intense passion that drove their lovemaking wasn't there.

"What is it Love," Ginny asked searching Harry's eyes.

"We can talk about it tomorrow," Harry said.

"I know it's something very important, but I can't pin-point exactly what it is," Ginny told him. "Please tell me."

Harry waved his hand and summoned a few parchments from Ginny's old desk. He did a lot of simple magic, both wandless and non-verbal in front of Ginny and Ron and Hermione, but otherwise kept that talent to himself. He unrolled them across their laps, casting a sticking charm on the corners to keep them flat. "Remember what we wanted to talk a bit about when you were home a few weeks ago?"

"Not really. What is this," Ginny asked, sending a mild wave of excitement and eagerness through the bond.

"It's our home, Gin...or at least some ideas for it. Before you left for camp, I explained to Ollie Phelps what I'd had in mind. He and his brother sent over these blueprints for a few basic houses based on what I said I wanted. Almost everything can be adjusted and there's loads of extras. Put simply, we can have a home any way _we_ like it."

Ginny's heart melted. Her Harry had set plans in motion for a home—_their_ home. She could hardly believe it was true. They would really have their own home just the way they wanted it. It would be the place she would live with Harry and raise a safe new generation of Potters. The very idea took her breath away.

"And that's some ideas for it," Ginny asked nodding to the parchments.

"Would you like to have a look?"

"I'd love to."

Ginny, who also managed to develop a few talents of her own, lit a lamp with the wave of her hand and increased the flame to a good reading light so she could see the plans spread across their laps. The basic structures were very simple, but like Harry had said, they could be adapted in any number of ways, by adding more rooms, resizing existing ones, and manipulating them countless ways according to their needs.

"I like this one," Ginny decided, pointing to a fairly-simple structure and floor plan. It was a ground floor with a kitchen, a parlour and storage rooms. "There's plenty of storage space for foodstuffs, utensils, pots and pans, table linens—the works. And the kitchen and parlour are close enough together that we can entertain with some degree of competence."

"Your Mum does pretty well with the Burrow," Harry argued slyly.

"You'll notice that the kitchen and the sitting room are divided only by a single wall with a wide doorway," Ginny countered.

"I'm just having you on, Love," Harry said, kissing her now. "Look, the parlour can be adjusted up to double its size at any time we need it. That's definitely conducive to entertaining," Harry said.

"Very handy. I've never seen a newly-built house, and I don't think Mum and Dad included many extras in the Burrow," Ginny said.

"I like the kitchen here at the Burrow. How about designing our kitchen in a like style," Harry asked.

"I'd love that; it'd feel like home," Ginny smiled.

"Gin, anyplace we're together is home. But you're right—there's something special about the Burrow, isn't there." The first time Harry set foot in the Burrow, he loved the place. He remembered how Ron had apologised for it, saying it wasn't much, but it was home. What Ron didn't understand at that time was that the fact that it was a home full of the love of family that made it more than its appearance. _I think it's brilliant_.

They continued to examine the plans for the second floor. It consisted of a master bedroom, two smaller bedrooms, and a loo. There were extra rooms to add for guests included in the basic structure.

"Our bedroom, Ginny," Harry dreamed looking at the blueprint. "See? And we could add a master bath if we wanted to—if you wanted to."

"So long as it's nothing like Mum and Dad's master bedroom here. That would just be wrong on so many levels," Ginny grinned.

"Definitely," Harry agreed. "But you can design it any way you want to. You _are_ the lady of the manor."

"Manor," Ginny repeated. "I'll live in no manor house. Do you think we can maybe change the outside so it looks like one of those rambling old farmhouses outside the village?"

"You want it to look old and rickety," Harry asked, not quite understanding.

"Well…to Muggles and those who would do us harm, yes, but I really mean for it to have a grand wrap-around porch with comfy chairs and benches…and maybe a porch-swing…and pots with flowers and—"

"Ginny, I told you: you can design and decorate our home any way your heart desires. If you want a Quidditch pitch in our bedroom, we'll find a way to make it happen, Harry laughed.

"Well…maybe not in our bedroom," Ginny smirked. "But you know what I'd really love?"

"What, Gin? Ask and it's yours…if it's feasible," Harry promised.

"I…well…the pond was nice, but…I'd like a big blue swimming pool like Muggles have in their back gardens," Ginny said, biting her lip. "Swimming is a great way to work off tension and get a little exercise—"

"You don't have to sell it to me, Love. I agree. I'm not much of a swimmer, but I suppose if I had you there to rescue me…" Harry teased.

"Prat. You know I would. Besides, you swim well enough. Now…can we have it as part of the house so we can swim in the winter," Ginny asked hopefully.

"Well…I'd just have to pitch the idea to Jim Phelps, since he's the architect of the two," Harry surmised. "I'm sure he could come up with something doable. Would you like a Jacuzzi as well, Milady?"

"What's that," she asked.

"Don't tell me you didn't have hot tubs at training camp," Harry said incredulously.

"Of course we had hot tubs, but what's a Jacuzzi," she asked again, perplexed.

"It's a posh hot tub," Harry explained. "Some of them can hold a dozen people or more and have built-in stereo—sorry, wireless—systems, waterproof cushions, all kinds of things."

"Then we need a Jazz…Juc…posh hot tub," Ginny agreed as her husband laughed at her.

"_Ja-COO-zee_, Ginny," he howled.

"Posh hot tub," she huffed.

"Fine, if you want it to be a posh hot tub, then it'll be a posh hot tub," Harry allowed, drawing her in for a quick kiss. "Now about that Quidditch pitch in the bedroom…"

Both their minds drifted off, lost in thought about how they might design their bedroom and which amenities they should include. Soon a shared picture began to take shape in their minds.

"_Can you see it, Harry?"_

"_Yes, I see it. It's just what I pictured it to be."_

The image of their future bedroom overwhelmed them and the urges Ginny had earlier resurfaced and passed again to Harry, who responded in kind. This was the home they would create together, the home in which they would build their dreams and a family. Their bedroom reminded them of certain pleasant aspects of...family-building. They blushed as they became aware of what they both were thinking.

"_I think we'll need some practice as soon as we're finished with the blueprints, don't you?"_

"_Indubitably, my dear."_

"Merlin's nappies, Harry! We'll have a family..." Ginny said and love flowed over her and sent a wave to Harry and soon his love for her returned in force.

"I know..." Harry said, gazing into his wife's eyes.

There were more floors to be added if needed and an attic that could expand a bit if necessary. Attached to the blueprints was a list of various extras for them to consider. "Everything a wizard and witch never knew they needed," Ginny said, perusing the list of what she deemed wretched excess worthy of a Malfoy.

"Who needs a hand crafted unicorn's horn Floo powder cup," Harry asked. "What's wrong with the standard 24-carat solid gold model?"

Ginny either missed Harry's jab or chose to ignore it as she read on. "Or the _luxury-smooth Floo powder – evenly grained for a pleasant Floo experience_... Do people actually buy this stuff?" Ginny laughed. "You could put it in your unicorn cup…and don't think I missed that remark about 24-carat gold either, Potter."

"I guess it's a lot of that stuff the Phelps brothers make a lot of extra Galleons on," Harry suggested. "Some of the wealthier of our kind can't resist the opportunity to show off. Muggles are quite the same way, really."

Ginny huffed her disapproval of such folderol and continued to read the list of amenities. "They do have quite a selection of wards," Ginny observed.

"Honestly, I'd feel more comfortable having Hermione and Bill cast the wards for us," Harry confessed. "I mean, while we were on the run, Hermione cast most of the wards around our campsites and they were never breeched." _That is, until you opened your big mouth and spoke the dark tosser's name aloud after Ron warned you about the damned Taboo._

"What's the matter? Can't the Britain's Chosen Boy-Who-Lived-to-Become-History's-Youngest-Head Auror cast his own wards," Ginny teased him and gave him a kiss.

"I probably could. It's just that I'm quite used to having Hermione do that sort of thing and Bill's an experienced Curse-breaker who probably knows more ward charms than Gringotts' got Galleons!"

"I know she's brilliant and can add her own small _improvements_ to her charms. She'd give Bill a run," Ginny revealed.

"Let's hope no one learns that the Head Auror of Britain has unauthorized and manipulated wards, then," Harry chuckled, looking further down the list. "Oh now here's something I want." A Gnome- and Boggart-repelling broom shed. I don't think it'll keep them away entirely, but if our brooms are a little bit less-compromised by them it's a good thing. And it doesn't cost much more either."

"Okay, and could we consider the cooling-charm imbued cupboard for the kitchen. Mum loves the one you set up for her. She doesn't have to freeze everything. It's quite handy."

"For our stock of Butterbeer," Harry grinned.

"Of course…and some of that wonderful Ice Vodka Charlie brought from Romania last year," Ginny agreed. "We must remind him to order a couple of cases for the Stag and Hen night."

"Oh yeah, that _was_ good! I'll nip out to the preserve on Monday. Is there anything else we should consider?"

"There'll be loads to consider."

Harry and Ginny cuddled up more closely and shared a series of mental pictures of their house, their home.

_Harry and Ginny moved through the ground floor, up the stairs, through the heavily-carpeted hallway, ending up in their bedroom. They slipped into their bed and engaged in an all-out __healthy snog. Soon, they began working with each other's clothes, fumbling with buttons, snaps, hooks, and zips. The intensity of their love and desire increased as they made love, and when they both climaxed, there was a blinding flash..._

Harry's and Ginny's eyes snapped open to find each staring shocked into the eyes of the other. As they regained their senses, they found themselves undressed on their bed at the Burrow, the covers lying in a twisted heap on the floor.

"Harry..." Ginny panted. "That…that was...so _real_..."

"Yeah…it was. But was it," Harry asked, sweaty and spent.

"But... we were in _our_ home... did we really…?"

"I think so..." Harry said. "Ginny...were you...charmed?" Harry pointed to her belly.

"Of course, my love. I cast it right after we came in from flying…just in case. I hadn't planned to keep my hands off you. But I'm on the potion, too, remember," Ginny said with a wicked smile on her lips "Consider the possibilities with this mind-thing, once the season gets underway and I'm on the road."

Harry smiled. "I just don't know if it'll make me feel better to share this with you or worse because you're not here..."

"Well, we have a full weekend of the real deal to look forward to."

"So…have we designed a house, Lady Potter, Baroness Black," Harry asked with a snort.

"I believe we have, Lord-Baron Potter-Black," she giggled.

"This title thing—it stays between us, all right," Harry said, suddenly sobering in demeanour. "I mean, I know we're stuck with them, but like I told Ron and George last night…nothing is to be made of them."

"Harry, other than you, nobody's more disturbed about this than I am. I know it bothers you and it feels like an intrusion on our privacy, but it's something we'll have to live with until which time as our society emerges from the Dark Ages," Ginny replied.

"I love you, you know," Harry said, drawing her back into his embrace. "But you're a queen to me."

"If I'm queen, then you're my king," she replied, snuggling into the crook of his shoulder. "And I love you too, Your Majesty."

"But doesn't the song go, _Weasley Is Our King_," Harry snorted and began to hum that awful song from fifth year that had started out as a Slytherin taunt but ended as a Gryffindor anthem following Ron's spectacular performance in the House Quidditch Final.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Gin?"

"Shut up and kiss me!"

"Your wish is my command, my queen." Harry rose up on one arm and leaned over Ginny. Taking her right breast in his free hand, he leaned down and kissed her gently and deeply, his tongue begging entrance past her already-swollen lips.

"Mmm…Harry," she breathed.

"Ginny…" he replied, and the world melted away.

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Molly busied herself with her holiday knitting. She was a bit behind and was grateful for this off-day to catch up. There were so many jumpers to finish and then a collection of baby blankets and outfits to make for Victoire. Teddy would receive his first Weasley jumper as would Andromeda and Fiona. The two little ones had grown so fast! Teddy threatened to top his father in height, while Victoire promised to become a statuesque beauty like her mother.

While her aunt worked, Fiona slipped outside for a walk around the grounds. Even as the leaves began to change, she marvelled at the simple beauty of the country surroundings. She could appreciate the quiet commune with nature as she had often taken walks in the hills surrounding Rook Holler for a little respite from the near-constant parade of people who came for help with this or that ailment or injury. Before she knew it, she found herself standing at the foot of her cousin, Fred's, grave. She took a moment to read his marker and pay her respects. The need to reach into her pocket and pull out something very precious to her overwhelmed her. "_Engorgio,_" she whispered, and a miniature grew to full-size in her hands.

"Howdy, Cousin Fred. I'm yer cousin from the States, Fiona Francine Prewett. Yer Uncle Fabian's my daddy. I was just walkin' around the place and wound up here, so I thought I'd take

this chance to visit fer a spell," she told him.

"Everybody's been real nice to me 'n' made me welcome. Cousin George even got me in to see the headmistress at Hogwarts and now I'm apprenticin' with Miss Poppy. I stayed with him in your room before the term started—I hope ya don't mind. I really love the kids at the school, though."

"Ya know, yer little sister's quite the lady and that man o' hers is a real catch. I'm told he's a hero and so's Cousin Ronnie and his Hermione. But that Ginny—she s a high-falootin' Quidditch player with a team called _The Holyhead Harpies_. Your folks are just bustin' with pride and I got no doubts you are too."

"When I come here, I didn't know what for, but I think I do now. I come here fer family and new friends. I got ta see my daddy's and Uncle Gideon's graves a while back. They're in Somerset, but I'm sure you know that already. In fact, from all I hear, you're with 'em havin' a big time with Harry's daddy 'n' the other Marauders."

"Anyway, if ya don't mind, I think Mokey an' me'll jus' sit and pick a bit," she said, manipulating the machine heads on the old guitar bringing the strings to proper pitch. With a test run and a capo adjustment, Fiona began to sing one of the pieces from Granny's father's old Aint hymnal.

_Precious mem'ries, unseen angels,_

_Sent from heaven to my soul;_

_How they linger, ever near me:_

_Bless-ed sacred scenes unfold._

_Precious mem'ries, how they linger;_

_How they ever flood my soul!_

_In the stillness of the midnight,_

_Precious mem'ries flood my soul!_

_Precious mother, loving father—_

_Fly across the lonely years!_

_And old home scenes of my childhood_

_In fond memory, appear!_

_Precious mem'ries, how they linger;_

_How they ever flood my soul!_

_In the stillness of the midnight,_

_Precious mem'ries flood my soul._

Molly had been knitting away for over an hour when she noticed Fiona had not returned. It was getting close to lunch time and she wanted to make sure the poor girl had a decent meal in her before she had to Floo back to Scotland. She thought Fiona must have gone for a walk, so she donned a light cloak and made her way toward Fred's grave thinking that she needed to replace the summer flowers with some more-appropriate fall blooms. She had barely left the sitting area in the back garden when a sweet melody she'd never heard before filled her with a comfort she hadn't felt in years. _Where is that music coming from? It's lovely._

The closer she got to the gravesite, the louder the music became. Breaking through the orchard, she found the source of the song. Fiona sat on the bench beside Fred's grave, playing a battered old guitar and singing to her lost son. Tears filled her brown eyes as she listened. Her heart began to swell as peace filled her entire being. Aches that had taken root in her knees and hands vanished as if they'd never been there.

Fiona sang on, and having finished the old hymn, she moderated into an old Irish lullaby her mother had sung to her and Gallatea when they were little girls. As she sang, she remembered how she and her sister used to giggle at the silly words of the chorus.

_Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, too-ra-loo-ra-lai;_

_Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral—hush, now don't you cry._

_Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, too-ra-loo-ra-lai:_

_Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral—that's an Irish lullabye!_

She was about to reprise it when she felt eyes on her from behind. She stopped playing and drew her wand. "Who's there," she demanded in her rebel snarl. "Show yerself or else!'

"Don't stop, Fiona," Molly said softly. "It was lovely."

"Hey, Aunt Molly. Ya gave me a bit of a fright, there," Fiona laughed. "Come on, sit down. Mokey 'n' me were just havin' a chat with Cousin Fred here, 'n' thought we'd pick a while."

"Why didn't you tell us you could sing? Ronnie can, you know. He's got a lovely voice. Hermione raves about it," Molly said, an idea forming in her mind.

"I guess I just didn't think about it. I don't make much of a show, really. It's just somethin' I do," the younger witch confessed. "Taya's man, Jayce, says I got a special gift with my music."

"A gift? What kind of gift, dear," Molly asked, intrigued.

"Well, he says I'm a _Can-tee-coo-mah-jiss_," she said, pronouncing it phonetically. "A _Canticumagus_ is a witch or wizard who can heal or help with healin' by singin' to sick and injured folks. I guess it can work on animals, too."

"Canticumagus or not, you have a real gift and you should use it. If it can help heal, then you've chosen the right profession," Molly counselled her. "Have you had a chance to use it at Hogwarts?"

"Remember that business with the fight I told you about yesterday mornin'? Well, it's not the first. There've been a couple of 'em and in one of 'em, a first-year girl got roughed up pretty bad. I think it was the same ones Joseph got into it with. Anyway, she was shakin' like a leaf on a tree while we checked her out and fixed her hurts, but the poor child was terrified and wanted to go home. Couldn't blame her, but we managed to get a Calmin' Draught into her so she'd lay back and maybe go to sleep."

"And…"

"Well, Miss Poppy had to go see Professor Slughorn about some potions she needed, so she left me in charge. That poor little girl lay there in that bed, still shakin' and cryin'. So I did the only thing I knew to do. I pulled out ol' Mokey here 'n' cut loose with that lullaby ya heard me singin' just a few minutes ago. She settled right down and by the time I was done, she was fast asleep. Her colour'd come back nice and she even had a little smile on her face," Fiona said with not a little pride.

"Fiona, what do you know about Muggle country music," Molly asked point-blank.

"A fair bit. Granny listens to the Opry every Saturday night. Why?"

"Do you know…oh what are they called," Molly asked herself. "Oh, something about swearing and the other about needing something."

Fiona thought for a moment, trying to come up with possible titles. "Could one be _I Swear?_"

"Yes, that's it. _I Swear_," she said happily. "I take it you're familiar with it?"

"Oh yeah. It's used at Aint weddings all over the south," Fiona told her.

"Any ideas about the other one? It's about needing something or someone…"

"_You Needed Me?_"

"Yes! Oh Fiona, you're a treasure," Molly cried.

"It's another common wedding song. Are you tellin' me Ron and Hermione need a singer for their weddin'?"

"Yes, I guess I am," Molly confessed. "They want these two songs so badly they can taste it, but haven't been able to find anyone to perform them. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

"Aunt Molly, if they'll have me, I'd be honoured to do it," Fiona agreed.

"I'm sure they'll be thrilled to have their singer," Molly said, nearly crushing her and the guitar in one of her trademark hugs. "Now, how about we talk about some lunch?"

"Sure, Aunt Molly," Fiona replied. "Just let me just pay my respects again to Cousin Fred and I'll be along directly."

"Oh! That reminds me. _Accio_, azaleas! _Accio_, zinnias! _Accio_, asters," the older witch called, waving her wand toward the flower beds. "I've been meaning to switch out those summer flowers for fall ones, but when I heard your music, I forgot to pick them on the way."

Several blooms of each variety zoomed through the air to Molly's waiting hands, spinning into a neat bouquet that just fit in the vase in front of Fred's marker. Molly banished the old bouquet to the compost pile and replaced it with the fresh one, casting a preservation charm on them so they wouldn't wilt and die.

"Aunt Molly, you have got to teach me that. That's plumb fantastic," Fiona exclaimed quietly.

"Why thank you, dear. I'll be glad to show you, but I dare say young Professor Longbottom would be the better teacher," Molly insisted. "Come on. Let's have some lunch."

Fiona shrunk Mokey and carefully slid him back into her jacket pocket. She linked arms with her father's sister and they took a leisurely walk back toward the house, gathering a few more of the fall blooms that Fiona could present to Minerva and Poppy to brighten up their offices.

"Fiona, dear, please take this out to the shed to your Uncle Arthur. I don't want him tracking in Merlin-Knows-What when he's been mucking about out there," Molly told her, handing her a basket with some sandwiches and a flask of pumpkin juice. "Just be careful. The dirt in that shed has a tendency to leap onto people when they're not looking."

Fiona giggled at her aunt's jokes and hurried out to deliver her basket of goodies. "Uncle Art? Uncle Art, you in there," Fiona asked, gingerly pulling the creaky door open. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the low light inside, supplied by a single oil lantern.

"Back here, Fiona," her uncle's voice answered. "What can I do, for you?"

Fiona had to stifle her laughter. Her dear, balding Uncle Arthur was covered in grime with a pair of equally grimy goggles perched on his forehead. The only clean part of him was the rings around his eyes left by the goggles. He reminded her of the fat and sassy raccoons that lived in the woods back home, only in negative. "Aunt Molly sent this out for ya, Uncle Art," she said.

"Uncle Art is it, then," he teased with a glint in his eye. "And what shall I call you, then, miss?"

"Um…well…the folks back home call me Onie. Georgie does, too," she replied shyly. "Ya don't mind if I call you Uncle Art do ya, 'cos if ya do, I won't do it anymore."

"Uncle Art. I think I like it, Onie. Uncle Art it is," he said, lifting the cloth covering the basket. "So about this basket…what did your lovely aunt send out for me?"

"There's some sammiches in there 'n' some pumpkin juice, I think. There might even be an apple or two," she replied.

"Ah yes. Always the balanced meal with Molly," he smiled again. "Now before you get as grotty as me, young lady, I suggest you join Molly in the kitchen for some lunch yourself. I'd give you a hug, but…"

"Say no more, Uncle Art," she giggled, backing away. "I don't wanna be accused o' trackin' muck all over her kitchen floor. See ya later!"

Fiona dared touch only the inside of the door with her fingertips, as she didn't want to befoul them with the Merlin-Knows-What her aunt warned her about. Still, once she returned to the house, she walked straight to the loo to scrub her hands before she touched food. Truth be told, while she spoke with her uncle, she could detect the faint odour of old motor oil, gasoline—_petrol in England_, she reminded herself—and a fair amount of mildew amid the dust and grime. She was no stranger to these things, but like her aunt, she didn't care to wear them.

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Fiona and Molly spent the next few hours chatting and looking through old knitting patterns, picking out the most-adorable items for Victoire and Teddy. Molly took a few measurements of her niece so she could be sure her Weasley jumper fit her properly on Christmas morning. It hadn't immediately occurred to her that she would be once again fashioning a jumper with a big block 'F' on the front, and when it finally would, rivers of tears would flow.

Finally, it was time for Fiona to leave. Molly had called Arthur in from outside and shepherded him up the stairs to the loo for a long, hot shower. Fiona waited until he returned to the kitchen, pink from the scrubbing and no stark-white rings around his eyes.

"Thank you for coming to Ginny's party, dear," Molly cooed, hugging her niece tightly. "Don't forget the bouquets for Minerva and Poppy."

"I got 'em right here in my pocket, Aunt Molly, safe 'n' sound," she replied, extricating herself from the older witch's embrace. "Uncle Art…"

"Take care of yourself, now. And if there's any more trouble at the school, let us know right away, all right?"

"I will. I just hope this dies down pretty soon. Nothin' breaks my heart more'n havin' to put banged-up kids back together," she replied, hugging him. She broke away and took a handful of Floo powder. "Hogwarts, Headmistress' Office!" Green flames flared and Fiona was gone.

"So, Mollywobbles, are you ready to go," Arthur asked his wife.

"I just need my cloak and my handbag and we can leave," she replied. "Harry and Ginny have already gone and I'm assuming Ron and Hermione have been in Oxford for a while now."

Ginny helped her mother choose an acceptable Muggle outfit before she and Harry left to meet Ron and Hermione. Molly wore a smart cream-coloured long-sleeved button-down blouse with a flowy flower-print medium-blue skirt with a matching solid vest and flat-heeled shoes. Harry laid out a pair of khaki trousers and a blue polo shirt for Arthur so they'd be sure to fit in. Wizarding folk were not well-known for their fashion-sense where Muggle clothes were concerned. Overall, the elder Weasleys looked like a pair of fashionable Muggles out for a Sunday evening.

Arthur held the door for his wife to exit the house. She waited while he locked the door and set the anti-burglary wards. Holding hands, they strolled tot the Apparition point, spun down together and disappeared with a _pop!_ In a few moments, they landed safely in the Grangers' back garden that was surrounded by tall hedges to mask their sudden arrival.

They moved toward the house to announce themselves, when they found Richard standing on the patio in front of a device that appeared to be an outdoor stove of some kind. He had just closed the cover when he looked up and spied the Weasleys approaching.

"Arthur! Molly! We're so glad you could make it! Splendid," he gushed. "Helen! Arthur and Molly are here!"

"Coming, dear! I'm just finishing up the salad," Helen called from the kitchen. Wiping her hands on a towel, Helen appeared at the double sliding glass doors and stepped outside. "Welcome!"

The two women disappeared back into the kitchen. Molly looked around, fascinated by the wonderful Muggle appliances. She recognised the stove and refrigerator, but the box on the counter and the large one underneath had her utterly stumped. Carefully and tentatively, Molly reached out to touch the smaller box on the counter. "Helen, if you don't mind my asking…what is this box with all the numbers on it?"

"Oh dear me, Molly. I forget that you're not familiar with our…erm…Muggle conveniences," Helen said. "This little wonder is a microwave oven. It cooks food a bit faster than a conventional oven by the use of radio waves instead of heat."

"Helen, you're not serious," Molly replied.

"Here, let me show you," Hermione's mother replied, taking a potato out of the crate next to the refrigerator. She washed the potato, and then poked it with a fork. "Now, how long does it take to bake a potato in the oven, Molly?"

"Oh at least an hour," Molly replied.

"Not in our handy-dandy microwave," Helen smiled. "I guarantee you that this potato is raw. Go ahead, squeeze it."

Molly did.

"It's raw, right?"

Molly nodded.

"Now watch this." Helen placed the potato on the rotating glass tray inside the microwave and closed the door. She pressed 8-0-0 and then START. The appliance hummed to life and a bulb lit inside allowing the cook to watch the food as it rotated and cooked. "In approximately eight minutes, that potato will be fully cooked and ready to be covered in butter, chives, and sour cream."

Molly watched closely as the digital clock on the microwave oven ticked down the seconds and minutes until they reached 0:00 and emitted a beep, which caused the fascinated witch to start a little at the sound.

"Go ahead, Molly. Reach in and get it…but use this oven mitt. That tuber is hot," she warned.

Molly donned the mitt and reached it for the potato. The inside of the oven itself was cool to the touch, but as Helen had warned her, the potato was piping hot and..._done_. "Helen, this is amazing! And you did this without magic, too!"

"Molly, we Muggles have our own magic—it's called technology. We invent our miracles while you conjure them. It's all pretty much the same thing, basically," Helen explained.

"Helen, this micro-wave oven of yours is amazing! What else does it do," Molly asked, thoroughly intrigued.

"Well…it can heat water for a cuppa in about a minute, it can reheat cold food right from the refrigerator, it can thaw frozen food in less than half an hour, and some even bake in it, but I don't. Some things must remain sacred," she laughed. "Breads, cakes, biscuits, and pies are baked in ovens…with _heat_."

"I suppose it sees a load of use with you Richard so busy with your practice," Molly observed.

"This and the almighty slow-cooker," Helen agreed.

"Slow-cooker? What is a slow-cooker," Molly asked, looking around for another stove of some sort.

"Americans call them Crock-pots® because of their brand name. But it's a wonderful appliance," Helen assured her. "See that over there with the crockery inside? That's a slow-cooker. You place the food in the crockery and set it inside that metal holder. Plug it in, turn it on, and walk away. Several hours later, you have a home-cooked pot roast, stew, whatever you want."

"Just like magic," Molly breathed. "What I couldn't do with one of those…"

Helen almost entertained the idea of going straight to Tesco's™ on Monday afternoon to buy one for her friend, but she remembered what Hermione had told her about Wizarding homes being devoid of electrical wiring and ambient magical interference with electrical equipment.

"I couldn't live without it. Some homes have several. They're great for keeping things warm, too," Helen added. "Now, I've noticed you were eyeing the dishwasher…"

"Dishwasher! Good heavens, you have a machine that washes dishes too," Molly gasped. "I mean, I just flick my wand and my dishes wash themselves, but…a machine that does that?"

"Yes, and I'll show you how it works after dinner," Helen promised. "Now, let's go see what those men are up to."

"Where are our children," Molly asked as Helen slid the patio doors open. "And I must talk to Arthur about those doors!"

"Ron, Harry, and Ginny took Hermione to a pub to throw some darts. I hope they don't come here perforated," Helen said. "It was Harry's idea to keep her out of the house until…"

"Mum, we're back," Hermione called through the house, the others trailing behind her.

"Now," Helen finished.

"On the patio, Hermione," Helen replied.

"We had the best time—"

"SURPRISE," they all shouted. Helen and Richard had decorated the back garden with strings of patio lights, and Arthur added a few inconspicuous magical touches, such as a temperature-controlled ward around the yard to keep away the September cool air and protect them from any flying insects that might invade and spoil the party.

"Oh my," Hermione screeched. "I…I didn't expect this. Daddy, are you actually grilling steaks? They smell heavenly!"

"Steaks and lovely great prawns from the Gulf of Mexico. They arrived by air just this morning," her father said proudly. "Now…come here so your old man can give you your birthday kiss."

"Daddy, you're the best. Mummy, thank you so much! Oh and the cake! Ron, look," she cried, pointing to the two-tiered wonder on a side table.

"Feels like Dad cast some wards around the yard," Harry said. His Auror training taught him and Ron how to detect certain types of wards. "Temperature-controls?"

"Right in one, Harry," Arthur replied, almost bouncing on his feet. "Can't have unwelcome invaders spoiling our Hermione's evening, can we?"

The eight of them chatted while Richard, now aided by an eager Arthur, tended the grill. Molly and Helen brought out the salads and bottles of Butterbeer from the case Ron ordered and had delivered from the Leaky Cauldron.

"All right, you lot! Gather 'round. The food's ready, but we can't eat until we've serenaded my daughter and drunk to her health," Richard called. He then produced a bottle of champagne and poured a little bit into paper cups. Once each member of the assembly had been served, Richard Granger raised his glass. "To my daughter, Hermione, the smartest witch of her age and the sweetest daughter a man could ever want. Happy twentieth birthday, baby! Cheers!"

"Cheers," the others repeated and drained their cups.

"Now, let's tuck in before the food goes cold," Richard said, placing serving platters on the picnic table laden with strip steaks, jacket potatoes, grilled vegetables, and massive tiger-striped gulf prawns.

"Daddy, Mummy, this is… this is wonderful," Hermione said, tears glistening. "I…I…thank you."

"Not at all, Sweetheart," Helen replied. "It's not every day our little girl turns twenty. You're not a little girl anymore."

"But I'll always be your little girl, Mummy," Hermione countered. "Just like Ronnie will always be his mum's little boy."

Ron rolled his eyes as he examined a prawn, trying to figure out what to do with it. "'Mione, these smell brilliant, but…"

"Here," she said. "You have to split them like this." She took a prawn and turned it legs up, gesturing for Ron to do the same. Explaining each step, she set her thumbnails between the rows of legs and split the thin shell-like covering to expose the sweet flesh of the succulent crustacean, which Ron also did. "…then you dip it into melted butter or this red cocktail sauce."

"Merlin, Hermione," Harry said. "You should go into business teaching people how to eat seafood. You'd make a killing."

"Oh, I don't know," she replied. "These are prawns, Harry. We don't seem them here in England, considering they're from the Gulf of Mexico—you know, America."

"But…" Ron began before Hermione cut him off.

"Ron, Daddy has a world atlas. I'll show you where the Gulf of Mexico is in reference to the USA okay," she promised. "Honestly, we really need to do something about the curriculum at Hogwarts."

Richard made to quickly change the subject. He was more than able to recognise when his daughter meant to launch into full lecture-mode. "So, Ginny…what's this about a professional Quidditch career of yours?"

"Well, I just finished training camp and our season starts next week against Puddlemere United," she explained and the table engaged in a discussion about Quidditch and how it compared to Muggle football, with Harry doing his best to help make the parallels.

"I believe they're re-playing a Manchester United match tonight," Richard announced. "Perhaps we can have a look, yeah?"

"Why would they replay a match," Ron asked, swallowing a bit of potato.

"On the telly, Ron," Hermione explained. "Muggles videotape movies, sports events, and other entertainments to broadcast later on the television."

"You have a telly," Arthur gasped. "A real telly?"

"Of course," Richard replied. "Television, stereo, computers…"

"Confusers," Ron choked. "You…you have a confuser?"

"Two of them, actually. One is in my study and the other is in Hermione's old bedroom," he said.

"Merlin, 'Mione. You never told me that," Ron exclaimed, eyeing his fiancée.

"You never asked," Hermione quipped with a smirk. "I'll show it to you after dinner. I can even use it to show you where the Gulf of Mexico is."

"But…how," Ron asked.

By this time, Harry was almost howling with laughter. "Mate, you have so much to learn about Muggle magic!"

"But Muggles don't have magic," Ginny argued. "If they did, they wouldn't be Muggles."

"Ginny, dear," Molly interjected. "Muggles call their brand of magic _terminology_."

"That's _technology_, Mum," Harry corrected. "Wizard wave wands while Muggles turn screwdrivers…and other things."

"A screwdriver? I believe I have one of those," Arthur added.

"You have several, Dad," Harry assured him. "And I believe one of them is a ratchet."

Following dinner, the Weasleys and the Potters joined the Grangers in a rousing chorus of _Happy Birthday to You_, leaving the guest of honour in stitches. But the voice she strained to hear was the one belonging to the ginger-haired man seated beside her—the man whose engagement ring she wore on her left hand.

Hermione had rested her head on Ron's chest in order to listen as his faint baritone pass into the very core of her being and warm her to her soul. It amazed her that that simple song did that to her when Ron sang it. "Thank you…I think." A chuckle passed around the table as Hermione cut into her birthday cake and began to serve her guests.

"Oh dear! I almost forgot! I'll be right back," Helen exclaimed launching herself from the table. A few moments later, she returned with a bucket and a scoop. "Ice cream. I nearly forgot the blasted ice cream." She scooped some onto each plate and continued to pass it around.

After dessert, Richard asked Harry and Ron to help him with something and motioned them into the house. "Presents. Since Arthur cast those great wards, why waste them?" Laden with gifts, the three men returned to the party and piled them in front of Hermione.

"My goodness," she breathed. "I didn't expect…"

"You didn't expect anything that happened today," Ron said, kissing the top of her head. "And that was the point. Now start unwrapping, woman."

Hermione began to unwrap her gifts. Among them were several books—some magical, some not—articles of clothing, an entire Holyhead Harpies fan kit including a jumper and team jacket from Ginny and Harry, embroidered with GRANGER 79 on the back with the hooked talon logo at the center.

"They're charmed to change from GRANGER to WEASLEY once the Wedding Charm is cast," Ginny told her. "We used 79 for your birth year and because no Holyhead Harpies player will ever wear a number that high."

"Thanks, you two. They're lovely," Hermione said, giving them each hugs and kisses.

"There's a little something special in there from Harry, Hermione," Ginny said. "It should be at the bottom."

Hermione dug through the tissue paper and found a long, narrow box. "What is this," she asked the air.

"Just open it. You'll find it useful," Harry told her.

Hermione removed the lid from the box and found a genuine Auror-issue wrist-holster for her wand. "Harry…how…? These are…" She looked over at Arthur for any sign of disapproval. Finding none, she took it out of the box.

"Special dispensation," Harry said pointedly, his expression reminding her that he couldn't go into an explanation at the moment. "I have a lot of clout with the boss. Ron can show you how to use it."

Ron set about fitting the holster to his wife's right arm. "Now, see this guide with the clip? Just slide your wand in there and listen for a click."

Hermione did as Ron told her to do. The moment her wand clicked into place, the entire assembly vanished from view. "Ron! What happened?"

"It's all right, Love. The holster has several charms on it. Your wand can't be summoned away from you while it's in the holster and while it's there, it's automatically disillusioned," he explained.

Harry extended his right hand. "Now watch, Hermione." He twisted his wrist ever so slightly and his wand appeared in his hand, ready for use. "Now you try."

It took a few tries, but she finally caught on to the proper movement and her wand appeared.

"So those are police-issue," Richard asked Harry. "How did you pull it off?"

"I'm the Head Auror," Harry replied. "I'm like the commanding general in a standing army. In a war situation, we're the leaders. The MLE Squads are more like policemen and they take most of their orders from Dad as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He's essentially on the Minister's Staff."

"So my future-son-in-law is a high-ranking officer in a magical army, then," Richard asked, feeling more and more at ease with Hermione's future in-laws.

"That's right, Daddy. Ron's Harry's Chief Aide. He's a marvellous tactician. But in peacetime, like now, Harry and Ron and the other Aurors are high-powered detectives and down-and-dirty crime fighters," Hermione answered proudly, wrapping her hands around Ron's well-defined biceps.

"Right, and should war break out, we all become soldiers. A lot of good people died fighting Voldemort." Ron paused to collect his thoughts. Like Harry, he brooded about the deaths of certain Aurors, some of them members of the Order—Remus and Tonks, Sirius Black, Mad-Eye Moody, Emmaline Vance, his uncles—Gideon and Fabian Prewett—and Harry's parents, Lily and James Potter. Neville's parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom, were top Aurors in their day, but thanks to the Lestranges and Barty Crouch, Jr, they languished on the Spell-damage ward in St Mungo's, having been driven mad under the Cruciatus curse. There were so many lives lost and ruined by war.

Only a few moments had passed, but to Ron, it felt like an eternity. He mentally shook himself and shot a pained look at Harry, who returned it knowingly. "Otherwise, I do pretty much everything Harry does, except that I don't give as many orders or take as much guff from the Geezer…Wizengamot," Ron replied. "I still have to do a load of paperwork though."

"We all have our parchment to push, son, "Arthur snickered. "It comes with the territory."

"Don't go there, Dad," Ron warned with a snort. "Harry's liable to go spare again over the waste of parchment flying about."

Harry made to open his mouth, but Ginny silenced him with two fingers over his lips.

"_Not now, Love."_

"_Thanks for stopping me."_

Molly had knitted a woolen tam, muffler, and mittens for her in varying shades of blue for the coming winter. The colour suited her perfectly since blue was Hermione's signature colour.

"Molly, thank you. They're perfect," Hermione said, caressing the soft wool.

"I charmed them so they wouldn't be scratchy," Molly added with a grin. "Ginny used to complain about that, so I did some digging and found a charm that prevents it."

"Thank you," Hermione said again.

Helen and Richard held back the largest box for last. Completely perplexed, Hermione asked Ron to help her with it as it was so bulky. They both gasped when they found what was inside. "Great Circe! Mum, Dad, this is…wow!"

Inside Hermione found a brand-new five-piece luggage set with two carry-on bags, complete with locks. They smelled of fine leather, as that's what they were made of. "These are amazing! Ron, no more backpacks," she laughed. "We'll be able to travel in style."

"Look inside the tote, dear," Helen urged. "That's the best part."

Hermione dug through the tote until she found an envelope. Withdrawing it, she cuddled close to Ron and opened it with shaking fingers. If Ron hadn't been holding on to it himself, Hermione might have dropped it for what they found inside. "Merlin's nightshirt," Ron cried. "Did…are…I mean…"

"Yes, Ron," Richard laughed at the sputtering young man. "That is your honeymoon to Barbados-two glorious sun-filled weeks in the Caribbean. Happy birthday, baby."

"But…but…" Ron couldn't speak. They had decided to put off a honeymoon as they had to spend so much on the wedding that there was no way they could afford one. "Bloody hell."

Hermione couldn't speak, she was so choked up. She had despaired that she and Ron couldn't take a proper honeymoon. Sure, Harry would've given—given, not loaned—the money to them in a moment, but they'd never ask him for it. "I…I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just promise us you'll have a good time and that'll be thanks enough," Helen assured her. "Hermione loves the beaches in the south of France, but since you're getting married in December…"

"I…um…this has been the best birthday of my entire life," Hermione sobbed. "Thank you all so much."

Ron leaned in to whisper into her ear. His warm breath sent chills down her spine and a certain hotness pooled at her centre. "My present is at home. I want you to open it in private—just between you and me, Love."

She could only nod and fight the urge to wrap herself around him and snog him senseless on the picnic table under the noses of their family. Ron conjured a handkerchief and handed it to her. "Why is it whenever you take the notion to cry, you never have a handkerchief?" Everyone chuckled.

Once all the presents were opened and the cake demolished, the women, less the birthday girl, set to clearing away while the men disappeared into the sitting room. Hermione sent Ron along with the others, but remained in the kitchen and visited while the other three women worked. Ginny and Molly marvelled again at all things Muggle, especially the lovely Tupperware® containers Helen used to store the leftovers. Ginny privately marvelled that there had been any leftovers left over to store.

When it came time to load and run the dishwasher, Helen called Molly over as she opened it and pulled the empty racks out to rest on the door. Now all we have to do is stack the dishes in these racks. Small things and things made of plastic go into the top rack to keep them away from the heating element at the bottom, see?" Helen pointed to the oddly-shaped metal bar fixed into the bottom of the machine. Together, she and Molly loaded the dishwasher while Ginny looked on in wonder. Hermione giggled into her hands as she watched the show.

"Now, this is dishwasher soap. It's specially-formulated for use in dishwashers. You'd never want to use regular dishwashing soap because it's too sudsy and would damage the machine and make a horrible mess on your kitchen floor," Helen explained. She poured a measure of the special soap into receptacles in the door and closed them.

"Now for the easy part." She closed the door and turned the knob to Normal Wash. "You'll notice that the machine didn't start even though I'd turned it on. That's because we have to move this lever to the right to lock it. It's a safety precaution because the water in there is super-heated by the element. It could burn you." With that, Helen moved the lever to the right and the dishwasher growled and began to run.

"Could you open it while it's running," Ginny asked.

"You could, but I wouldn't recommend it because of the heat inside. It's better to just leave it alone while it runs through its cycle," Helen explained.

"So that's all? You don't have to watch it or anything," Molly asked.

"No, it's automatic. That means it runs its cycle on its own through a pre-programmed circuit of some kind," Helen said. "I don't know much about that mumbo-jumbo. I just use the ruddy things and let the tinkerers play with them."

Once the clearing away was finished, the women sat at the table sipping tea and talking about Ginny's new career and the wedding. In the sitting room, the men listened as Richard explained a few basics about the electronics surrounding television broadcasting and reception. He led them outside to show them the satellite dish attached to the roof and the cable that ran alongside the house and into the inside.

Finally, the four of them sat down in the lounge and Richard produced the Muggle man's special wand—the sceptre the king of every castle held close to his heart: the television remote. He explained how it worked and then gave them a demonstration. Harry had all he could do to contain himself while Arthur and Ron _whoaed,_ _oohed_ and _aahed_ at the spectacle that was British television.

Flipping through a few channels, Richard finally found the football game. As they watched, Harry and Richard tried to explain the rules of the game and what the yellow and red cards meant. Harry's knowledge of the game was rudimentary at best, since he'd never been allowed to participate in Primary school, and was never allowed to watch the Dursley's television. His sport of choice was Quidditch and that was good enough for him.

There was no doubt about it—Ron was hooked on television and even began to catch hold of the intricacies of Muggle football. "No wonder Dean's so rabid for it. It's ruddy brilliant," Ron exclaimed, staring at the moving pictures on the screen.

"It's all right, I guess," Harry said, nearly leaping to his feet. "Hey, ref! Red card! That was right out!" He settled back down when the referee indeed showed the errant player the red card, ejecting him from the game.

"I thought you _guessed_ it was _all right_," Ron smirked while Arthur and Richard laughed out loud. "It's really brilliant, though. That bloke had been making wrong moves all night."

"Yeah, you get only so many yellow warnings before a red tosses you," Harry explained.

Soon it was half-time, which allowed the men to stretch a bit and use the loo before the game continued. "Come into my study, Arthur. You mentioned that you'd wanted to see how a computer worked. Let's have a look, shall we?"

"Brilliant," Arthur said, rising to follow his host. "Lead the way, my good man."

"Hold on," Richard said, stopping in his tracks. "Hermione! Why don't you take your friends up to your room and show them your computer? You wanted to show Ron the Gulf of Mexico and now you can show him Barbados, too!"

"Cricket! You're right," Hermione called. "Mum, why don't you and Molly go with Dad and Arthur and the rest of us can nick up to my room?" Sighing, Helen and Molly rose to join their husbands while Ginny and Hermione joined with their own men.

"Helen, I must say I'm a bit worried about Arthur. He loves all things Muggle and this confuser-thing is going to put him right over," Molly whispered.

"No worries, Molly," Helen assured her. "Computers are perfectly harmless. The only thing I've ever known one to hurt is Richard's pride." The two women giggled as they followed their men into the study.

"Come on," Hermione urged. "You're going to love this. Harry, I assume you know how a computer works?"

"Well…yes and no. Dudley had one, but all he used it for was blasting aliens. I don't think he ever used it once to learn anything," Harry confessed. "I wasn't allowed…"

"You're allowed tonight," Hermione assured him. "I'm about to set you onto the World Wide Web—the Information Superhighway!"

"Web? Uh-uh! No spiders," Ron said. "I'll wait by the telly."

"Not spider webs, silly," Hermione chided. "The World Wide Web and the Information Superhighway are just other terms for the Internet."

"Huh?"

"The internet is really cool, Ron. Just wait and see," Harry assured him. "You can find all kinds of things with the click of a mouse."

"Mouse? First spiders, now mice," Ron gulped. "What's next? Snakes?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ronald. The mouse is…oh never mind! Just come on," Hermione snorted.

Hermione led Ron, Harry and Ginny to her old room. Ron had been there before, but they had never used the computer, which was mostly hidden behind a pile of books.

"I'm getting rid of those books," Hermione said abruptly, eliciting shock among her friends.

"Let me get this straight—Hermione Granger getting rid of books," Ginny grinned. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Haven't you tossed away an old broom, Bludger Brain," Hermione teased.

"Well, I...I have a Firebolt now..." Ginny admitted.

"Exactly my point. I don't need seven editions of _Hogwarts: A History_, the latest is enough," Hermione explained. "It's the older editions in that pile. I'd _never _get rid of a book that might still be useful."

"Seven," Ron asked spontaneously. "You've got seven copies of one book?"

"I bought a new one for each year, except for the during the Horcrux hunt. The seventh is the latest one covering events up to and including the second of May, 1998," Hermione said.

"I've never read that daft book," Harry said. "A lot of useless information, if ask me."

"But you should, since you're mentioned several times. There's even the back story about your parents." Hermione switched into lecture mode before anyone was able to stop her. "Of course there's the Quidditch section covering everything from your being the youngest Seeker in a century to the House Cup victory. There's an entire chapter about Hogwarts' part in the Second Wizarding War, dealing mostly with Harry and Professor Dumbledore, but there's also a subsection about you, Ginny, and the DA resistance. Of course it doesn't contain many _facts _about the events but it's all there."

When Hermione stopped to breathe, Harry took the opportunity to finally get a word in. "Even less reason for me to read it, then. I already know more than the book." As soon as he spoke he regretted it. He still wasn't keen to bring up the topic of the entire history of Hogwarts, let alone his own contributions to it.

"The history of Hogwarts is a thousand year journey, Harry. If you really think about it, it's actually a parallel story of the history of Wizarding Britain. If you'd read the book and paid attention in professor Binns' class, rather than nap, you'd have understood the effects the Goblin rebellions had on Hogwarts, and you'd have also known about the several other times Hogwarts played a crucial part in Wizarding events..."

"'Mione, we're here to see your confuser and the wilt dried web," Ron grunted.

"Yes, of course." Hermione said. She flicked her wand to banish the books to her bed. "Have a seat, then."

She booted up the computer and logged on. Ron and Ginny looked on in utter fascination at first—until Ron drew his wand at the weird sound that emanated from the machine.

"Stand down, soldier," Hermione said laughing. "That odd sound you heard is the modem connecting us to the web."

"More dumb? Who are you calling _dumb_," Ginny asked, a little put out.

Hermione shook her head. Somehow it was a curse among Wizarding people that they should have such a hard time with Muggle terminology. "_MO-dem_, Ginny. It's the link between the telephone line and the computer that allows us to...oh never mind. Just watch." She initiated the browser, and entered a search for a map of the Gulf of Mexico.

In his study, Richard sat Arthur in the leather chair in front of the computer with Molly and Helen standing behind him. "Look at all those buttons! Astonishing," Arthur exclaimed, marveling the keyboard "What are they all for?"

Richard tried to look serious, although his guest's enthusiasm was nothing short of comical. "The letters and numbers are for typing text. The others have various functions associated with different programs," Richard explained.

Arthur carefully pushed some buttons and typed A-R-T-H-U-R, proudly watching his name appear on the screen. "Amazing! Does a confuser use spark plugs," Arthur asked, trying his best to sound informed about the Muggle world. "I have a rather impressive collection of spark plugs, if I must say so myself."

Richard bit his lip, not totally unlike Hermione, desperately restraining himself from breaking out into all-out laughter. "No, Arthur. Spark plugs are used in combustion engines," he said.

"What do the use in this confuser?" Arthur asked.

"The most important components are chips." Richard said.

"Really, now! I didn't know vegetables could be used in Muggle machines," Arthur said, amazed.

Richard didn't understand at first what vegetables had to do with anything and then it dawned on him. "Chips," he finally said bursting into laughter. "No, not potato chips; microchips. A microchip is a silicone-based electronic component."

"A silly cone? What's so silly about it," Arthur wondered.

"_Silicone_ is a substance," Richard said. "It has a high heat tolerance and is very durable. It's used in lots of things—electronic components, kitchen utensils, bre—"

"Um, Richard," Helen interjected. "I think he's got the idea."

After a little while, Arthur's brows knit in dismay and confusion. "Richard, it seems as though someone has stunned the confuser."

Richard examined the computer, pressed a few buttons and clicked both mouse buttons with no result. "Damn. It's a bug. I'll turn the computer off. But that's perhaps just as well. I just thought of something, Arthur. Come with me."

Richard opened a closet filled with junk. "Arthur, this is our old computer, a 20 MHz 286, still functional, with a 5 ¼ - inch floppy disc drive. I know electricity doesn't work at the Burrow, but if you want it, it's yours."

"Floppy? Why is the disk floppy," the wizard asked.

"It's just a term, really. The disks that run in this unit are 5 ¼ inches square and flexible. Floppy," Richard replied.

Arthur felt deeply touched as he beheld the old 286 in the closet. "Are you sure you want to part with this," Arthur said barely louder than a whisper. "It's magnificent."

_It's a dinosaur._ "I don't need it, and Helen's been after me to get rid of it," Richard assured him.

"Thank you, Richard," Arthur said nearly in tears. He muttered _Reducio_ and flicked his wand to shrink the outdated computer before slipping it into his pocket. Although he understood magic—thanks to his daughter—it still never ceased to amaze him when he saw wands at work.

"I can't let Molly find out. She'd curse me back to the Stone Age if she knew I dragged home more Muggle things," Arthur whispered, patting his pocket and darting his eyes around to make sure Molly hadn't seen.

Later that evening, a very happy and jovial group returned to the Burrow. Ron was happy that Hermione enjoyed her birthday and he suspected he'd reap fruits of appreciation in a spectacular shag before going to sleep. Hermione was thrilled with Ron and her parents, who had done so much to give her such a fantastic day. Harry and Ginny were still happy about being together again, Arthur was thinking about examining his brand-new Muggle computer—not confuser—while Molly still marvelled about Helen's wondrous kitchen. Muggles did pretty well without magic, but Molly wouldn't give up magic for anything. Giving up magic would be like giving up a vital part of her body—and she would be right.

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The following Tuesday, Hermione sat in the Ministry cafeteria. She was waiting for Alastor Gumboil and Arnold Peasegood to meet with her in response to her letter of several days previous. She had been very particular about meeting in a public place, just as she, Ron, and Harry had been at their first meeting. Further, if there was any dodgy business going on in ELF, they would hesitate about meeting at the Ministry. Besides, she knew Seamus was nearby, just in case, but she honestly thought his being there was more for Ron's benefit than her own.

Sure, she felt uneasy around Gumboil, but he would hardly try anything at the cafeteria. A few of the employees passing by her table on their way for some afternoon tea barely glanced in her direction until a few recognised her as the famous Hermione Granger sitting there, in the flesh. She had gotten used to people in public areas of the Ministry staring at her and she could even understand why. She had taken great interest in Harry after having read every book about him the first time they met, and she had also stared at Professor Dumbledore as she entered the Great Hall at Hogwarts for the first time. Those two were the first celebrities she had ever met.

She was thankful that the lunch crowd hadn't gathered around her, begging her to sign their child's Chocolate Frog cards or pictures of her torn from _Witch Weekly_. Ginny was still parked at Number One as the most-beautiful-witch, coming up on a full year. Hermione had, to her relief, lost the Number Two spot she'd held in May and kept through June after having achieved ten NEWTs. That spot now belonged to Auror Cho Chang and that was fine with Hermione.

"Miss Granger," a voice intoned, interrupting her thoughts.

She looked up, startled, to find Mr Gumboil and Mr Peasegood. "Obliviator Peasegood, Senior Undersecretary Gumboil, it's a pleasure to meet you," Hermione said in a business-like tone as she shook both their hands.

To her relief, Gumboil did let her hand go this time, but his eyes darted over her as they sat down. "The pleasure is all ours," Gumboil answered politely. _Mine, anyway_.

"I ordered a pot of tea for us," Hermione said as she saw the waitress approach them.

"That's most kind of you, Miss Granger," Peasegood said kindly.

Soon, a pot of steaming tea was served along with biscuits. Gumboil decided to come straight to the point, since he knew he was talking to a very bright witch and dancing around an issue would only put her off. "I'm very pleased you were able to rearrange your schedule, Miss Granger," Gumboil said.

"We know that you have a lot on your agenda, what with just getting started with us here at the Ministry as well as finalising plans for your upcoming wedding to Assist Head Auror Weasley," Peasegood added.

"As a Muggleborn, I've fought prejudice and disenfranchisement since my first year at Hogwarts, more or less, and that fight isn't over yet," Hermione stated matter-of-factly.

"And we are very pleased you are willing to join us in that fight," Gumboil said, taking pains not to come across in a patronising way. "I understand you might have questions about what you can do for ELF."

"First of all, yes, I've decided to join ELF. But I want to make clear that other than stating that I am a member, I don't want my name used promotionally without my prior approval," Hermione said bluntly. "I've had my own, as well as my friends' names—especially Harry's—used in the past and often, the results were near-disastrous."

"Of course we won't use your name gratuitously..." Gumboil felt compelled to say that, although it effectively dashed any hope of affixing Hermione's name to any propaganda stating official ELF proposals for the sake of legitimising any potentially-controversial ones.

"I never thought you'd do anything like that, of course, but one can never be too certain," Hermione said to straighten over any hidden threat there might have been in her demand.

"Of course not," Mr Peasegood replied. "We must protect our members' privacy as much as we can."

"So, what can I do to help in the struggle for greater equality," Hermione asked, again straight to the point, as she had no intention of entangling herself in a debate.

Gumboil had to admit was impressed with her. When he's initially met with the Trio, he'd quickly won the upper hand in the discussion until Hermione ended it. Now, she didn't even leave room for such a discussion to begin.

"There are several things you can do to help, Miss Granger. I thought that you might write a personal account of your experiences as a Muggleborn witch without much trouble publishing it because of who you are, but if you make it available to ELF, we could distribute it through politically-influential channels. We know you are close to the Minister, and he's a good man, but his hands are tied by Wizengamot procedure and protocol. And since the Wizengamot is dominated by the Pureblood families, we need to use other channels—the unofficial sort a free-group like ELF can use."

Hermione studied the two men for a few moments before she replied to Gumboil's proposal. "And this account would be spread as I write it, on its own, without danger of edition into a context where my words may be misconstrued?"

_Damn she's good. Doesn't miss a trick, this one. _"Yes, of course," he felt forced to say with a smile.

"Then I'll be glad to write that account," Hermione said decisively. "May I contact you for another meeting once it's finished?"

"Yes, of course, my dear," Peasegood agreed amicably. "We very much appreciate that you've taken time out of your busy schedule to help us."

Hermione rose and the two men followed suit. She offered her hand to both of them, trying to make her smile genuine. She was still a bit dubious about this venture, but if it would help Harry and Ron, she was glad to do it. "For greater equality in Wizarding Britain," Hermione said.

"Miss Granger, it's been a pleasure," the two men said, remaining standing until she took her leave. They watched her leave and sat down again, looking at each other.

"That is one bright witch," Gumboil said, shaking his head.

"We need her trust, Alastor. We'd do well to cultivate it," Peasegood stated unequivocally. "And you can just about bet that she'll put some kind of charm on her manuscript to avoid tampering, editing, or any other tomfoolery."

"We'll remain true to our word. Her text will most likely win us a few new members as well as support among the witch or wizard on the street who opposes the Pureblood agenda on the Wizengamot. We will soon be the most-influential voice in England opposing Purebloods," Gumboil said.

Arnold Peasegood, while certainly a supporter of equality for all magical people, felt a bit nervous about Gumboil's last statement. _Opposing Purebloods? I thought we opposed Pureblood supremacy policies._ He shook off his worry, though, deciding that Alastor had simply misspoke and didn't mean what he said to sound so...foreboding. "I believe you're right, old friend. I believe you're right."

The two men left the cafeteria to return to their own departments and day-to-day tasks. One felt good about finally being part of something progressive and right while the other felt good about finally lassoing the clever—and lovely—Hermione Granger to his agenda.

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"So how did it go with Gumboil," Ron asked when he met her in her cubicle at the end of the day. He had made a habit of taking a few moments out every afternoon to tease Selma while he waited for Hermione, which elicited a school-girlish response almost every time. The older witch had taken to sending him straight back with a blush and a giggle, rather than continue to let him sit flirtingly on her desk while he stroked her ego.

"Well, I'm in," she said, slipping into his arms for a moment. "He thinks it would be a good idea if I were to compose a publishable piece about my experiences as a Muggleborn witch from the first letter on. I made him promise that it wouldn't be altered if ELF disseminated it, and that ELF cannot use my name for any purpose without my express permission."

"Good thinking, Love," Ron said, kissing the top of her head. "But I'd suggest getting that in writing before you hand anything over to them."

"I intend to, my love, but I also have a few precautionary tricks up my sleeve," she smiled slyly up at him as she pulled away. "Now take me home. I'm knackered and famished and in need of a pair of strong arms to snuggle into."

"As you wish," he said with a slight bow. "My arms await your heart's desire." He took her hand and led her out of the office to meet Harry and Arthur at the lifts.


	17. Chapter 17 Onward & Upward

**Chapter 17 – Onward and Upward**

He lay awake in the pre-dawn, his girlfriend still asleep on his chest. They'd made love the night before—no, it wasn't love at all. It was sex. Who was he kidding? They'd been friends for almost eight years as classmates at Hogwarts and Gryffindor Housemates. She'd been his Yule Ball date, his first serious crush, comrade-at-arms during the war, partner in Auror training, and his lover. His lover. Well, they certainly had a healthy sex life, but there wasn't any love in it—at least not anymore.

There hadn't been any real love there for several weeks, if there ever really had been. Maybe it was a dream of real love spawned of a teenage crush and nourished by the hardship they'd endured. But it was an illusion. He knew it wasn't real—not since he met _her_.

With a single lilting word, she invaded his heart and she had no idea. She was a classic Celtic beauty with her flowing strawberry locks, slightly-freckled creamy skin, and sky-blue eyes. Her Dixie accent was music to his ears. Her voice filled his mind, calling to him from his dreams, beckoning him…somewhere. Hogwarts. She was at Hogwarts.

Seamus' thoughts were jerked back to reality when Lavender stirred and nuzzled his neck. "Seamus, you awake?"

"Aye, Lav," he said, trying to mask his dismay at having been jerked from his daydream. "Been awake for a while."

"Good," she giggled. "It looks like someone else is awake too."

"Lav, don't," he said pushing her hand away. "I was just about to head for the loo."

"Oh come on, Seamus," she chided. "I know better—"

"Not this time," he said flatly, slipping out of the bed.

"Seamus, what's wrong," she asked with a huff. "You've been acting strangely for weeks…except for last night." He had been acting strangely ever since Harry assigned him to the Hogwarts Express on the first of September. He'd become distant—not unkind—just distant, like his mind was a million miles away.

"There's nothin' wrong, Lavender," Seamus called from the bathroom. "I keep tellin' ya that."

"Yes, there is, Seamus Finnegan," she argued. "You've been pulling away from me and I want to know why!"

_She's right, lad. You're going to have to face it sooner or later, so it might as well be sooner. _"Lavender, we've got ta talk, Love."

"All right," she agreed. "I'll make some tea." Tea. The cure for all ills in a proper British home. There's nothing that can't be solved over a nice cup of tea. She threw the covers off her naked body and slipped into a pair of shorts and a tee shirt and sauntered out of the bedroom.

Seamus sat there rubbing his face and ruffling his sandy-blond hair. _It's no good, mate. You've got to end this before you hurt her any more. She doesn't deserve that and neither do you._ "Bloody hell." He grabbed some clean clothes and padded back to the loo for a quick shower. He wanted to be ready to face the day after he broke his girlfriend's heart.

He stood there under the water and let it stream over his muscled body. He was in fine shape, as were all the DA-class Aurors. Potter and Weasley made sure of that. Like them, he taken to using the stairs instead of the lifts and found that it increased his endurance in heavy combat situations. Not that they'd had any real combat situations since they took down Mafalda Prewett, but the simulations were brutal—and a hell of a lot of fun.

As he washed his hair, her smiling face appeared in his mind's eye and an echo of her southern-belle lilt filled his thoughts. A familiar burning kindled in his belly and travelled south, arousing him. He tried to ignore it. _Now is not the time, you randy git. You're about to break up with your girlfriend and you've got wood for another woman._ "You're a real bastard, Finnegan." Berate himself as might, it only made it worse. He couldn't help it—he was besotted with her. He decided then and there that he would go to the ends of the earth to win the heart of Fiona Prewett. With that thought and a few quick strokes, he finished his shower, making sure to rinse away all traces of his desire.

Lavender padded into the kitchen and put the kettle on and measured out the loose tea leaves. Seamus had grown up with tea made the old-fashioned way without tea-bags, and that was fine with her. She'd learned to read tea leaves from Professor Trelawney at Hogwarts. She and her best friend, Parvati Patil, had become quite adept at the art.

Seamus, like the rest of the boys—no, men—from her year certainly didn't take Divination seriously, especially Harry Potter. But then, Professor Trelawney declared every class that Harry was fated to die some horrible gruesome death. It got to be a running joke in the boys' dorm between the five of them. But then the war came. Harry, Ron, and their friend, Hermione—and Dean Thomas—disappeared for almost a year and no one knew whether they were alive or dead.

Life at Hogwarts, under Headmaster Severus Snape, had become Hell thanks to the Carrows and their vicious hatred of Half-bloods and Muggleborns. Neville and Seamus had to go into hiding in the Room of Requirement to avoid being killed outright for their raids and rescues. It broke her heart to think about the horrible beatings they endured for their efforts. And poor Ginny—the brutality and humiliation she suffered at the hands of Crabbe and Goyle until her parents pulled her out and went into hiding themselves.

Lavender jumped when Seamus entered the kitchen and pulled out a chair to sit down. "Oh! You scared me," she laughed nervously.

"Sorry."

"Tea should be ready in a few minutes," she told him. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I'll tell you over the tea," he said quietly. _You're stalling, you berk._

"All right," she said softly. "Shall I make some toast?"

"No. No food," he replied. "Tea's enough."

Soon the kettle began to howl. Lavender turned off the fire underneath it and brought it to the table with two cups and saucers. She poured out for him first, and then for herself. "So, spill. What's so grave that you're looking at me like you've lost your best friend?"

"It's no good, Lav," he said sadly.

"What's no good?"

"You. Me. Us," he said gesturing back and forth between them.

She was afraid of this. In fact, she saw it coming. He'd become so aloof—not cold, but stand-offish. At the outset, he couldn't keep his hands off her, but lately… "You're leaving, aren't you?"

"Yeah, Lavender. I am," he confessed.

"May I ask what I've done?"

"Ye've done nothin', Lav. It's not you—it's me."

"Is there someone else," she asked tentatively.

"Not exactly," he said, staring down into his teacup. "I just can't go on livin' a lie, Love, and that's what we're doin'! Ye're a good friend, ye always have been, but that's all there is."

"I thought you loved me, Seamus," her voice quavered.

"I do love ya, but I'm not _in_ love with ya," he said guiltily, knowing her heart was breaking. She'd been through so much, but he couldn't continue leading her on like that.

"So you've been using me," she accused.

"No, Lavender. Never that. I thought…I thought we had somethin' and maybe for a while we did, but whatever it was is gone," he said, his own eyes tearing up a little.

"So that's it then. You're walking out on me," she said bitterly.

"Lavender, if I wanted to just walk out on ya, I'd've left long before this without sayin' a word," he countered. "I was brought up better than that."

"Who is she, Seamus," Lavender asked flatly. "I know there's someone else."

"Lavender, there's no one else. It's not that at all. It's just over between us, and it's time we get on with our lives," he argued. "Ya don't deserve this."

"I don't deserve what? You," she shouted.

"No. Ya don't deserve ta be led on and that's all I'm doin' to ya," he confessed. He stood and began to pace the length of their small kitchen. "Me thoughts are somewhere else."

"So there is someone," she argued.

"No! I'm not seein' anyone else, Lavender. Why can't you understand that?" _At least not face-to-face._

"You just said yourself that your thoughts were somewhere else!"

"I know I said that, but you…you don't understand," he said, running his hands through his hair. "I want what Harry and Ron have, Lavender!"

"You want Ginny and Hermione?" She knew that was a stupid thing to say, but she was hurting and she wanted him to hurt as much as she was.

"Of course not! Are ya daft? I want to find the _one,_ like they have," he wailed. "I want to find the one woman who was made for me!"

"And I'm not that one, then?"

"No. Ye're not and I can't go on like this, feelin' guilty for lookin' while I lead you down the primrose path. It's not right and I can't do it anymore. I'm sorry, Lavender, but it's over," he said.

"Do you want me to leave or—"

"No. You stay. I'll go. I can bunk at Headquarters until I find a place o' me own," he said.

"Does anyone else know?"

"Know what?"

"About…this. Did you talk this over with Harry and Ron? Or Dean? Do they know we're…we're…breaking up," she asked, holding back a sob.

"No. I've told no one. This is between you and me," he assured her.

"All right," she said, with a sniffle. "You're off today, right?"

"Yeah. You?"

"No, I'm…I'm on the swing shift," she replied. "I'm in at three."

"Do ya want me to wait 'til ye're gone?"

"No, no. It's all right. If you want to go before then, I…" She couldn't hold it back anymore. The dam burst and she began to cry hard. She ran from the kitchen to the spare bedroom, which was supposed to be hers to begin with. She threw herself onto the bed and sobbed her broken heart out. She was alone again. She thought he loved her. He'd been so kind to her, helping her through painful therapy and then DA-Auror training. When he made love to her, he was gentle and attentive. What went wrong?

Seamus dropped himself back into his chair at the table and finished his now-lukewarm tea. _Bastard. You should never have let it come to this. Better you pack your gear and get out now while she's holed up in the spare bedroom._ "Bugger." He rose from the table and placed the cups and saucers in the sink. He set the kettle back on the stove and padded back to his bedroom to pack his trunk. With a few waves of his wand, he stowed everything away that would fit, stuffing the rest into his DA duffel. He dressed his feet and put his jacket on, then shrunk his trunk and put in his pocket. He slung the duffel over his shoulder and left the room.

As Seamus made his way back along the hall to the front door, he paused for a moment at Lavender's bedroom door. He opened his mouth to say goodbye, but thought better of it. She hurt enough. Her cries tore at his conscience, but he was set in his resolve. There was no turning back. He hung his head and continued on. He opened the front door and walked out of Lavender Brown's life for good.

Supper that evening was a quiet affair. Seamus took a light meal of stew and Butterbeer with a bit of crusty bread. He would be taking a dose of Polyjuice tonight and he always hated the stuff. It smelled of old cabbage and tasted like old sweat socks. But it had to be done. Like it or not, Hermione's safety came first this night and he was duty-bound to ensure it.

It was with some anxiety that she stepped into the Floo at the Burrow. Ron tried to appear calm, but Hermione knew he worried.

"It'll be all right," Hermione said to convince herself as much as Ron. "It's the Three Broomsticks and Seamus is there, Polyjuiced."

"I know, Love," Ron said. "You'll be perfectly safe, but I still don't like it."

"I need to infiltrate ELF..." Hermione said, ready to argue every reason they'd come up with, why she'd joined ELF.

"I know. Go," Ron cut her off.

Hermione threw the Floo powder, spoke her destination, and vanished in the burst of green flames. Ron watched her spin out of sight and let out a heavy sigh. He whispered a silent prayer to whichever gods might be listening, asking them to keep her and Seamus safe.

"She'll be all right, Ron," Ginny assured her brother.

"I know that. It's this whole situation I don't like. We're sending Hermione to spy on what formally is a perfectly legal political interest group," Ron said. "We justify it with our suspicion that Gumboil is fishy. But the question remains—do we have the right to do this?"

"And if it turns out Gumboil _is_ dangerous and we don't act now, people might get hurt because we didn't have the intelligence about him to fight him," Harry added.

"Ginny, Dad deputised Hermione and Dean. Of course no one but us knows because it's been kept classified. If Gumboil finds out, Kingsley will have to sack Dad, possibly me, and Harry too," Ron speculated warningly.

"It's a mess all right," Ginny concluded. "I sure won't say anything."

"At least with Voldy, we knew who the enemy was. But in this case, we don't even know if there _is_ an enemy," Harry said.

"But at least you're doing something. If more people would have the courage to act years ago, maybe Riddle wouldn't have risen to power, and someone might've done something about Mafalda's underage magic," Ginny said. "Maybe it wouldn't have even been necessary."

"That's true, Ginny," Harry agreed. "But do our positions at the Ministry give us the right to spy on people we're uncomfortable with? I've made mistakes before, putting you in the hospital wing with a broken ankle if you remember. My mistakes can turn good people into corpses, and because of our fighting skills, they could be innocent people. Above all, we could also ruin Kingsley's dreams of a more stable community."

"At least Kingsley's not aware of us spying on Gumboil," Ron said.

"Is that good," Ginny asked.

"Well, formally, we're breaking protocol, or more specifically, Dad is. But if he sent a report to Kingsley about us spying on Gumboil, it would end up on Gumboil's desk because he's the Senior Undersecretary working with Magical Law Enforcement," Ron spat. "Ruddy organization...so if this all goes pear-shaped, Kingsley would have to sack him. Since Dad's our boss, and we're acting on his orders, it might be enough for Kingsley to reprimand us, but maybe let us keep our jobs."

"Gin, it's like walking across a minefield," Harry said.

"Harry, we've walked across fields for ages. What does that have to do with this," Ginny asked looking puzzled.

"Bollocks... A mine is a Muggle device. You know the stunbombs George makes? Imagine one with a Reducto powerful enough to blow a man to bits if he steps on it. That's a mine. In Muggle wars, they bury hundreds of those things in the ground. They're meant to stop the enemy from getting across a field or a bridge without severe casualties to their own side."

"That's awful," Ginny gasped.

"You know war is ugly business, Gin-Gin," Ron said. "Magical or Muggle, it's bloody and filthy and madness."

"Anyway, if you walk across a minefield, you never know if you'll get yourself blown up with your next step," Harry explained.

Ron looked balefully at Harry. "Nothing to do now but wait, I guess," Ron concluded. "I'm off to the Black Dragon for some take-away. Would you two like something? My treat."

"Dinner for six, then," Ginny suggested.

"Great," Ron said and Flooed off.

Hermione arrived at the Three Broomsticks where Arnold Peasegood and a man she didn't know met her to escort her to the meeting room.

"Mr Peasegood, it's a pleasure meeting you again," Hermione said and extended her hand to greet him.

"Miss Granger," Mr Peasegood replied, shaking her hand "Let me introduce Magnus Waldheimer. He's the Secretary of our group and the one with the connections to distribute your story in our community."

"Mr Waldheimer," Hermione said and again extended her hand.

"I'm honoured to meet you, Miss Granger. Mr Peasegood and Mr Gumboil told us to expect a new member of our group this evening. To find out that it's you Miss Granger is a very pleasant surprise. If you don't mind my saying so, you must be the most famous Muggleborn witch in Britain, and we are well-aware of your accomplishments that earned you the Order of Merlin."

"Really, Mr Waldheimer," Hermione said with a blush, still feeling uncomfortable about her celebrity status. "I couldn't really leave my friends on their own, could I? We simply did what had to be done."

"Of course, but a lot of people still chose to let others do what had to be done, rather than risk their own necks," Mr Waldheimer added.

"There might be some truth to that," Hermione said.

Peasegood suggested they move to the private dining room they had booked for this meeting. Hermione's eyes darted around the room, hoping Seamus had placed some surveillance charms or possibly extendable ears so he could listen in to the proceedings. Peasegood seated Hermione at the table as all eyes turned to her.

"My friends," Gumboil started. "Madame Rosmerta will soon bring our supper, but let me first introduce our new member. Please welcome the lovely Miss Hermione Granger."

They all looked at her appreciatively. She had to stifle a shudder. She was the only female in the room and she didn't like the way the men ogled her—except for Mr Peasegood. He seemed more a father figure than anything else. _Seamus, please keep close._

"Miss Granger, you know me and Mr Peasegood," Gumboil declared, "I'll just let the others introduce themselves."

Hermione looked to the man sitting on Gumboil's left. "Gerald Stormer. I work at the Department for Magical Transportation with the Floo network. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger."

Next was Mr Waldheimer. "We met as you arrived. I'm in the Department for International Magical Co-operation. I work to keep the stacks of parchment to a reasonable level." The others snickered in response.

"Frank Stiles," the next man said. "I'm honoured to meet you, Miss Granger. I grow various magical plants for a living." That was just a hair's breadth from an outright lie. He grew magical plants as a hobby and rendered them for Potions ingredients, which he sold to friends for a fraction of the inflated prices charged at the Apothecaries. He made a fair Galleon or two on the enterprise, but nothing that could be construed as a living. He just wasn't one to advertise that he was an Obliviator for the Ministry, a secret that might come in handy for ELF.

"Eldon Dearborn, Magical Games and Sports."

"Ernie Dearborn, brother to this poncey bloke, and I work in the same Department."

Next, they all looked to Hermione in expectation. "I'm Hermione Granger. I work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I was approached by Mr Gumboil and Mr Peasegood to join this group. With my new job, and my wedding, I don't have as much time as I would like, but I've devoted a few hours per week to do what I can to promote equality in our community. I've written a deposition about my experiences as a Muggleborn witch in Britain. Please give it a read and tell me if it's what you were looking for," Hermione said handing it to Arnold Peasegood, who passed it to Gumboil. He adjusted a pair of reading glasses on his nose and began to read. _Even her handwriting is beautiful._

_**A Muggleborn's Tale**_

_by Hermione Granger, OMFC_

_The events of the summer of 1991 changed my life forever. I had a visit from Professor Albus Dumbledore, explaining that I was a witch, inviting me to study at Hogwarts. To me, his revelation made a lot of sense because it explained the odd things that happened around me since I was seven years old. This was something that had puzzled both me and my parents, and occasionally it was even a bit scary. He explained it as accidental magic and that all magical children performed it from time to time, usually when they were scared or upset._

_At first, everything in the magical world fascinated and excited me, but soon enough it became scary too. At Halloween that year, I found myself face to face with a Mountain Troll in the girls' loo. Lucky for me, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter found me and saved my life by knocking it out with its own club. After that I'd found my first really good friends in Ron and Harry. Since I was always a bit of a bookworm, I never had many friends, let alone close ones, and looking back, I also realise that my status as a witch made me an oddity in the Muggle world._

_As a Muggleborn and best friend of The-Boy-Who-Lived certainly put me in a position where Death Eaters would take unwelcome notice of me. My exam results thoroughly annoyed them, since I earned higher scores than most Purebloods, which punched holes in their superiority claims. But in my first year, I never learned much about blood-purity ideals, and what that meant for me as a Muggleborn. In fact, it wasn't until my second year that I was called a Mudblood. I didn't know what it meant, but because of the context, I understood it was derogatory and meant to insult me. It was the first time I became aware of the enormity of the importance of blood-status in the Wizarding community. During this second year, the legendary Chamber of Secrets __was opened. Four students, including myself—all of us Muggleborn—were petrified, and that certainly brought the issues concerning blood-status to light once again._

_It was a shock to learn that some wizards believed I wasn't worthy to be a witch, or that I had stolen my magical powers. I was a Mudblood, tainted and dirty, a sub-witch, someone they would persecute and murder, not because of who I am or what I do, but because of who my parents are. I firmly believe in Professor Dumbledore's philosophy that it's not your knowledge that matters, but what you choose to do with it. Pureblood, Halfblood or Muggleborn—I hope there's a future where it doesn't matter which of them you are._

_In my second year at Hogwarts, these age-old prejudices nearly cost a student her life, if not her very mind. Strangely enough, the student was not a Mudblood as one might think, but a Pureblood, labelled as a Blood traitor simply because her family doesn't share and promote the Pureblood ideal._

_Blood-purity concern has all but ripped this community apart in two devastating wars. During my years at Hogwarts, I learned more and more about how the Wizarding world is governed. I can compare this with the Muggle world that I grew up in. The hierarchical system, with its inherited titles and other honorifics, still matters in Muggle Britain, but more symbolically than anything else. The common citizen is not treated as a lesser human, like dirt under aristocratic feet. In contrast, the Wizarding community seems feudal—almost medieval, lost in an era known as The Dark Ages in Muggle history. That description might not be entirely just, but in this context, it's very accurate._

_It's my firm belief that we, in order to avoid a third war, will have to change our attitudes to bring our community into the modern era, with equal opportunities and consideration for all, regardless of blood-status. We need a society where all witches and wizards, no matter who their parents are, are entitled the same rights, responsible for the same obligations, and held accountable by the same laws._

_While some might argue that I have no right to make such a demand because formally, we do live by the same laws, but in reality, those laws don't apply to everyone the same way. For instance, the Regulation For Underage Magic gives the children of all-Wizarding families advantages over Muggleborns, as any magic the first group of children might perform outside school can't be detected as readily as that of the second group._

_A society steeped in equality is a strong base for a peaceful future. Many of us, Muggleborn, Halfblood, and Pureblood alike, lost friends and family in the war. Children were orphaned and many who fought are still trying to come to terms with the horrors of their war-time experiences. May this shared trauma be a uniting factor and a fresh beginning to the healing process for our community._

Alastor Gumboil lifted his eyes from the parchment, reflecting Hermione's words for a moment. It was personal, which was good, and since it was the work of Hermione Granger, it would certainly garner attention. It addressed the general injustices heaped on those of mixed blood by the blood-purity bigots, and even brought a few specific issues to the fore. Yes, this was a useful text indeed.

"Miss Granger, first of all, let me express my gratitude for this fine treatise. I'm sure it will help us in our fight for greater equality. At our previous meeting, you mentioned your previous less-than-pleasant experience with your celebrity."

"Yes, Mr Gumboil. Some of you might remember the rumours about me and Harry having been a couple as reported by Rita Skeeter during our fourth year, and again as late as this past spring, there was another article in the Daily Prophet on the same subject," Hermione said. The others nodded in recognition. "This has left me somewhat cautious about what's written about me. I have placed several protective spells on this parchment, spells that will extend to duplicated parchments as well. Please don't see this precaution as any mistrust in you, but since I have no idea as to whose hands this text may end up in, I want to be sure it's not tampered with."

The others looked at her aghast, until Stiles opened his mouth. "We surely understand, Miss Granger, but how can you know if someone attempts to tamper with your text?"

"Oh, I altered the Trace and put in on the parchment. That will alert me. There are also a few other nasty surprises to make sure the one attempting anything will be marked as guilty."

"You altered the Trace," Gumboil asked in awe.

"Actually, I did most of the work for the Aurors this spring by casting the Trace on a Patronus. Placing it on a parchment simply involved a minor modification," Hermione revealed with a light blush.

"Amazing," Ernie Dearborn exclaimed.

"What other surprises do you have in store for us," his brother asked.

"Suffice it to say that the perpetrator would be noticed in a crowd," Hermione said with a grin.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door and Madam Rosmerta entered. "Supper for you fine gentlemen and the lovely Miss Granger."

Hermione looked at Madam Rosmerta and noticed something about her voice that wasn't quite right. _Bloody hell, that's Seamus! I'll take the mickey out of him for this. I wonder if Ron and Harry know about this._

"Thank you, Rosie," Gumboil said and tried to slap her bum.

The Polyjuiced Seamus accidentally dropped a steak and kidney pie into Gumboil's lap. The steaming hot pie caused an immediate pain in Gumboil's private area. "Oh, I'm very sorry," _Rosmerta_ apologised, flicking her wand to banish the pie. "Mr Waldheimer, I'll return in a jiffy with a new pie for you." She left and the other men grinned in amusement at their leader's predicament.

"You bloody git, Alastor," Peasegood scolded. "Don't go slapping Rosmerta! She's far too experienced to take it and she's hell with her Beater club."

"How's junior," Mr Stiles grinned wickedly.

Gumboil was annoyed, on the edge of furious. First of all, that bitch, Rosmerta, deliberately dropped a hot pie in his lap, and secondly, his friends made him look like an arse in front of Hermione Granger. "Very funny," Gumboil snarled.

Rosmerta reappeared with a new pie for Waldheimer and the meeting continued.

"Friends," Gumboil began. "ELF is off to a good start, but we need to expand in order to really become a voice strong enough to be heard by those codgers on the Wizengamot. I suggest we invite friends we trust to join us, provided the board approves."

"That's a good idea," Stormer agreed.

"Think a minute about trustworthy people who might be interested in joining ELF," Gumboil said. For a while they all ate in silence, thinking about potential members.

"I heard from my son that Rupert Watson, the former freelance Curse-breaker is the professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts," Stiles said. "He's a Muggleborn and it would also be beneficial to have a Hogwarts professor in our group."

"That's true," Peasegood agreed. "But Watson's hardly a team player, which is why he left the Ministry. If he's submitted himself to Hogwarts, I'm hard-pressed to believe he'd be interested in joining another organization as well."

"Do you know him, Frank," Gumboil asked.

"We've had a few dealings."

"Speak to him and see where he stands," Gumboil suggested looking at the others who nodded in agreement.

Hermione decided to speak up. "I have a friend who might be interested," she said carefully choosing her next words. "And I think he's in a position you'd find interesting."

"Oh? Who might that be," Peasegood asked.

"Seamus Finnegan," Hermione said. "We're both Gryffindors and we were in the same year. He's third-in-command at the Auror Office and he wants to get things done. He's a Halfblood and Irish and damned proud of both."

"Why would he join us," Gumboil asked.

"He's a fighter and doesn't tolerate Blood-purity ideals. He put his life on the line during the war, assisting in rescues at Hogwarts during the war. He can do a lot of good with the Aurors, but they do have Ministry protocol to follow. In ELF he would belong to a free group that can act when the Ministry can't."

Waldheimer nodded. "Having an Auror in ELF would certainly be a good spark for public opinion about us."

Gumboil thought about it for a few moments. Waldheimer was right. He had wanted Potter and Weasley, but if Miss Granger could convince the third-in-command, a dorm mate of theirs, an original member of Dumbledore's Army, and a war veteran, it was the best he could hope for. "Aye, invite him," Gumboil said, getting approving nods from the others.

A few more names were suggested and if they all actually joined ELF, they would have about thirty members next time they met. With that, the meeting adjourned and Hermione quickly left. She gave _Madam Rosmerta_ a grin before leaving by Floo.

As soon as Hermione stepped out of the Floo at the Burrow, the comforting aroma of Chinese food filled her senses. She found Harry and Ginny sipping tea, Ron still eating, and to her amazement, Molly and Arthur eating Chinese too.

"'Mione," Ron exclaimed, almost forgetting to swallow his food first.

"Ron," she said and embraced him. She felt safe again in his arms.

"How did it go," he asked.

"It was a pretty formal meeting. I'll draft Seamus," Hermione said. "Do you know who he was disguised as tonight?"

"No. We left that up to him," Harry said.

"He was Madam Rosmerta," Hermione giggled and told them how he'd dropped the pie in Gumboil's lap.

The others laughed about Seamus' choice of disguise and the pie. "Way to go, Irish," Harry grinned.

"If you don't mind my asking, why are you eating take away," Hermione wondered, taking her seat.

Molly looked up from her plate. "They sent Ron to get some food—" she began.

"Oh, say no more," Hermione said with a giggle, well aware of the amount of food he ordered.

"... Arthur and I thought it was a waste of food because he ordered Dinner for Six. There are only four of us, and none of us eats as much as Ron."

"Is this your first Chinese food, Molly," Hermione asked.

"In fact it is, and I must say it's not bad at all," Molly admitted. "You've made a great choice for your reception feast."

Arthur smiled. "And Molly can really handle those sticks."

"Must be all my knitting," Molly said with a blush.

Hermione had barely touched the steak and kidney pie at the Three Broomsticks due to nerves and the aversion to finding herself even remotely beholden to Alastor Gumboil, so she was hungry. She managed to get a small helping of each item before Ron ate it all.

Afterward, the six of them sat and sipped tea while their dinner settled. All of a sudden, there was a whoosh of green flame and Seamus Finnegan stepped through the Floo with his duffel tossed over his shoulder. "Evenin'!"

"Ah, is it the intrepid Seamus Finnegan or the lovely Rosmerta gracing us with his or her presence," Harry snickered.

"You're a bloody comedian, Potter," Seamus muttered. "I'm here for the debriefin', ya git!"

"Ah, well Hermione gave us the low-down about the meeting," Ron said. "What are your observations?"

"My observations? Gumboil's slime, that's my observation," he huffed. "The bastard all but drooled all over Hermione the entire meeting."

"'Mione? Did he…" Ron asked, his colour rising.

She sighed heavily, putting down her cup. She really didn't want to go into this again. "It was the same as before, Ronald. He never touched me."

"No, he didn't touch her, but he sure wanted to," Seamus reported. "The others were eyin' her pretty close too—except for the one bloke. Peasegood, I think he said his name was."

"Arnold Peasegood is a very nice man," Hermione said in the man's defence. "I felt better knowing he was at the table too."

"So…you dumped a pie in Gumboil's lap," Harry asked with raised eyebrows.

"The bloody bastard—oh, sorry Miz Weasley—the man slapped me bum and I didn't like it," he snarled. He realised at that moment how degrading it really must be for women in a situation like that. He was guilty of that kind of degenerate behaviour himself on occasion, and resolved never to do anything like that again.

"Mr Peasegood got on him about it, though," Hermione added. "He warned him about her Beater's club." Anyone who knew the proprietress of the Three Broomsticks knew about her prowess with that iron-banded club. Stories abounded about her cracking it over the head of some drunk wizard trying to force himself on her or another female in her pub.

"You're assigned to this duty permanently," Harry said. "Consider yourself somewhat under cover. You'll bring Dean in as soon as you can and then the fun begins, yeah?"

"I'm countin' on it," Seamus replied. "But now, I think I'll get on to Headquarters."

"Why? You're off tonight," Ron argued.

"I am, but…well, Lav 'n' me—it's over," he admitted. "I left this mornin'. I'll bunk at Headquarters until I've found a new flat."

"You will do no such thing, Seamus Finnegan," Molly declared. "You'll bunk right here at the Burrow. We have plenty of space. We'll put you in Percy's old room. Headquarters, indeed. Not while there's breath in my body!"

"Don't argue with Molly, Seamus. It's fighting a losing battle," Arthur told him. "You'll stay here as long as you need and that's an order."

"Yes sir," Seamus agreed. "Thank you, Miz Weasley."

"Ron, Harry—show Seamus to his room and get him settled," Molly ordered. "Ginny and Hermione, help me clear away, please."

"All right, Mum," Ron said with a half-grin. "Come on, mate. You're just below me and Hermione. The loo's across from Harry and Ginny."

"Ya didn't have to do this, ya know," Seamus said.

"It's not about having to, Seamus," Harry said. "It's about family. Molly adopts people associated with her own. She adopted me before I ever set foot in this house."

"Yeah, you're liable to become her eighth—or is it ninth—son. She has a soft spot for Neville Longbottom, too," Ron snickered. "Here you are. Consider yourself privileged. This used to be Percy's inner sanctum. Make yourself at home, mate."

The room was spotless, to say the least, without a speck of dust anywhere. The bed was impeccably made without a single wrinkle. It was certainly worthy of Percy Weasley, as Seamus knew him. Prim, proper, and pompous. _No wonder Fred and George pranked him at school all the time._ Seamus tossed his duffel on the bed and extracted his miniaturised trunk from his jacket pocket and set it on the floor at the foot of the bed. "_Engorgio_." The trunk shifted and stretched to its full size.

He moved his duffel on top of it and undressed to his boxers. He preferred to sleep starkers, but he didn't think it would be a good idea with so many women in the house and he a guest in it. Crawling into bed, he turned the events of the day over in his mind. He hoped Lavender was all right. She was pretty upset when he left the flat. Perhaps duty tonight would take her mind off it. Besides, she probably Flooed Parvati for a shoulder to cry on. He felt bad for hurting her, but it had to be done _for the greater good_. Dumbledore sure ingrained that into his students, didn't he?

He slipped his wand under his pillow and made himself comfortable. As the Burrow settled into silence, he began to drift into restful slumber. "Fiona," he breathed sleepily, and slipped into a sweet dream.

"I really thought Seamus and Lavender would last," Hermione said, laying her head against Ron's bare chest. "I mean, they seemed so good together."

"Yeah, we did too," Ron agreed. "He never left her side after she was injured in the war. He went through all her therapy with her and took care of her during training and even at work."

"I wonder what happened," Hermione said.

"Don't know, Love. But if he wants to tell us, he will," Ron assured her.

"I should owl Lavender and offer a shoulder, you know?"

"'Mione, I think you should stay out of it. You and Lavender are hardly friends—at least not that kind of friends. She has Parvati," Ron advised his fiancée.

"Hmm…you're probably right," she agreed. "But I still feel bad for them."

"They'll be all right, Love. They're battle-hardened Aurors. They can take anything," he grinned. "And speaking of hardened Aurors…"

"Ronald Weasley, you're incorrigible," she giggled. She let her hand slip south and found his arousal. "My, my, Mr Weasley."

"All down to you, Love," he teased, grabbing her and turning her over so he could look into her cinnamon eyes. "You're just so beautiful, I can't help myself."

"Mmm…flattery will get you everywhere," she purred. "Do go on."

"You're beautiful, smart, funny, brave, strong, talented—did I mention beautiful," he grinned into her neck, nipping at her pulse-point.

"Ron…mmm…that's nice," she cooed. She nudged his face to hers and leaned up for a kiss. "That's nice, too."

"I was so worried about you tonight, Hermione," Ron whispered, brushing his lips against hers. "I love you so much and can't imagine…anything happening to you."

"I'm all right, now. I'm here, safe and sound," she assured him, caressing his muscular back.

_And if anyone hurts you, I'll kill them._ "I love you, baby," he said, and captured her lips in a searing kiss.

"I want you, Ron. Right now," she moaned. "I need you inside me. Make me feel safe."

Taking her wand from the bedside table, Ron flicked it and muttered, "_Evanesca_," into her mouth. Any fabric barriers vanished, leaving them in the comfort only the touch of a lover can give. He positioned himself above her and fixed his cobalt-darkened eyes on hers. "So beautiful. So mine," he breathed.

He placed his knee between her thighs and coaxed them apart. She adjusted her position to receive him and sighed as he entered her warmth. "Ron, yes! That's it, my ginger god. I need you so." She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in further, tightening her embrace.

"Hermione. My sweet Hermione," he groaned, burying his face between her breasts. So great were their desire and passion that they soon climaxed and collapsed in one another's arms, sated and panting. "You all right, Love?"

"Never better," Hermione purred. "You were wonderful. Thank you."

"Me? Blimey, 'Mione. You were amazing. You're always amazing," Ron confessed. "It just gets better. I can't explain it."

"I was thinking the same thing," she agreed. "Are you taking lessons?"

"From the best teacher in the world," he replied, kissing her deeply.

"Anyone I know," she asked playfully.

"You've met."

"Is she pretty?"

"She's beautiful. She has this hot body with curves in just the right places. Her hair is soft and wild. She has these gorgeous brown eyes that burn into my very soul with every gaze, and her touch is gentle as the flutter of a butterfly's wings, but strong as steel. I can't get enough of her."

"Hmm, I wonder who this mysterious woman could be," she teased further. "Are you in love with her?"

"Mm hmm…hopelessly. She stole my heart when I was about twelve, I think," he said.

"Oh. That long ago," she asked, smiling brightly. _Had it been that long ago?_

"Oh yes. I'm going to marry her, too," he said, kissing Hermione's forehead.

"Does she know of this diabolical plan," Hermione asked. "And if so, is she agreeable?"

"She knows and she's agreeable. She accepted my ring last Valentine's Day. It was the happiest day of my life," he confessed, recalling the joy her answer gave him on that hill overlooking Hogsmeade that clear, cold morning.

"Mine too, Ronald," she whispered, throwing herself over his body. "Mine too!" Tears streaming down both their faces, they joined together as one once more before they drifted into a deep dreamless sleep.

Ginny had to leave for Holyhead Friday morning for a final day of practice before their season-opener against Puddlemere United. Harry saw her off at the Apparition point and then returned to the house. He'd taken the day off to make arrangements for the family in Wales, so they could all arrive that night and not have to rush in the morning. Seamus was scheduled to work alongside Ron that day, and would hold down the fort for the weekend in Harry's and Ron's absence.

Ginny wouldn't be joining the family at the hotel. She would stay with the team in her dorm at the stadium. The team needed to remain focused, without the distraction of spouses and significant others drawing their concentration away from the upcoming match. This would be the routine for home games all season long.

Harry hated to let her go, but it wasn't like she was going to be gone for six weeks again. It was only overnight. He'd see her at the match and then she'd be all his for another week before the team left for a ten-day stint on the road—or in the air, as the case may be. They had their bond, so neither would have time to pine. _Honestly, Potter, you're like a little kid missing his mummy. Snap out of it!_

"I've got us rooms at Blackthorn Farm. The views are magnificent," Harry told his mother-in-law. "It's a Muggle hotel, but it's very nice."

"I'm sure it's lovely, dear," Molly assured him. "But I really wish you'd let us share the expenses."

"Mum, I…_we_…do this because we love our family and want to share what we have," Harry explained.

"But Harry, you're building that beautiful house—"

"That beautiful house is paid for, so no worries. Ginny and I make enough between us to live comfortably, apart from our inheritance," he argued.

Harry really didn't like to discuss his wealth because it made him uncomfortable. He came by that money at the expense of the lives of his parents and his godfather. It was another reminder of all that had been lost because of Voldemort. It was blood money as far as he was concerned, and he was determined to use it to better the lives of those he loved while he could. "Mum, please let us do this."

"It means that much to you, doesn't it," she asked. "I can see it in your eyes."

"It does, Mum. My parents and Sirius would want me to…to…" A wave of emotion washed over the young wizard and he began to shake. "I…I'm sorry, Mum."

Molly bustled over to her son-in-law and wrapped him up in one of her signature hugs. "You're a loving and generous young man, Harry. Sirius was very proud of you and I'm sure James and Lily would have been too," Molly soothed. "But you don't have to spend money to show us how much you love us. Your intense love and sweet consideration for my daughter speaks volumes about you. Your friendship with my sons, especially Ronnie, is more valuable than all the gold in Gringotts. Hermione loves you very much—you're the brother she never had. Arthur and I—if given the opportunity, we'd have raised you as our own in a heartbeat. But Harry, none of that has anything to do with money. It's about _you _and how precious you are to us."

She held him as only a mother can while he sobbed into her shoulder. This remarkable young man in her arms endured more than any young man his age should have ever endured, and from too young an age at that. Her hackles rose momentarily as she thought about the awful way his relatives treated this kind and considerate boy who wanted only to be loved. While she admired and respected Albus Dumbledore, she couldn't help but hold a small grudge against the old man for placing Harry in that abusive environment and then insist he return to it each summer, blood wards or no. She cringed to think what Harry might have turned out to be—bitter, angry, and violent.

"There now, dear. You just let it all out. You've held this all in long enough," she cooed, rubbing his back while he cried.

"I'm sorry, Mum," he sniffed, raising his head from her shoulder. He accepted the handkerchief Molly conjured for him and wiped his face. "I don't know what came over me. Gin and I have talked about this loads of times and I've never come unglued like this."

"Not at all, dear. It had to come out sooner or later," Molly replied. "Now, sit down and I'll make you some of my special tea."

Harry complied and in a few minutes, he was sipping Molly's special chamomile and honey tea. He could feel his nerves settle and his mind relax. "Thanks, Mum."

"You're welcome. Now are you ready to go," she asked. "You've got your kit for the night?"

"I'm all ready. I should head out so I can check us all in," Harry said with a sigh. "I'll see you around seven for dinner?"

"Seven it is. Will Ginny be joining us?"

"No, sorry. She has to stay with the team tonight. No exceptions."

"Are you okay with that," she asked, recalling the terrible episode during the trial.

"Yeah, I think I'm over that now," Harry chuckled. "Besides, I'll see her tomorrow."

"All right then. We'll see you tonight at Blackthorn Farm, yes," Molly asked to be sure she had the right hotel.

Harry kissed her on the cheek, shouldered his rucksack, and disappeared out the door.

Ginny held her Firebolt in a firm grip. In a few moments, she would fly out onto the Harpies Quidditch pitch to play a match as a professional Chaser for the first time. Their opponent was Puddlemere United, whose Keeper was fellow Gryffindor alumnus, Oliver Wood. Ginny felt Harry's waves of love pass through their bond, calming her down. They had agreed to limit their communication through it to awareness of their emotions. If they opened it fully, Ginny would see the game from Harry´s point of view as well as her own.

Strictly speaking, there was no rule against a bond like theirs, simply because there were only mythical references to anything remotely similar. Still, they thought it a form of cheating, since Ginny would have an overview of the entire pitch other players couldn't have. Apart from the calm Harry's love afforded her, she felt a lift from knowing that all her family and friends filled the biggest top box in the stadium and were there just to see her play and cheer for her.

Puddlemere flew in first as a courtesy to the visiting team, but Ginny knew only Oliver Wood. She was shaken from her reverie when the gate to the pitch flew open and the commentator's voice boomed through the stadium.

"And now, please welcome your Holyhead Harpies! In jersey number one, your Keeper, Gwyneth Lee!" Gwyneth flew out and met the roaring cheer from the audience.

"Your Beaters, Grace Gordon and Captain Gwenog Jones!" The two flew out and again the cheers exploded. The Chasers were next.

"Your Chasers, Gabriella Brown, Glenda Stockwell, and introducing your new Harpies Central Chaser in jersey number six, Ginny Potter!"

The three of them flew out in arrow formation to the screams and cheers of their thousands of fans in the stands. It seemed that every wizard and witch in Wales had come to the match, interspersed with a few hopeful Puddlemere fans. It felt very different from the much smaller crowd at Hogwarts. Ginny, Gabriella and Glenda maintained their tight formation around the pitch.

"Go one round on your own, Ginny," Gabriella encouraged her. "Enjoy the moment!"

Ginny broke formation and some fireworks Ginny would swear were George's invention erupted into a Harpy wearing a numbers six jersey. She never dared imagine that such cheering and screaming could be for her. Ginny bent forward and accelerated her Firebolt to full speed and flew the extra lap around the pitch. Harry sent his wife another blast of love and pride as he watched her capture the hearts of her thousands of new fans.

"GINNY POTTER," the commentator shouted. Soon the crowd calmed down enough for the commentator to introduce the Seeker so the match could commence. "And in jersey number seven, your Seeker, Geraldine Hill!" Geraldine streaked onto the pitch, executing a spiraling barrel-roll halfway up the field. The crowd went wild again as the Harpies formed up and flew around the pitch.

The moment thrilled her to the bone, but she felt humbled by the expectations she knew the fans held for her capabilities. Bolstered by her husband's love, Ginny took a deep breath and focused on the match about to start. The teams stopped opposite each other and began the customary pre-match banter.

"All right there, Potter," Oliver asked her with a smirk.

"Sure, Oliver," Ginny said greeting him with a nod "Just wait and see how all right I am."

"Can't honestly wish you luck, but stay on your broom," he said with a grin.

"You too."

The captains greeted each other and after that, the teams took their positions in the air. Ginny prepared to race the Puddlemere Central Chaser for the Quaffle.

"The Bludgers have been released and there goes the Snitch," the commentator said. "And referee Hawk releases the Quaffle... now!"

The biggest top box held a large group of people gathered to cheer on their favourite Chaser. Harry sat on the front row, flanked by Ron and Hermione on one side, and George and Angelina on the other. The rest of the Weasleys filled the seats in the in the next row. Even Aunt Muriel came, promising to behave herself. Behind them sat the Munchkins with their parents and Ginny's Gryffindor team. Ginny's dorm mates, other friends from school, and members of Dumbledore's Army filled the rest of the seats.

Molly looked on in pride and a bit of fear. "My baby girl..." she said over and over, but roared _Ginny_, when she appeared on the pitch.

"Mum, calm down," Harry said. "They're professionals. They're too good to get hurt…much…or often."

"I know, dear," Molly said nervously. "But it's a mother's prerogative to worry."

As Ginny broke free to fly alone around the pitch, George flicked his wand and set off some fireworks he'd made for this occasion.

"Amazin', Georgie," Fiona cried. "You make them?"

"Of course," he replied, puffing his chest out like Percy. "I made them just for our Gin-Gin."

Paul and Diana and Paul Templeton sat awestruck by the pageantry and grandeur of the experience already, and the match hadn't even started yet. Desmond and Heather explained the basic concepts of the game, so they were eager for the match to start. As the Bludgers and Snitch were released, all focus fell to the referee, who was about to launch the Quaffle.

Ginny shot off as Referee Hawk blew the whistle and tossed the Quaffle into the air. Diving at full speed, she used the talent she'd developed as a Seeker. She didn't break for a moment. Instead pressing her Firebolt to top speed, she dove under the Quaffle , snatching it and tucking it under her arm. Her opponent had opted for a more traditional tactic, which required braking to avoid crashing into the ground. Ginny flew at lightning speed two feet above the ground for a few seconds to the screams of the crowd. Harry just smiled.

"How about _that_, Harpies fans? Potter executed an almost-perfect Wronski Feint to take control of the Quaffle! Never in all my years with the Harpies, have I ever seen a Chaser do_ that,_" the commentator barked.

Harry sent his pride through the bond. He wanted to open the bond up and tell her "good one," but he resisted the temptation to violate their promise to one another. Suddenly, Ginny pulled up hard and shot upward like one of George's fireworks. Immediately targeted by the Puddlemere Beaters, Ginny passed the Quaffle off to Gabriella, who raced toward Oliver's rings. Ginny dodged the Bludger and Harry heard Molly gasp, but he could feel Ginny's calm through the bond.

"She's all right, Mum. Don't worry," Harry assured Molly.

Ginny pushed toward Oliver's left ring while Gabriella flew head on with the Quaffle. Glenda flew straight at his right ring, forcing him to make a tough decision. Gabriella's options were decided by the Puddlemere Beaters, as one of them whacked a Bludger at her and the other sent one in Glenda's direction. Clearly they wanted to distract the veteran Chasers. Gabriella passed to Ginny, who by now had a Puddlemere Chaser stuck to her like glue. Ginny snatched the Quaffle and kept pressing Oliver's left ring. He saw her coming and moved a little to cover as well as possible without leaving his centre and right rings wide open.

Ginny adjusted her aim head on at Oliver. Pressing her Firebolt to its limit, she made her signature barrel roll forcing Oliver to follow her move. As he glided left, and as she came out of the roll, Ginny launched the Quaffle hard to Oliver's right and scored. She flew around the rings and broke to catch her breath. She released her focus and took in the world around her.

"Ginny Potter scores," she heard the commentator announce in elation. "10-0 to the Harpies!"

Waves of happiness, her own and Harry's, shot through the bond while the crowd roared.

"Brilliant, Ginny," Glenda shouted. "After that mental stunt when you caught the Quaffle, I didn't think you'd pull another one taking the Keeper head on like that."

"I told him back at New Year that all he'd see was the Quaffle pass through his rings," Ginny replied. "I meant it!"

"You _know_ him," Glenda asked.

"He captained the Gryffindor team during my first two years at Hogwarts. I never played with him, but he was captain when Harry joined the team as Seeker."

The top box erupted in cheers and shouts when Ginny scored. Molly's eyes glistened with proud tears for her daughter's accomplishment on a professional pitch. Arthur, usually so calm and collected, shouted Ginny's name and hugged everyone within reach, even a surprised Paul Templeton and an equally surprised Desmond Prewett. Harry shared the moment through the bond with Ginny, while Ron and Hermione snogged in celebration.

"She scored," Bill shouted. "She bloody scored!"

"Language, Bill," Molly said.

"To hell with language," Charlie retorted. "Our sister scored!"

"All right..." Molly sighed and then stood up. "You're bloody brilliant, Ginny. Give those Puddlemere players hell!"

Bill and Charlie looked at their mother and then at each other. "What just happened," Charlie asked his older brother.

"Your guess is as good as mine, brother mine," Bill replied.

Ginny's shot had been launched with such force that it ended up in the stands. Referee Hawk had to fly over there to retrieve it. Reluctantly, the Harpies fan who caught it let go of the Quaffle Ginny Potter scored her first goal with. As soon as the referee returned to the pitch with the Quaffle, the match resumed.

The Puddlemere Chasers attacked with a vengeance. So far, there had been no activity from the Seekers other than casual flying about keeping an eye out for the slightest glint of the elusive winged ball. An hour into the game, the score stood at 110-70 to the Harpies. Ginny had scored another two goals, and was very pleased with her game so far. However, the tension began to wear on her. The speed and intensity of professional Quidditch was so much greater than at Hogwarts, and despite her ability to keep up the speed, the intensity of the focus and psychological pressure associated with playing on this level was new to her.

To her relief, Harry sensed her fatigue and sent her a refreshing wave of encouragement. The various scenarios and tactics drilled until exhaustion at training camp paid off now. Ginny, Gabriella, and Glenda worked fine together like a well-oiled machine and their cooperation with the Beaters gave them the edge that gave them the forty-point lead.

"Geraldine has dropped into a dive! Has she seen the Snitch," the commentator cried.

Ginny knew better than care about the Snitch. Catching it was Geraldine's job and the Beaters would keep her safe. Ginny used the situation to snatch the Quaffle from a Puddlemere Chaser and race upward once again. Immediately, the other two Puddlemere Chasers pulled up next to her attempting to strip the oddly-shaped red ball from her. Holding the Quaffle tight to her body, Ginny looked for Gabriella or Glenda. Gwenog and Grace focused on Geraldine, so Ginny had to dodge the Bludgers on her own.

She noticed the Puddlemere Chasers working a corkscrew manoeuvre around her, forcing her away from Oliver. As soon as the Seekers flew into action, the Chasers had to assist their Keeper, because the Puddlemere Beaters were trying to disrupt Geraldine. The two Seekers flew side by side, both their eyes trained on the Snitch. Ginny suddenly broke hard while the Puddlemere Chasers headed straight on. Ginny dove and spotted Gabriella positioning herself to assist her teammate.

Ginny broke her dive and turned full speed against Oliver. The Puddlemere Chasers raced at her and Gabriella to head off their attack. Glenda flew hard from the rear to face Oliver alone. She fired her shot at the Puddlemere Keeper, but Oliver made a desperate save. Unfortunately for him, Ginny was in position to pick off the rebound and fire the Quaffle through his center ring.

"Goal! Potter scores again!"

The crowd went wild. A moment later, Geraldine caught the Snitch to win the game.

"She's got the Snitch! Geraldine Hill has caught the Snitch! Final score 270-70 to the Harpies!" the commentator shouted above the roar of the crowd. "What a catch, folks!"

Euphoria engulfed Ginny and spilled into Harry through the bond, forcing it wide open.

"_We won, Harry! I scored four goals in my first game and we won! I can't believe it!"_ It was more than she could have hoped for.

"_You did, Gin. Well done! Go celebrate with your team, now."_

Harry couldn't stop smiling. He returned the hugs of the others in their box, but his heart remained with his wife as she joined with her team mates opposite the Puddlemere team to thank them for a great match.

"They won," Arthur cried. "Four goals! She scored four goals!"

Molly sighed in relief that Ginny came through the match unscathed. Harry was right. They were professionals. Their flying skill was amazing and despite the speed, no one had come even close to crashing and no one had been hit with a Bludger.

"C'mon! Let's head out to the pitch," Ron shouted, his arms still wrapped around Hermione.

"_I'm so proud of you, Gorgeous Girl!"_

"_I love you so much. Thanks for the extra support during the game. I was pretty nervous."_

"_We're heading down to the pitch. There's an entire top box going ape-shit here."_

"_Ape-shit," Ginny giggled._

"_Something Fiona said...we'll see you on the pitch. Just enjoy your victory!"_

_**Potter's Premiere**_

_Yesterday, Ginny Potter made her debut as a professional Chaser with the Holyhead Harpies in Holyhead, Wales. Said to be talented, there has been an on-going discussion about how much her status as war hero and her marriage to Harry Potter influenced the Harpies' decision to sign her. The very first seconds of the game answered the controversy._

_In a never-before-seen stunt that can only be described as a Wronski Feint, Mrs Potter caught the Quaffle and then worked masterfully with her fellow Chasers to score the first goal herself. _

_In total, Mrs Potter scored four goals in her first match and played with a confidence not often seen in a rookie. Her speed as a Chaser matches that of any Seeker in the league and will prove a challenge for any team to keep up with._

_The Holyhead Harpies played a tight game with Beater and Captain Gwenog Jones working her Chasers and Beaters in a well-coordinated mid-air ballet. In the tense situation as the Seekers __raced for the Snitch, Mrs Potter scored her fourth goal only seconds before Harpies Seeker Geraldine Hill caught the Snitch._

"_We're very pleased with the match and the victory, and we hope that this puts an end to tiresome speculation that we contracted Mrs Potter because of her celebrity status," Holyhead Harpies Chairperson, Mrs Carpenter, stated after the match. Surrounded by her friends and family, who had watched the game from a top box (a wedding present to Mr and Mrs Potter from the Harpies,) our reporter managed to reach the new Chaser for a comment._

"_My hope for today was to play to the best of my ability, despite the premiere nerves, and hopefully score at least one goal. I did score, and I'm happy with my performance," Mrs Potter commented._

_Proudly embracing his wife was Head Auror Harry Potter, former Gryffindor Seeker and Captain. _"_Ginny's a brilliant Chaser who flies with the the speed of a Seeker. I'm so proud of her. That first stunt of hers was nothing short of awesome."_

_Final score was 270-70. We asked Puddlemere Keeper Oliver Wood for a comment on Mrs Potter's premiere performance. _"_She's a fast little bugger, let me tell you that," he laughs. "She promised me shortly after landing her contract that all I'd see was the Quaffle pass through my rings. Sadly, she kept her promise. Four shots, four goals. I admit she beat me fair and square today."_

_Mr Wood captained the Gryffindor team when Mr Potter joined as Seeker, but has never played with Mrs Potter. This reporter will look forward to seeing more of the Holyhead Harpies this season._

After the match, the Templetons and the Prewetts left for home while the Weasleys and the Potters joined the team for a victory celebration. Harry grinned like a fool the entire evening, holding his wife on his lap while she ran her fingers through his thick raven locks. They shared a table with Ron and Hermione. Ron pulled his fiancée into his lap and pulled her close. "I think we need to do something together—just the four of us."

"Okay. What," Ginny asked, feeding Harry a piece of pineapple from her drink.

"How about a camping trip," Hermione suggested. "My family used to camp a lot when I was younger."

"Camping? You lot want to go camping," Harry asked incredulously. "I'd think you had your fill of that."

"Harry, this would be different," Hermione chided her surrogate brother. "We'd have time to plan the trip and bring along plenty of food. Besides, it's early fall, not the dead of winter."

"Okay, supposing we go camping, where would we go," Ginny asked, kissing Harry on the nose.

"Well," Hermione began. "How about the Forest of Dean?"

"Are you mad," Ron said with a start. "Have you forgotten what happened there?"

"Of course not, but that was a favourite camping spot for my family. I only took us there then because I knew where it was," Hermione said defensively. "We'll be Horcrux-free and have plenty of food on hand."

"All right, but we're getting a new tent," Harry said with resolve. "That one we had smelled like Mrs Figg's cats."

"When," Ron asked.

"This week sometime," Ginny said. "We play the Kestrals on Sunday. I have to be back here no later than Friday night."

"Then we have some shopping to do," Harry announced. "You girls pack our gear and plan the food. Ron and I can shop for a tent and all the stuff that goes with it."

"Deal," Ginny agreed. "Hermione, we're on a mission from our gods."

"And worthy gods they are," Hermione replied with a tipsy giggle.

"That does it. You're cut off, Love," Ron chuckled. "We're off if we're going to go shopping tomorrow."

"Oh you're no fun," Hermione mock-pouted. "But I could be persuaded."

"I'm sure," he replied. "But you might not remember it."

"We're out of here," Ginny giggled. "Come on, Harry. It's time for us to turn in and I want to sleep in our own bed."

"Are you sure you don't want to spend the night here and then Apparate home in the morning?"

"Yes, I am. I want to make love with you in our own bed tonight," she insisted, gently caressing his face. "Please?"

"Now that sounds interesting," he said just above a whisper. "What brought this on all of a sudden? I thought you'd be knackered after that fast-paced match today."

"Never too knackered to wrap myself around you, Gorgeous Guy," she purred. "Take me home, Harry James Potter, before I hex your bits off."

"No danger of that, Love," he smirked. "If you hexed my bits off, home would be pretty boring."

"Shut it and take me home, you prat," she said, grabbing him by the collar and planting a smouldering kiss on his mouth that took his breath away.

"I can't argue with that," he said with a goofy grin. "Where's your stuff?"

"Right here," she replied, patting her jacket pocket. "Let's make our farewells and get the bloody hell out of here."

"You're sexy when you take charge," Harry said, biting her neck. "You drive me mad!"

"Then let's get going, Potter. Time's a-wasting," she snarled, slipping off his lap. "And I intend to make the most of what we've got."

The four of them made their excuses and left the pub to Apparate home. Upon arrival at the Burrow, they trudged up the path through the wards to the house. Hermione was half-asleep on her feet, so Ron picked her up and carried her up to their room on the top floor. Harry and Ginny spotted him from behind against the possibility that he might lose his balance on the stairs.

"Good night, Ron," Ginny said at their door.

"Good night, Gin," he replied, setting Hermione on her feet.

"Good night, Hermione," Harry snickered.

"G'night, Harrykins," she giggled.

"Good night, Ron," Harry called.

"Shut it, Potter," Ron growled, wrestling Hermione through their bedroom door. "Come on, 'Mione. Help me out here."

"Help you what," she moaned. "Can't you find your zip?"

"Help me help you, Love," he snickered. She wasn't really drunk so much as worn out. The bit of wine she'd had at the party intensified that effect and turned her body to jelly.

"Okay. Just help me sit down on the bed," she said.

Ron sat her on the bed and she promptly fell back and passed out. "Bugger." He set to undressing her down to her knickers and then manoeuvred her into place on the bed. He undressed and slid into bed next to her, tucking her head into the crook of his arms. "Good night, sweetheart."

"G'ni' m'luv" she murmured, and snuggled into his chest.

The following morning, the four of them descended the stairs to join Molly, Arthur, and Seamus at the table. "So what're you lot up to this fine mornin'," Seamus asked.

"Shopping," Ginny said, giving him a peck on the cheek. "We're going camping for a few days this week."

"Isn't it a bit late in the season for camping," Molly asked, sipping her tea. "Seamus, eat your breakfast, dear. There's plenty."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and returned to his food.

"It's not that cold yet, Mum," Ron said, filling his plate with sausages and eggs. "Besides, we can handle it."

"Yeah, Mum," Harry added. "We camped in the dead of winter in '97. This is like summer in comparison."

"And we'll have a new tent and be better prepared," Hermione added. "Ron and Harry are going to shop for the tent and gear and Ginny and I are going shopping for provisions."

"I think ye're all mad," Seamus observed with a snort. "Campin's never been my idea of fun, thanks."

"Camping's loads of fun if you know what you're doing," Hermione countered. "You're just spoiled by the comforts of home."

"Aye, and I'll admit it too," he said with a wink. "Does this mean I'm in charge for a few more days?"

"Yes, it does. I've already done the schedule, so you don't have to bother with that," Harry told him. "And you know what to do if all hell breaks loose."

"Alert Mr Weasley and then send my Patronus to find you," Seamus recited.

"They've got you trained, haven't they," Ginny teased.

"…said the hoity-toity Quidditch star," Seamus sneered good-naturedly. "Congratulations, by the way, Love. Well done! We were listenin' on the wireless in the break room. Four goals against Wood!"

"I couldn't believe it! It…it's a feeling I'll never forget," Ginny said, her memories of her triumph filling her up.

"Keep it up and ye'll make Rookie o' the Year," Seamus predicted.

"As if," Ginny huffed.

"Ginny-girl, you've got as good a shot at that as any other rookie," her father assured her. "If your performance yesterday was any indication, you're a shoe-in."

"Absolutely," Hermione agreed.

Ron raised his pumpkin juice and waited for the other to follow suit. "To Ginny Potter, Rookie of the Year for the 1999-2000 season! Slaínte!"

"Slaínte," they all repeated and drank to their newest star.


	18. Chapter 18 Ginny's Worst Memory

**Chapter 18 – Ginny's Worst Memory**

Sunday morning, Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione set out for Hogsmeade in search of camping supplies. Hermione requested that the tent have two bedrooms, a full bath, a kitchen, and sitting room with comfortable furnishings. She knew camping usually meant "roughing it," but ever since their hardships on the run at the height of the war, she'd had quite enough of that, thank you.

Hermione and Ginny made for the farmers' market on the square, where they found the bounty of the harvest gleaned from local farmsteads and gardens. Harry and Ron turned their attention to a new Wizarding sporting goods shop that opened soon after the war. While the girls picked over the produce, their men examined the several tents for sale.

"Can I help you gentlemen today," a young wizard asked.

"Uh…yeah," Ron replied. "We're planning a camping trip with our wives and we need a tent and supplies."

"Very well. Do you have something in particular in mind," the man whose name tag read _Mark_ asked.

"Uh, well, it has to have two bedrooms, a full bath, kitchen, and sitting room," Harry said. "Women."

"Ah yes, I understand," Mark replied with a nod. "We have something close to that right over here, sir." He led Harry and Ron to a rather grand affair that had all the amenities they asked for and then some.

"Is this a working Floo," Ron asked, pointing to the fireplace.

"For a fee, it can be, but I wouldn't advise it. Unless you're planning on living in it for several weeks, it's just not worth the expense," Mark said in all honesty. "It is a working fireplace though."

"Does it come with any charms or…" Harry began.

"The standard detection wards, but nothing fancy. We can add them for an extra cost," he said.

"We can handle that ourselves," Ron said, nudging Harry. _We did it for months in '98_.

"Of course, sir. Would you like to have a look inside," Mark suggested.

"Oh right. Yeah," Harry said. Mark held the flap open, allowing Harry and Ron to duck inside. The inside appeared larger than the outside. It reminded Harry of the tent they stayed in at the Quidditch World Cup five years before.

"What do you think mate," Ron asked his friend. "Think 'Mione'll like it?"

"Oh, I think she'd be able to tolerate it," Harry smirked. "We'll take it…Mark."

"Harry, did you see the price tag," Ron asked in a shaky whisper.

"Yes, Ron, I saw it. What about it," Harry said, pulling his checkbook from his robes.

"Two-thousand Galleons, mate! Are you sure you want to spend that much?" Ron still couldn't wrap his head around Harry's immense wealth and it worried him that perhaps his friend was going to spend himself into the poorhouse.

"Ron, it's a one-time expenditure. We'll be able to use this thing until we're old and grey, with beards to our knees," Harry laughed, authorising the sale.

"But…"

"Ron, we've had this discussion before," Harry interrupted. "What good is all this damned money if I can't share it with my family?"

"But…"

"Ron, you're getting married in three months. You and Hermione have your wedding to pay for and besides, I want to do this. We need to make some happy memories so we can heal," Harry insisted. "If we can put the war behind us for good, it's worth every Knut."

"All right, but one of these days, we're going to do something that Hermione and I are going to pay for—no arguments," Ron conceded.

Before Harry could answer, Mark returned with the receipt and a tiny box the size of a matchbox. "The standard Engorgio spell will expand the tent to full size. Just take it out of the box and lay it out. The tent will do the rest."

"Now that sounds like my kind of tent," Harry said, nudging his friend. He'd never forget the comedy of errors surrounding the pitching of the tents at the Quidditch World Cup. Of course, Hermione knew how it was done and ultimately had to help the men with their tent once she had the one meant for her and Ginny pitched and staked.

"Yeah, no mallets or dodgy ropes," Ron agreed. "Are we done here?"

"I guess so. Shall we find those goddesses of ours," Harry asked with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"Right you are, my brother," Ron replied, slapping Harry on the back.

Once Harry and Ron left the store, Stuart, a co-worker of Mark's, stepped up to berate him for not trying to up his sale. "Do you have any idea who that was?"

"Yes, I do," Mark said. "That was Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, Why?"

"Why? Harry Potter is one of the richest wizards in Britain, that's why," Stuart exclaimed.

"So what's your point," Mark asked, becoming annoyed.

"My point is that you could've sold him the Floo package _and_ the Wards package and made a killing, you prat," Stuart huffed.

"Stu, are you mental? Those two are war heroes—_decorated_ war heroes—and the top two Aurors in Britain, if not the world. Do you think I'm mad enough to try to rook either of them into buying something they don't need," Mark asked him snappishly. "I really like my flat and I'm not looking to change my address to Azkaban!"

"Oh come on! Azkaban?"

"Well, maybe not Azkaban, but still—I couldn't, in good conscience, push a sale like that and risk losing the one I got for greed."

"Only a Hufflepuff would think like that," Stu snorted.

"How very Slytherin of you, Stuart," Mark spat.

"Hey! Ravenclaw here, thanks," Stuart retorted.

"Yeah, well, those two and their women are Gryffindors to the bone. It's not wise to bait lions—pure and simple," Mark said. "The commission I've earned from the sale of that tent alone will not only make my month, it'll pay my bills too!"

"Mark, which tent did you sell them," Stu asked.

"The Portable Cottage," Mark smirked. "It's what they were looking for, more or less."

"You sold a PC," Stuart gasped. "Honest?"

"And with all the amenities, fully furnished," Mark grinned.

"Blimey, that's…"

"…two thousand Galleons, my man—three hundred for me!"

"Blimey!"

"Honesty is the best policy, my friend. You might want to try it some time." Mark patted his colleague on the back and went to work tidying up the shop.

Harry and Ron made their way through the high street of Hogsmeade back toward the town square where Ginny and Hermione shopped for fresh fruit and vegetables at the farmers' market. The women had already purchased several baking potatoes, several yellow onions, a lovely bunch of carrots, and some butternut squash.

"Thinking of building a stew, ladies," Ron asked, slipping his hands around Hermione's waist.

"Ronald," she cried in surprise. "You frightened me!"

"Sorry, Love, but you have a nice load of veg there in your basket and I thought maybe you were going to create a stew," he replied, kissing her neck.

"If you must know, yes," she answered him, still perusing the old man's cart. "Excuse me, is this actual sweet corn?"

"Aye, that it is, lassie. It's the last from ma fields," he said with a thick Scottish brogue. "Had a bonny crop this year!"

"That looks really good," Harry said. "What do you do with it?"

"What do ye do wi' it," the old man returned his question. "Have ye never had corn on the cob, laddie?"

"N-no, sir," Harry stammered, blushing. "Just tinned."

"Well then, I'll tell ye. Ya boil some water in a big pot, see, then ye add a wee bit o' sugar tae the water. While ye're waitin' for it tae boil, ye shuck the corn—like this." The old farmer chose a plump ear and sniffed it. "Aye, smell that? If ye can smell the sweet, it's a good'un." He passed the ear around so the four of them could smell.

"Oooh, I _can_ smell the sweetness, Ginny exclaimed.

"Aye, lassie! Ye've a good nose for sweet corn," the old man smiled. "Now, once ye've shucked all the green leaves off—make sure ye pull off as much of this silk as ye can," he explained, showing the fine threads. "Then ye lay it in the boilin' water and let it go for about a half-hour."

"Sounds simple enough, eh 'Mione," Ron said. "Then what?"

"Ye tak' the ears out o' the water and let them drain off a wee bit. Then ye smother 'em with butter, salt, an' pepper and go to it," he said, mimicking the way one would eat corn from the cob.

"Oh we've got to try this," Ron moaned. "All that butter—I'm starved!"

"We'll alert the media," Harry sniggered. "Headline: Order of Merlin Fellow, Ronald Weasley, Starving!"

"By the Mass! Ye're never…" the farmer sputtered. "Ye're…"

"Shh," Ginny shushed him quickly. "We don't want a scene, if you don't mind."

"Yes, he's that Ron Weasley," Harry confirmed. "And the lovely lady at his side is Hermione Granger."

"Then ye'll be Harry Potter and this beauty here would be yer missus, Ginny Potter of Holyhead Harpies fame," the man beamed, delighted.

"Right again," Ginny giggled.

"Stuff me in a paunch an' call me a haggis! I'm right proud to make yer acquaintance," the old farmer grinned, shaking each of their hands vigourously. "Please, allow me to…"

"Sir, we can't let you…" Harry began.

"Nonsense, laddie! Ye saved us from that evil bastard an' his lot. It's the least I can do! What's a few tatties an' all anyway? And a dozen ears o'…"

"But it's the last of your harvest," Hermione countered. "We couldn't…"

"Ye can an' ye will, lass. I need the room in ma cart for the pumpkins. They'll be ready in a few weeks, ye know," he insisted. "Fine strappin' lads like these two need their veg and a muckle lot to boot! Now you just take that and anything else ye need with ma thanks!"

"You're very kind, Mr…"

"MacAllister, Mr. Potter," he finished. "Angus MacAllister. An' I'm not kind—I'm grateful to ye's for a' ye done. I'd not have ma fields if not for you lot."

"All right, but just this once," Ginny chided with a smile, kissing the old man on the cheek. "After this, we pay you!"

"Done, lass," the old man agreed. He spit into his palm and offered it to her; Ginny did likewise. Hermione turned a little green, but kept up appearances with a smile—pained as it was. Hermione and Ron, with the help of the grateful farmer, selected the best dozen ears of plump, juicy sweet corn while Harry and Ginny looked over the first apples of the season displayed on the next cart over.

"_You know you're going to have to Scourgify that hand."_

"_Oh is that so?"_

"_Gin, that's disgusting."_

"_You've been brainwashed in a too-sterile environment, Potter."_

"_You don't even know this man!"_

"_If you're a good boy, I'll let you do it for me."_

"_If you're a good girl, I'll…"_

"_Harry James Potter, don't you start sweet-talking me in public unless you plan on dealing with it."_

"Find any good ones," Ron asked.

"Oh, a few. Baking apples, these are," he replied. "See? They're softer."

"You've a good eye for apples, Mr. Potter," the middle-aged witch said, bustling over. "I couldn't help but overhear. Angus can be a bit excitable, but I can keep a secret. I'm Mary Hotchkiss," she said, extending her hand.

"Thank you, ma'am," Ginny said. "Harry, how do you know one apple from the next?"

"I don't know which type it is; I just know that it's a baking apple because it's softer than, say, these over here."

"Right you are," the woman said. "Those baking apples are called _Jonathans_ and they're very common to the home orchard," she told him. "These lovelies with the bumps on the bottom are called _Red Delicious_. They're too dense for baking, but they're fantastic for eating out of hand. Those yellow ones are called _Golden Delicious_ and can be used either way."

"I didn't know that," Ron said. "We have a few trees at home and these apples look just like our ones."

"Are your trees charmed," the woman asked.

"Yeah. Mum goes out every summer and charms the trees to keep the bugs and the birds off them," Ron replied. "But…"

"Yes," the woman smirked, noticing what had caught Ron's eye.

"Mum says we shouldn't eat green apples. I did once and I didn't leave the loo for hours." Ron blushed at the memory while Ginny snickered into Harry's shoulder.

"Serves you right, you great prat," she giggled. "Mum warned you."

"Shut it, Ginny," Ron grumbled.

The woman laughed at Ron's assessment of the yellow-green variety positioned above the Jonathans. "Mr. Weasley, it's not a good idea to eat green Jonathans, but these _Granny Smiths _are quite safe. They're supposed to be this color. They're rather tart, but they're ideal for pies and buckles because they hold their shape and cook through nicely. They're an American transplant."

"I'll bet Mum would like to try those," Ginny said. "Let's buy some for her and see what she does with them."

"How many," Harry asked.

Ginny thought for a few moments, stealing looks at her brother for input. Receiving none, she turned to the vendor. "Enough to make a half-dozen or so pies," she decided.

"Done, but I'll include a few more for baking. Baked apples are quite nice," she said, placing a couple dozen in a sack. She then slipped in a couple small pieces of parchment. "A couple of recipes for her to try."

"Mum loves to try new recipes," Ginny told her. "Thank you. How much do we owe you?" Ginny reached for the retinue Harry had given her the day he added her to his vaults. Harry smiled privately to himself because he remembered the fuss she'd made over accepting it.

"Owe me? Not a single Knut, young lady," Mary chided her. "If Angus thinks you deserve a little coddling, then who am I to quibble? No, you take those with my thanks and the thanks of every grower on this square."

"Are you sure? I mean, apples…" Harry began to argue.

"Not at all, Mr. Potter. It's a fine thing you've done for magical Britain and it's the least we can do," she scolded good-naturedly. "Frankly, I don't believe a vendor here would take a single coin from any of you!"

"If you're sure…" Hermione said, blushing hotly. "You're too kind."

"Pshaw! I can't let Angus MacAllister show me up, now can I," Mary said with a chuckle. "Now, off with you to finish your shopping!"

"Thank you, Ms. Hotchkiss," Hermione said. "I'm sure Molly'll love the apples."

"I'm sure she will. Bye, now."

"Mary, Love, ye're a saint," Angus MacAllister said, accepting a mug of warm cider from his neighbour.

"I'm no saint. What those young people went through is worth every apple in my orchards and every potato in your fields…and more," she replied, taking a sip of the warm sweet beverage.

"Aye, lassie. And more," he agreed.

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione continued their perusal of each cart on the square until they came upon a booth emitting the most wondrous of aromas. "Sausage rolls," Ron exclaimed. "I'd know that smell anywhere!" His stomach began to rumble as he breathed in the savoury aroma.

"Is that a hint," Harry asked his friend.

"Aw, c'mon, mate! We haven't had a single bit since breakfast," Ron groaned. "I'm dying of starvation!"

"Ladies, shall we feed a dying man," Harry snickered.

Hermione leaned into her fiancé and rubbed his back. "Come on, baby. Let's get some food into that bottomless pit of yours."

"I suppose we could all use a break anyway," Ginny sighed. "Looking at all this food has left me feeling a bit peckish too."

"Sausage rolls it is," Harry laughed, and led the way to the booth where patrons queued up four deep to place their orders.

"Oh look, Ronnie! They've got bridies too," Ginny exclaimed. "Oh those are so _good!_"

"I guess I missed a lot in Oxford," Hermione surmised. "I don't suppose you had anything like this in Surrey?"

"Well…erm…I really don't know, Hermione. I didn't see much of Surrey growing up," Harry reminded her.

"Harry, I'm sorry. I forgot…"

"It's all right, no harm done. It doesn't matter anymore anyway. Little Whinging and Surrey are in my past and I've moved on. I rather like Devonshire. The sights are beautiful," he said, snuggling Ginny closer to his side.

While the noonday sun hung high overhead, the air stayed crisp, but not really cold. But as the afternoon progressed, a breeze picked up and a chill began to set in. The hot bridies and sausage rolls washed down with a couple of pints of mulled cider warmed them from the inside out.

"Satisfying, that was," Ron said, patting his belly. He took a long draught from his cider and let out a resounding belch. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Can we safely assume, brother mine, that you're—dare I say it—full," Ginny asked with a smirk.

"For now. Six sausage rolls and three bridies are my limit!" He turned to Hermione, who was still working on her bridie. "Are you going to finish that?"

Harry and Ginny broke into bubbling laughter while Hermione shook her head and continued to eat. "I most certainly am going to finish this, Ronald Weasley. Besides, you just said…"

"Never mind what I just said. I don't want it to go to waste if you're full, that's all," he said in mock defence.

"Rest assured, my love, that it will _not_ go to waste," Hermione countered. "Now sit back. You're drooling on my plate!"

"Only because I'm sitting next to the most beautiful, most brilliant, most caring witch in England," Ron murmured into her ear.

"Ronald, I'm trying to finish my lunch," she giggled. "And I think Harry would take issue with you on that account."

"Far be it from me to argue with Red Ron Weasley," Harry said, wrapping his arms around his wife.

"Red Ron Weasley," Ginny asked with a giggle. "Where did that come from?"

"Jock Thompson. He's got a thing for handing out nicknames," Harry said.

"I swear if that ruddy Scotsman called me Red, I'll hex him into the middle of next week," Ron growled.

"Ronald, if the man respects you enough to hand you a special nickname, you should be grateful. That's an honour, you know," Hermione soothed.

"But _Red Ron Weasley_," he exclaimed. "It's a bloody tongue-twister! Ginevra Molly Potter, don't even try it!"

"Try what," she asked innocently.

"Um…it's getting late and the last thing we need is to catch a chill before our trip. Let's gather up our shopping and head home, yeah," Harry suggested, rising from his seat.

"Sounds good to me. I'm finished anyway," Hermione agreed. "Let me just shrink this all down so we can Apparate without losing anything." Hermione shrunk their packages and placed them in her beaded bag. She stole a glance at Ron, who pretended not to notice. She knew he had issues with her still carrying that ragged old thing, but she still couldn't bring herself to charm the new leather one she'd bought at Harrod's and move everything into it.

"Ready, 'Mione," Ron asked, wrapping her in a firm embrace.

"Ready," she replied. Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny and the four of them turned as one and disappeared with a _pop!_

"Now you're sure you've got everything," Molly asked as her four children prepared to leave the Burrow for the Forest of Dean.

"Yes, Mum," Ron assured his mother, rolling his eyes. "We have the tent, our kits, and the food."

"What about water," she asked slyly. "Did you remember water?"

"Molly, there's a stream nearby that feeds into a pond," Hermione interjected. "It's the clearest, sweetest water in Britain, I promise you. We'll be fine."

"Yeah, Mum," said Ginny. "Besides, we know the _Aguamenti_ charm if worse comes to worse."

"Mum, our tent is the latest in camping technology—the Portable Cottage. It even has indoor plumbing," Harry assured her. "We're also pretty experienced campers."

"Yeah—we know everything _not_ to do," Ron chuckled.

"Well…if you're absolutely sure…"

"Molly, leave them alone," Arthur said, taking his wife in his arms. "It's not like it was two years ago. They're perfectly safe—two fine Aurors and a couple of warrior princesses. What could go wrong?"

"But—"

"Molly, enough. Have fun, you lot. See you Thursday afternoon," he said.

"Bye, Dad."

"See ya."

The four of them shouldered their rucksacks and made their way down the path to the Apparition point. With a final wave at the house, they turned and disappeared. A few moments later, they appeared in the clearing they'd camped in nearly two years previous.

"It looks so different," Hermione whispered.

"That might be because it's not covered with a foot of snow," Harry observed. "The colours really are magnificent."

"So…this is where—"

"Yeah. This is where we were when we found Gryffindor's sword," Ron told his sister. He didn't want to tell her how he'd abandoned his friends for two months after a fight over the lack of food and comfort. He didn't want to tell his sister that he'd found Harry and Hermione again just in time to save Harry from asphyxiation in the pond when he tried to retrieve the sword on his own.

"Rather than stand here reminiscing, how about we make camp," Hermione huffed, wriggling her rucksack from her shoulders. "Harry, you have the tent, right?"

"Right here in my jacket pocket," he replied, extracting the tiny box. "We just have to enlarge it, pull it out of the box, and it's supposed to do the rest."

"So what are you waiting for," Ginny chided. "An engraved invitation?"

"You'll get yours, woman," Harry smirked. "Just you wait!"

"Promises, promises," she giggled. "Pitch the tent, already!"

"Fine. Here goes," Harry said. "Engorgio!" The box expanded to full size. Hermione and Ginny gasped in delight at the sight of the size of box. "Ron, help me pull it free."

Ron and Harry wrestled the tent from its container, with Harry holding one end while Ron pulled from the other. After several minutes of huffing and puffing, the tent finally broke free of its prison and began to pitch itself.

"Wow," Hermione said with wide eyes. "We could have used this at the Quidditch World Cup!"

"Yeah, but it was more fun watching Dad try to puzzle out how to get that smelly monstrosity up. It was hilarious," Ginny said with a smirk.

"We couldn't very well use magic, Gin. Our host was a Muggle, remember," Harry reminded her.

Mr. Roberts was the Muggle who owned the property they were all camped on. His mind had to be modified countless times because when wizards gather, they can't help but show off. It kept the Ministry Obliviators hopping. It was chaos at its magical finest.

"Remember the old geezer in the nightie," Ron snickered. "I'd never laughed so hard in my life!"

"You and me both," Hermione agreed. "Imagine a grown man going about in public in ladies' sleepwear!"

"Hey, where was I," Ginny asked with a fake pout. "How come you got to see all that stuff!"

"Mum insisted that you stay with Dad," Ron explained. "That's why he sent us for water and made you help with camp."

"She never let me have any fun," Ginny grumbled. "Treated me like a baby."

"You _were_ her baby," Harry said. "We all were, really. Now you're _my_ baby and I love you." Harry leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head. "Now let's pop inside and see what's in there."

"I love you too, but I'm not a baby," Ginny snarled.

"Okay, you're not a baby, but I still love you," Harry said, pulling her through the flaps.

"Ron, this is…this is…wow! You two found a veritable palace," Hermione gushed.

Ron took her hand and began the tour as though he were showing a grand manor to prospective buyers. "As you can see, this is the sitting room with a fully-functional fireplace. We didn't have the Floo charm added because it really isn't necessary and the permits are a pain to get—and expensive. The kitchen, over there, is fully-stocked, loaded with all the amenities, including running water. No need to fetch water from the stream or the pond."

"And there are two bedrooms, complete with beds and bedside tables and linens. The bathroom—complete with tub and shower—is right there between them. We'll have to remember to charm the taps to provide hot water or we'll turn blue," Harry told them. "In fact, I'll do that right now while I'm thinking about it."

Harry stepped into the loo to activate the hot water taps and then check them to make sure he'd done the charm correctly, which he had. "Hot water on tap, Loves!"

"Great," Hermione said. "What do you think, Gin?"

"All the comforts of home," she sighed. "Let's get ourselves moved in, shall we?"

"I think we should set some wards," Hermione suggested warily. "I know we're probably safe, but Muggles do camp in these woods too and I don't want them to stumble on our enchanted paradise."

"Good idea, Hermione. Ron and I don't much like to have to modify memories," Harry agreed. "It's tricky stuff better left to the professionals."

"You've got that right, mate. Why don't you take Ginny with you? Set the wards we used back then. They're good ones and kept us in one piece," Ron suggested. "Harry and I can finish and then build a fire."

"Right. Come on, Ginny. I'll teach you how to do this. It's pretty easy once you get the hang of it," Hermione said, taking her best friend's hand.

Hermione and Ginny set about creating their camp parameters about three metres into the trees. "I liked to extend our wards a bit beyond any clearings we camped in because clearings attract other people. Other people we didn't want to attract."

"Snatchers," Ginny said darkly. "Death Eaters."

"Pretty much. The Snatchers were pretty much Death Eaters anyway, and those who weren't were little more than criminals and thugs Voldemort hired to do the dirty work his Death Eaters didn't have time for," Hermione explained.

"Harry said you'd been captured at some point," Ginny said. "Was it here?"

"No, it was at another place. The lot that took us was headed up by Fenrir Greyback," Hermione said with a shiver, her memories of that hellish night at Malfoy Manor sent chills down her spine.

"Hermione, we don't have to talk about this if you don't want to," Ginny assured her. "Let's just finish the wards and get back to the tent so we can ravish our men."

Harry and Ron unpacked and put the food into the cabinet they'd designated as a cool box. As they worked, Harry noticed that Ron had gone quiet. "Ron, you all right, mate?"

"What? Oh, yeah. My mind's just wandering a bit is all," the redhead replied absently as he carried his and Hermione's rucksacks into their room.

"Ron, it's all right. It's in the past. It's…" Harry tried to assure him.

"I know, but I still think about it. You almost died that night and it would've been my fault," Ron explained, tears glistening in his sapphire eyes. "If I hadn't run off like I did…"

"Then we wouldn't have known about the Taboo and we wouldn't have known about Potterwatch. I can't tell you how much comfort it brought Hermione and me to hear familiar friendly voices," Harry insisted. "Besides, you had to track us for two weeks before you finally caught up with us. And just in time, I might add."

"But if I hadn't left…"

"It doesn't matter anymore, Ron. You came back, saved my life, and destroyed the accursed locket that caused all the trouble in the first place. I owe you my life," Harry said, tears glistening in his own emerald orbs. "You pulled my arse out of the fire more times than you realise."

"Does Ginny know?"

"She knows you saved me, mate. But the... other thing... Just you, me, and Hermione. Nobody else needs to know," Harry said.

"Bill and Fleur know. I stayed with them over Christmas, you know. I swore them to secrecy. I made them promise not to tell Mum and Dad. I was so ashamed," Ron confessed. "But that damned locket—"

"That damned locket was to blame, not you. It was driving us all mad!" Harry would have said more, but he could hear the girls approaching.

"I have to tell Ginny, Harry. She has a right to know," Ron said. "No secrets, right?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah. We'll tell her after supper tonight. She's going to want to hear the stories anyway."

"Fine. Should I keep my wand handy," Harry smirked.

"Not a bad idea. She's liable to hand me my arse on a platter once she finds out," Ron snorted.

"I doubt it. She knows what a Horcrux does to you. The ruddy diary, but let's drop it for now. They're back. Hey, Gin," Harry said, quickly turning attention to the girls. "All set with the wards?"

"All set. They really are easy once you know what you're doing," she said. "Finished un-packing?"

"We're all moved in. Ron and Hermione have the room on the left and we have the room on the right," Harry said, pointing to the appropriate door.

"So shall we take a little walk," Hermione suggested. "I'm sure Ginny would like to see the pond."

"You're right I would," Ginny said. "Would you show me?"

Harry offered his arm to his wife. "Milady?"

"Lead on, Sir Knight," Ginny smiled and wrapped her hands around his bicep.

The four of them made their way toward the pond, Harry retracing the path he took as he followed Snape's Patronus. "I was sitting at the opening to the tent when Snape's doe appeared. It looked like it wanted me to follow it. Hermione was asleep, so I took up her wand—mine was broken by this time—and took off. It stayed about ten metres ahead of me, but made sure I could still see it. I followed it through these trees, here."

Harry led the others through the trees until they reached a smaller clearing at the pond. "It seemed smaller," Harry said.

"It was frozen over, mate, and there was snow. Of course it looked smaller," Ron said. "There's the rock—right there," he said, pointed to a relatively flat rock a couple metres from the edge of the water.

"Right. I had to cast _Diffindo_ to crack the ice," Harry explained. "The doe disappeared as soon as I arrived here." He led the others to the edge and pointed down into the clear water. "See? The sword laid right about there. I stripped off down to my boxers and dove in after it. It's not that deep and I figured I could just dive down, grab it and push myself back up in a matter of seconds. That's when…"

"That's when that damned thing tried to strangle you," Ron said. "You see, Gin, I was tromping about and I heard the splash. I ran toward the sound and found Harry at the bottom pulling at the chain around his neck. The bloody great prat forgot to take the stupid thing off before he dove in."

"I'm not sure it would've let me, come to think of it. It knew what I was doing," Harry said.

Ron didn't argue; he just continued the story. "Harry was turning blue and I could tell it wasn't just from cold. He was clawing at that ruddy chain. It was digging into his neck. I grabbed Harry with one hand and the sword with the other. I tossed the sword into the snow and pulled Harry the rest of the way out."

"All of a sudden, I could breathe again. Ron had grabbed hold of the chain and tore it off me. He helped me get dressed—I thought I was going to freeze to death out here. I felt like it wasn't for me to destroy this one. Since Ron had saved my life, I handed the sword to him and told him to do it," Harry continued. "And then it happened."

"We couldn't figure out how to get it open at first, but then Harry—well, he used Parseltongue."

"I told it to open and it did. Inside were two dark eyes—not red—but dark like Tom's were before," Harry recalled. He put a comforting arm around Ginny's shoulders. He knew the memory of Tom's eyes unsettled her.

"I held the thing down and told Ron to stab it. The eyes kept darting around—it knew what was coming."

"For some reason I froze," Ron said. "I held the sword over it and I wanted to stab it—I wanted to kill it so we could be free of it, but for some reason, I couldn't do it."

"So what was the _it_ that happened," Ginny asked, her eyes darting between her brother and her husband.

"It began to talk to us, taunting Ron mostly about me and Hermione. There was no me and Hermione, of course, but the locket—Tom's bit of soul—could tell Ron had feelings for her and that he was a bit unsure about what might have gone on while he was…on watch." Harry almost said _gone_, but caught himself in time to cover.

"It showed me things—pictures of Harry and Hermione doing things—kissing, hugging, saying things. Harry shouted at me to not listen and to stab it. Finally, I did. I stabbed that horrible thing in both eyes. It screamed as I hacked at it until there was nothing left but a pile of bent, broken, and smoking metal." Ron shuddered and drew Hermione closer to him, hugging her tightly, tears streaming down his face.

"We decided to get back to camp because Hermione was in the tent alone without a wand. Even with the wards, we couldn't leave her there like that. It just wasn't safe. We were both chilled to the bone and scared out of our minds," Harry explained. "When we got back, we showed her the destroyed locket and breathed a lot easier, knowing we were free of the evil we'd been carrying around with us for more than three months."

"So Snape's Patronus was a doe," Ginny asked as they began their short trek back to camp.

"Yeah. I think I told you he was in love with my mum, right," Harry replied.

"Yeah, you told me that when you told me about him after the battle," she confirmed.

"My mum's Patronus was a doe to match my dad's stag Animagus form. So…"

"I would have expected his Patronus to be a bat or a snake," Ron said. "Imagine—Snape with a doe."

"Love does some amazing things," Hermione said. She'd been mostly quiet while Harry and Ron told the story. After all, she'd been asleep in the tent and hadn't witnessed any of this. "It truly is the power the Dark Lord knew not."

"I wonder if Tom had a Patronus," Ginny mused.

"I doubt it, Love," Harry replied. "A Patronus is Light magic—something Tom Riddle knew almost nothing about. He couldn't understand the wonderful feelings required to conjure one. In fact, I don't think he had a single happy memory other than the rush he got from hurting or killing innocent people."

"What do you mean, Harry," Hermione asked.

"Tom was an orphan, just like me. While I was raised by my less-than-kind relatives in a loveless home, he was raised by strangers in a cold and indifferent orphanage. According to a series of Pensieve memories Dumbledore and I examined, it was about as happy a place as Number Four, Privet Drive," Harry explained. "And you know what the most frightening thing about that is?"

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione shook their heads at the same time.

"I could've—should've—turned out just like him. The cycle of abuse, you know," Harry said, staring at his hands. "But by some stroke of luck, I didn't."

"Harry you didn't turn out like Riddle because you chose not to," Hermione said. "Riddle chose anger, resentment, and violence and sought revenge. You channelled your anger and resentment into constructive pursuits. You stopped Voldemort from stealing the Philosopher's Stone, you saved Ginny from that demonic diary Horcrux, you saved two innocent lives from horrible fates, you escaped Voldemort's clutches to take up the fight against him, you fought back against the Ministry and Dolores Umbridge by teaching the rest of us how to defend ourselves, you learned how to destroy Riddle, and you sacrificed your heart and soul to the job. Harry, you chose to become a hero rather than a zero!"

"Hermione, I've told you all before—I didn't do any of that by myself. You and Ron helped me save the stone. You and Ron helped me figure out about the Basilisk. You and Ron helped me learn the truth about Sirius. You and Ron and Neville helped me learn what I needed to learn to survive the tournament. You and Ron persuaded me to form the DA. You, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna went with me to the Department of Mysteries and nearly got yourselves killed. You lot took on the Death Eaters Malfoy let into the castle while I sat stunned under my Invisibility Cloak on the Astronomy tower and watched Dumbledore die. You and Ron went on the hunt with me while Ginny, Neville, Luna, and the others kept hope alive at Hogwarts. I didn't win that damned war single-handedly! A lot of good people fought and died to bring peace to magical Britain! I'm no bloody hero, Hermione; I'm just Harry—a guy who had a job to do and a fine team to help!"

By the time Harry finished his rant, tears were streaming down his face and his throat burned. Ginny led her husband into the tent and to their room so he could lie down and collect himself.

"I'll make some tea," Hermione said quietly. "I'll put a bit of lemon and honey in it to soothe his throat. I'm sure it's hurting after that."

"Thanks, Hermione," Ginny replied and closed the bedroom door.

"Harry, are you all right? Hermione's making some tea," Ginny said, lying down beside him, taking his shaking body into her arms.

"Ginny, I'm so sorry," he choked. "I left you like that…"

"Harry, we've had this discussion. You did what you had to do and I did what I had to do. It made us who we are today," she cooed as she rubbed circles on his back.

"I…I know, but I just can't help but wonder what…what might have happened if I hadn't dumped you like that and let you come with us," he confessed.

"We'd have been caught a lot sooner," she told him. "I had the Trace on me. I'd have been nothing but a burden and would have slowed you down. I was needed at Hogwarts…" Ginny suddenly went quiet and said no more.

A few minutes later, a knock came on the door. "Gin? Harry? Tea's ready. I've got some biscuits out too," Hermione called softly.

"We'll be right out," Harry said, wiping his eyes. "Gin? Ready for some tea?"

"Yeah. Sure," she replied shakily.

"You all right?"

"Yeah. Just a bit tired. We've had a big day today—camp, wards, the walk—you know. I'm fine," she assured him. "Let's have some tea."

Harry and Ginny joined Ron and Hermione on the floor of the sitting room. It just seemed more comfortable than sitting on the chairs at the kitchen table or on the sofa. It was more personal, cozier. They talked about their adventures on the run. Ron confessed his transgression to his sister and explained, with Harry's and Hermione's help, that it was the influence of the evil in the locket that drove him out, not any real resentment against his friends. Ginny was angry at first, but once she understood that the locket had done to Ron what the diary had done to her, she forgave him. They talked on into the evening and even managed to find humour in some of their exploits. Suddenly, Harry noticed that Ginny had gone quiet again.

"Gin? Ginny? Baby? What's wrong," Harry asked, pulling her into his lap. "Ginny, answer me, Love." Ginny fell limp into his arms and began to shake. "Ginny? What's happening?" Harry opened up the bond and sent his love and support through it. As he held her, he suddenly felt as though he'd been sucked into a vortex of pain and heartache.

_It was pitch black and Ginny's body still ached after having been subjected to the Cruciatus curse multiple times. She had been only barely conscious by the time they dragged her into the dungeon. Now, and that could have been hours or a full day after she was isolated, she was becoming aware of her situation. Being locked up with Neville had been bearable, but now, chained to a wall in a dark dungeon, she felt really scared. She feared they'd do something worse to her than ever before, something worse than coercing her to torture a Muggle child with the Imperius curse to her back._

_As the effects of the Cruciatus curse wore off, Ginny became increasingly aware of the pain in her arms and shoulders from hanging in the chains. Her wrists burned as they began to rub raw with the friction of iron against flesh. Having lost track of time, Ginny clung desperately to whatever hope there might be. "Neville, Seamus and the others won't leave me. They're planning to break me out._"

_Her mind soon wandered off to escape her present reality. Harry—their first kiss in the common room, their wonderful weeks together. How could she still love him so much? He'd broken up with her, but not because he didn't love her. Granted, he had never said he loved her, but the kiss they shared on his birthday told her everything she needed to know. It had been a kiss telling her that Harry, more than anything, wanted to be with her, but because of whatever task Professor Dumbledore had left him, he had to go. She could even understand his reasoning for officially breaking up with her, even though she didn't agree with it. That he had never said _I love you_ to her, it didn't matter—she knew he did, and the honourable prat thought he showed that by protecting her with ending their relationship._

_Her mind returned to their last kiss. It had been the best kiss in her life. For a few moments, it had been only them. No Voldemort, no war, no missions—just their love. "For you, Harry. For our love. For the hope to see you again, I'll survive."_

_The door swung open and for a moment, a blinding light flashed into her red and swollen eyes. _

"_So, our blood-traitor witch..." the evil voice of Amycus Carrow grinned. "Know that there's no escape for you. Your futile loyalty to your boyfriend will cause you pain and suffering, but loyalty to your lord will render you food and better treatment."_

_Ginny felt her heart tremble in fear. What would they do with her? Crucio her until she was insane? Abuse her? Imperius her or force-feed her potions? She knew all too well that she was in no position to mount any kind of resistance._

"_Will you give your loyalty to the Dark Lord," Amycus asked, already knowing the answer that didn't come._

_Ginny's only viable act of defiance was to refuse to answer._

"_Will you," Amycus repeated more forcefully, raising his wand. "__Crucio!__"_

_Ginny's body jerked violently and the manacles dug into her wrists as an invisible force seemed to tear her body apart as fire tore through her insides. Ginny screamed out an agonizing and bone-chilling cry of unimaginable pain raging through every part of her being. Amycus lifted the curse with an evil grin._

"_Never, Ginny panted, trying to catch her breath. "I'll never pledge my loyalty to Tom Riddle," Ginny spat._

_Amycus looked as though he'd been struck with a stunner._

"_Your precious lord's real name. He's just a fraud. Tom Marvolo Riddle. But I'll give you this: He was good looking when he was sixteen," Ginny said triumphantly, relishing her small victory._

"_Liar," Amycus roared and ripped her skirt from her body. "If you weren't a filthy blood-traitor, I'd take you as a mistress." He then shredded her blouse and Ginny felt cold fear again coming over her. "Yes," Amycus said slowly. "I can see why Potter was attracted to you." Amycus then spat in her face. "But you are and will ever remain filth. I won't taint myself with a blood-traitor, but I know some people who aren't so picky with their toys. I might invite them to our little party."_

_With that, Amycus left. The door slammed closed, leaving Ginny alone in the dark. Once she realised Amycus had left her, she allowed herself to cry. She was so angry for being helplessly chained, left at the mercy of those damnable Death Eaters. She soon started to feel a chill take hold of her body. Without her skirt and with the remains of the ripped blouse it became chilly in the dungeon and she began to shiver. Possibly was it night outside. Finally exhaustion overcame her and she fell asleep._

_Ginny woke up roughly and swallowed a scream. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of showing them fear. Alecto, Amycus Carrow's twin sister sat before her. "Oh, poor girl,." she said. "__Wingardium Leviosa.__"_

_Ginny felt her feet land on something, giving her arms a rest, but then they became wracked with throbbing pain as the blood again flowed freely. Ginny shivered from the cold._

"_Here. Let me provide you with new clothes," Alecto said._

"_Why... do... you... help... me," Ginny asked with a hoarse voice._

"_We are not monsters, Miss Weasley. After all you, are a student at Hogwarts, not a prisoner at Azkaban," Alecto said cheerfully._

"_How... long..." Ginny said._

"_Will you be here," Alecto finished her question for her. "Oh, let me give you some water first."_

_Ginny drank and it felt refreshing beyond dreams. Every gulp was a bit of life returning to her._

"_Thank you," Ginny said._

"_Not at all. Now. For how long you will be here... it depends..." Alecto stepped back and flicked her wand. A table with a full dinner appeared. "I hope you don't mind, but my schedule is quite full, so I decided to have dinner while we chat," she said and began eating._

_Ginny realised Alecto was not trying to be friendly at all; she was taking cruel advantage of her. Covering her up with new clothes, giving her water and letting her body rest was only a means to break her. Still, she couldn't help but gaze longingly at the food._

"_Hungry," Alecto asked. "I'd say you should be. Here's the deal, Ginny. Information to assist us to put down the illegal group known as Dumbledore's Army will earn you food. Swearing your allegiance to the Dark Lord will earn you your freedom."_

_Ginny felt defeated for a moment. She couldn't comply, not for some food. "Never," Ginny hissed._

"_I'm quite pleased to see that you are stronger than giving in right away," Alecto said and waved her wand. "__Petrificus Totalus!__"_

_Alecto stepped up to her and poured a potion into Ginny's mouth. Trapped in a full body bind curse, Ginny could only despair as the potion ran down her throat and into her stomach. "This potion, Ginny, is one of Headmaster Snape's more ingenious ones," Alecto explained in a still-friendly tone. "You see, it provides nutrition to keep the drinker alive indefinitely, but it doesn't stay the hunger pangs of starvation. You'll see that in a few days, some real food will look really appealing to you. Until next time, Ginny."_

_Alecto countered the body bind curse and Ginny was left alone. She could still smell the food the horrible woman had eaten and her mouth still watered. She was beginning to feel as though this was a fight she couldn't win._

_How much time had passed until the door opened again, Ginny didn't know. She had no idea for how long that potion would sustain her body, but she knew the hunger had become severe. Amycus entered her cell and she felt cold fear course through her veins._

"_Ah, our blood-traitor tart," Amycus sneered, flicking his wand at the support under Ginny's feet. It fell away, and with a jerk, the chains stopped her, her feet only centimetres short of touching the floor. Her arms felt as though they were torn from of their sockets. He immediately ripped her clothes from her body again, leaving her in nothing but her bra and knickers. "Oh yes. I had almost forgotten how tempting you look, my little blood-traitor whore," he whispered._

_Slowly he reached out with a hand stopping barely a centimetre from her breasts._

_He looked up at her with a feral grin. "You almost made me forget that you're filth," he shouted. "__Crucio!__"_

_Ginny screamed and screamed. She wasn't aware of when Amycus stopped and left her, but when she awakened again, it was all dark in her cell. "I'll make it. I'll survive. If only to see Harry one more time. I love him." Ginny sobbed. "But he doesn't know that I love him. I must survive. I must live through this so I can tell him."_

_Ginny lost count of the number of visits from the Carrows. It could have been five, ten, or fifty. The hunger had become unbearable, and when the pain from the Cruciatus curse consumed her, it was almost a relief as it took her mind off the hunger. Alecto, on the other hand, became harder and harder to resist. Constantly speaking kindly to her and providing her battered body rest, comforting her, telling her that all could be over for just a little information, a few names or if she surrendered her allegiance. The Dark Lord had won the war so why not be his ally?_

"_Harry's... still... out... there..." Ginny whispered with a cracked and bleeding voice. At that Alecto left her immediately. "No... please... come back..." Ginny tried to call, but her voice was already gone from the screaming._

"_Anything... you want... anything... can't... stand it..." Ginny was delirious and everything was a blur, but she thought she hear the door open. "Please..." Ginny moaned. "Water... please..."_

"_She's here... we made it... Hurry..." a voice said desperately._

"_Anything... anything you want..." Ginny continued._

"_We have you, Ginny. She's still alive."_

_Ginny fell into darkness. _

_Next time she opened her eyes, she gasped as her body convulsed with the pain. She coughed and winced at the sting in her throat. Then she saw a friendly face. Neville._

_He gazed down on her, his face etched with concern. "Don't try to speak, Ginny. You'll be fine, now. You stood up to those bastards," Neville comforted and praised her._

"_Anything... for Harry..." Ginny whispered._

"_Yes... For Harry... That's why we don't give up..." Neville assured her. "You're on several restorative draughts. We healed your wrists and you're gaining more colour by the hour. After a good night's sleep, we'll give you some soup. You'll have to go gentle on the food. Too much and you'll just bring it all up again."_

"_How... long," Ginny moaned._

"_You fought them for ten bloody days, Ginny," Neville said, tears sliding down his cheeks. "For ten days... we thought we'd lost you... They guarded you so closely, but we got lucky and overheard Snape calling all staff to a meeting. That left only the Slytherin goon squad to take care of... and we got you out. Easter holidays are coming up. We'll hide you here in the Room of Requirement until then, so you can get your strength back. Then we'll send you to your family. You'll be back on your feet well before then."_

_Ginny simply nodded. She couldn't face the Death Eaters again. Not now. They had broken her. If it had been Alecto coming she would have sworn her loyalty to the Dark Lord for a dinner, a dinner she would have vomited right up again, but the fact remained: They had finally broken her. It was sheer luck that Snape called that staff meeting._

_She felt so ashamed and defeated. No one knew, however. Would she ever be able to tell anyone? Would it be better if she didn't? She would eventually have to face the Death Eaters again, she knew that, but not to suffer further terror at Hogwarts. No, she would fight them on the battlefield. She would regain her self-respect and redeem herself in the eyes of her comrades, her family, and her love. With that resolve, Ginny soon fell into a dreamless sleep._

On the outside, Ron and Hermione looked on in horror as their brother and sister stiffened in their embrace and shook together. Frantically, they tried to pull them apart, but were tossed across the room into the sofa and matching easy chair.

"'Mione, what's going on," Ron cried.

"I…I don't know," she replied, her eyes wide and terror-filled. "It has something to do with their bond!"

"Harry! Ginny," Ron shouted as the wind outside began to moan. The tent began to shudder as hurricane-force winds swirled around the Forest of Dean. Great trees creaked and groaned as they bent violently in the wind. _Crack!_ "What was that?"

"I don't know, but it sounded like a limb broke off one of the trees," Hermione guessed, considering poking her head out of the tent for confirmation.

"Don't," Ron said. "We need to stay with Harry and Ginny. Besides, if trees are coming down, we're safer right here."

"But what's causing it," Hermione asked the air.

"I don't know, but we've got to do something," Ron shouted over the screaming gusts of wind. "They're going to hurt themselves!"

"We can't touch them," Hermione argued. "You saw what happened!"

"There's nothing for it, 'Mione! We have to try," Ron insisted. He rose up on his hands and knees and crawled back toward his sister and his best mate. "Come on. If we get thrown again, we'll stop, okay?"

"O-okay. One more try and that's it," she repeated. They crawled back to Harry and Ginny. "Ron, you get in there behind Harry and I'll get in here behind Ginny. On three, we'll reach around them and grasp arms. Got it?"

"On three. Right. One…"

"Two…"

"Three!" In perfect sync, Ron and Hermione grasped one another's arms and held on tightly, encircling their brother and sister in a modified embrace. The magic that had tossed them across the room a few minutes before strained against them and then drew them closer.

They passed out and found themselves inside a maelstrom of cries, screams, and flashes of what appeared to be Harry's and Ginny's memories. They saw a five-year-old Harry tossed into a small cupboard under the stairs cradling his arm and crying. They watched as Ginny struggled against the influence of the diary Horcrux, trying to dispose of it in a toilet. Picture after picture and emotion after emotion blew around them like a hurricane and in the middle of it, two figures huddled together, clutching one another's robes for dear life.

"Ron, it's their memories! Look," Hermione shouted over the noise.

Ron looked and cried out in horror as his sister hung by her wrists in a dungeon, her face bruised and bleeding. Another picture showed her and Neville apparently rescuing a little blonde girl from that same dungeon. Still another showed them running through the corridors from Luna with the Carrows on their heels. Another picture flashed and showed Harry lashed to a gravestone, his arm bleeding, while a dark figure rose from a steaming cauldron.

All at once, the storm blew out and the pictures and screams faded away. Ron and Hermione felt themselves drifting away from the two people huddled together, their robes torn and ragged, their hair in tangles, sobbing into one another's necks. When they came to, the found themselves back in the sitting room of the tent, shaking and sweating as though they'd run a marathon. Harry and Ginny lay on the floor, still unconscious, wrapped in one another's embrace.

"What the bloody hell was that," Ron asked breathlessly.

Hermione could only shake her head. "Unless I miss my guess, we've just been invited to a private showing of the life and times of Harry and Ginny Potter."

Harry began to stir. He had a massive headache. The dreadnought of Ginny's most awful memories had left him reeling. He tried to awaken her, but she didn't respond. Checking her pulse, he determined that she had a strong heartbeat and she was breathing normally, as though asleep. "What happened?"

"Mate, I've never seen anything like this before," Ron said quietly so as not to disturb his sister. "You and Ginny went all stiff and then a storm blew in. Hermione and I tried to wake you up, but we wound up across the room."

"A…a storm," Harry asked, still a bit disoriented.

"Yeah, mate. We think a few trees lost a few limbs," Ron told him. "We almost went outside to see what was going on, but thought better of it."

"We…um…we worked up the courage to try and touch you again. We knelt behind each of you and wrapped our arms around you," Hermione continued. "Your magic—or something—tried to throw us off again, but we held on. The next thing we knew, we were…inside your nightmares."

"Inside—what?"

Hermione explained what they had seen.

"Hermione, that's not what I saw," Harry said gravely. He began to tearfully recount the horrors he had relived in his wife's memory. He spoke with pride at her bravery and stamina—how she held out for ten agonising days while the Carrows heaped pain, hunger, and degradation on her. He declared that he owed a deep debt of gratitude to Neville and Seamus for saving her life. "My sweet Ginny suffered more hell than I ever did to defend me—us—so we could…so we could…win."

Harry buried his face in his hands and wept bitterly for the love of the woman who slept on at his side. If anyone was a hero, she was. "I thought she'd be safe at Hogwarts, Ron! I broke up with her so she'd be safe!"

"Harry…mate…this isn't your fault," Ron assured him, tears coursing down his own face while Hermione sobbed into his shoulder. "Hogwarts had always been relatively safe. You couldn't know that…that Death Eaters had taken over. We'd run them out the night Dumbledore died. We had no idea they'd been allowed to…take over like that."

"My Ginny almost died for love of me! She…they broke her! They beat, tortured, and broke my sweet Ginny! I should have been there! I should have been the one they beat, tortured, and broke, not her. Never her," Harry wailed.

Ron gathered his friend—his brother—into his arms and held him while he wept. Hermione positioned herself behind Harry and held him around his waist. "She's safe now, Harry. She survived, you survived—we all survived because you destroyed the evil that cast its shadow over our every breath and footstep. Because of that, nobody can ever hurt Ginny like that again."

The Golden Trio clung to one another and wept as comrades-in-arms, friends, and siblings while their newest comrade slept on peacefully. The emotional and spiritual cleansing that took place in the midst of that maelstrom worked to draw them ever closer together as one, creating a new kind of bond that can only be forged in strife and sacrifice.

After what seemed like hours, Ginny began to stir and talk in her sleep. "Harry…Harry…I'll live for you…never let them win…"

"You didn't let them win, baby. You held on," Harry whispered, lifting her into his arms and rocking her in his lap.

"Ha-Harry," Ginny croaked into his chest. "Harry, what…where…"

"I'm here, Love. Ron and Hermione, too. We're in the tent in the Forest of Dean, remember?"

"Tent…camping…" She shook her head and gazed into her husband's puffy red eyes emerald-green eyes. A look of sheer terror filled her countenance and new tears began to flow. "Oh! Oh my Harry! I…I'm so sorry. I…I couldn't take anymore. I…oh Merlin, I was going to…to…oh gods, no!"

"Ginny, hush now," Harry murmured into her hair. "It's all over. You're safe."

"But…but I was going to…"

"I doubt you could have done it, Gin. When it came right down to it, if Alecto had heard you and come back into your cell, you wouldn't have given in in the end. There's too much love and light in you, my heart," Harry assured her. "Hunger and pain are strong motivators, Love, and you fought them both like the lioness you are."

"That's right, Gin-Gin," Ron added. "You make us look like a load of pikers! I don't think I could've survived that."

"Don't be silly, Ronald," Hermione interjected. "You're a Weasley!"

Ron blushed hotly at his fiancée's compliment. He still harboured a bit of guilt over having run out on his promise that winter, and seriously doubted his own stamina. But it didn't matter anymore. He did return and fulfil his promise to his best friend and his sister held out long enough to be rescued. The war was over and the Light had prevailed.

Harry continued to console his wife and send wave after wave of his love and support through their bond. He planted kisses all over her face as he ran his fingers through her flaming locks that fell down her back.

"_I love you, my Ginny. You're my heart and soul and I could never be ashamed of you."_

"_Harry, I…I love you so much. I prayed to whatever gods would listen to bring you home to me so I could tell you what I should have told you that day on your birthday. I loved you with every fibre of my being, Harry, and every fight I fought, every life I saved, every curse I took, ever beating I endured was for you. My love for you kept me going, but…I…"_

"_Ginny, I knew you loved me. I regretted not telling you every day. Your kiss kept me going. I may not have shown it, but…well…it was for want of more of your sweet kisses that I fought so hard. I hoped against hope that you didn't hate me for having left you. You filled my every thought, my every hope, my every daydream. If I'd have known what you were going through, I'd have stormed the gates of the castle myself and taken you out of there, wand blazing."_

"_I know you would have, my darling. But I wouldn't have let you expose yourself and be taken It was too dangerous for you. When you and Ron and Hermione showed up in the Room of Requirement that last night, I wanted to leap into your arms and snog your face off, but I knew that it wasn't the right time. You had an evil to vanquish and you needed your wits about you. I couldn't have you worrying about me."_

"_But I did worry about you. I fought for you. I took Voldemort down for you and for my parents. I took him down for all the lives he'd destroyed, including those of his Death Eaters. Yes, they made their choice, but there was no way out other than to die a horrible death at that foul bastard's hands. No, Ginny. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I'm very proud of you and grateful for the love you showed me, even though I'd broken your heart. Will you marry me?"_

"_I thought you'd never ask."_

Ron and Hermione held one another and cried out their own residual anguish while Harry and Ginny healed one another. "'Mione, I think I've figured it out."

"What," she asked, raising her bushy head and looking deeply into his eyes.

"Their bond. Have you ever noticed how they sort of tune out sometimes?"

"Now that you mention it, yes I have."

"I think they're talking to each other. I think they can…I don't know…mind-speak and I'll lay odds that what one hears, the other hears too," he said with a degree of surety.

"Do you really think that's what's going on," Hermione asked. "It'd certainly explain a lot. I wonder if that happened the night Harry collapsed after the trial."

"He was sure a lot calmer when she had to go back to Holyhead," Ron offered. "He didn't have any relapses either."

"No, but he wasn't in close proximity to her either. That day at the trial was torture for him and, no doubt, for her too. I wonder if we should ask them about it," Hermione mused.

"I don't think so, Love. That whole bond thing is pretty private and I wouldn't want to intrude," Ron replied. "Let's just keep our thoughts to ourselves for now and just observe. They'll tell us when they're ready."

"When did you become so wise, Ronald Weasley," Hermione asked with a sly grin.

"When I hooked up with the brightest witch of our age," he replied. Neither of them knew just how true Ron's words really were.

The four of them parted ways for the night as exhaustion finally settled over them. They hadn't realised, but it was way past midnight when they bade each other goodnight and retired to their bedrooms. Harry and Ginny had fallen asleep almost immediately, but Ron and Hermione lay snuggled together, exchanging kisses and caresses until they drifted off into the realm of dreams.

The next morning, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione woke to the smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen. Still a bit disoriented, they guessed that Molly had begun her morning routine and allowed them all to have a lie-in. But no, that couldn't be. Molly hadn't come on the camping trip, so that left only one suspect—Harry.

The three of them padded into the kitchen to find their raven-haired companion busily working scrambled eggs, ham, and home-fried potatoes. The kettle began to whistle, announcing that tea was served. "Good morning, my love," Ginny cooed, lightly pinching Harry's bum. "Smells heavenly."

"Morning, beautiful. Sleep well," he asked, bending down to give her a kiss.

"Mmm…like a babe in arms," she replied, stretching and yawning. "You're up early."

"No earlier than usual," he replied. "Remember, Dad, Ron, Hermione, and I have to be to the Ministry at eight. This is normal for me. And speaking of the devils…"

Ron and Hermione dropped into chairs at the table and poured out for the four of them. "Mornin'" Ron mumbled.

"Mor-mor-morning," Hermione said with a yawn and a stretch. "What's on the menu today, Chef Potter?"

"Ah, ze house speciality, Mademoiselle Granger," Harry replied with a thick and completely exaggerated French accent. "We have ze scrambled egg ze home-fried potato, and ze ham wis tea and pumpkin zhoose."

"Ah, trés bien, mon chef. C'est complis ce jour?"

"What?"

Hermione laughed at Harry's ignorance of true French, but refused to translate. "Sounds yummy, Harry."

Five minutes later, the four of them sat down a truly scrumptious breakfast. Harry's cooking was a good as it ever was, thanks to his years of servitude under the collective thumb of the Dursleys. Afterwards, they decided to take another walk around the parameters of their wards to check for any damage after the previous night's storm. What they found when they stepped out of the tent stopped them in their tracks.

"Bloody hell," Ron said, looking around. Trees lay in splinters all around their campsite within the confines of their wards.

"This looks like a war zone," Harry exclaimed. "What the hell happened here?"

"Your storm," Hermione reminded him. "You and Ginny did this."

"We did this? How," Ginny asked in utter astonishment.

"When you to fell into your dreamscape…trance…whatever it was, you conjured a windstorm. We could hear branches breaking, but we had no idea it was this—destructive," Hermione explained. "I'd say your wind gusts reached hurricane force."

"That's…how fast is that," Ron asked.

"Seventy-five-plus miles per hour, according to meteorologists," she replied.

"Damn! We can't leave it like this," Harry exclaimed. "We've got to clean it up!"

"You can't restore those trees, Harry," Ginny said. "Trees are living things and you know that once a living being is killed…"

"Be that as it may, we need to clean this up," Harry said, still looking around in awe.

"Well…we could stack it and put an impervious charm over it to keep it dry. Other campers might have use for it," Ron suggested.

"My fiancé, the conservationist," Hermione grinned. "I think that's a great idea. Between the four of us, we could toss a few _Diffindos_ around and then split the logs into cord wood. Our favourite levitation spell will allow us to stack it in no time."

"And then you can cast the _Impervius_ because you're so good at it," Harry grinned, recalling how she'd cleared his glasses during that rain-soaked match against Hufflepuff in third year when the Dementors arrived and dropped him from the sky, destroying his beloved Nimbus 2000 when it blew into the Whomping Willow."

"Done. Let's crack on, then. I'd like to dig a fire pit so we can cook outdoors today," Ron said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. He drew his wand and pointed it at a downed birch. "_Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffindo_," he cried, flicking his wand at the fallen tree, expertly reducing it to cord wood. In an hour, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione had split the broken wood and stacked it into neat piles at the edge of the campsite.

"Impervius," Hermione called and waved her wand over the lot. "Finished. Subsequent campers will have dry wood to build their fires with for the next five years!"

"I guess Gin and I are some kind of lumberjacks, yeah," Harry observed with a snicker.

"What's a lumberjack," Ginny asked, truly curious.

"Lumberjacks are Muggles—usually brawny men—who cut down trees for a living," Hermione explained. "Nowadays, lumbering has become quite automated through the use of chain saws and other power equipment, but years ago, lumberjacks cut down trees by hand with really long two-man saws and axes. The harvested logs…" Hermione had launched into full lecture-mode.

"Hermione, all I wanted to know was what a lumberjack was. I don't need a full overview of the lumber industry," Ginny laughed.

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled. "Old habits die hard."

"I think I need a nap," Ron said with a yawn and a stretch. He could feel his joints pop as he reached for the sky. "Anyone care to join me?"

"Sounds good to me, mate. My bed or yours," Harry replied.

"Uh…er…" Ron stammered, knowing he'd walked into this situation with both eyes open.

The other three laughed at Ron's embarrassment as they returned to their beds for a well-earned rest after their logging adventure. They wouldn't awaken again until it was time to build the evening fires. On Thursday morning, after two more days of fun in the forest, they broke camp and Apparated home to the Burrow.


	19. Chapter 19 A Chaser's Tale Part I

**Chapter 19 – A Chaser's Tale Part I**

Molly, Bill, and Fleur sat at the scrubbed oak table in the kitchen of the Burrow. Victoire lay in her grandmother's arms, having just been fed and changed. The door opened, admitting four laughing people to the house.

"Well, it appears you lot had a good time," Bill observed with a knowing grin.

"Of course we did," Ginny giggled, holding tightly to her husband as he carried her on his back. "Did you know Harry can cook?"

"Yeah, and 'Mione's hell with campfires," Ron added, allowing his fiancée to slide down his back onto her feet.

"And Ron's quite the storyteller," Hermione added.

"And Gin's just full of surprises," Harry snickered.

"I don't want to know," Bill said.

Molly hadn't said anything at all, other than to eye them suspiciously and then look at the paper laying on the table. Fleur shifted uncomfortably and stole a few glances back at her mother-in-law.

"Mum, what's wrong," Ginny asked, moving to her mother's side. "Is…what is it?"

"The _Daily Prophet_," was all she said as she pushed it toward a now-seated Hermione. "Go on. Read the headline."

"Eet eez quite disturbing. Muzzer Weasley was most worried about you out zere in ze woods," Fleur added. "You might 'ave been 'urt and we would 'ave 'ad no way of knowing."

Hermione picked up the paper and popped it open. Her eyes grew wide as saucers as she read aloud.

"_Muggles Report Strange Storm Activity Over Gloucestershire_

_by Erasmus Probert_

_Muggle meteorologists reported a vicious storm that blew up over the Forest of Dean late Monday night. It fired without warning with wind gusts measuring 80-plus miles per hour, which are classified as hurricane-force."_

"Blimey, Hermione! You…"

"Ron, shut up," Ginny hissed, elbowing her brother in the side. "Let Hermione finish. Go on."

Ron glared daggers at his sister, rubbing his aching ribs while Hermione continued.

"_Forestry Agents tramped through Britain's first National Park for hours, searching for damage to trees that should have been evidence of the storm activity, but found nothing. Minister Shacklebolt has ordered a full investigation of the incident in case the 'storm' might have been a manifestation of accidental magic, since the Forest of Dean is a popular camping spot for Wizarding and Muggle families alike._

Ron praised Hermione's and Ginny's ward-work, for that was what kept the Muggle investigators away from their campsite. _Nice Muggle-repelling charms, ladies._

''…_magical signatures should linger for a few days, allowing us to determine whether the storm was a genuine act of Nature or the manifestation of a massive blast of magical energy,' the Minister told us yesterday. 'Since we wish to avoid having to obliviate anyone unnecessarily, we chose to wait until Her Majesty's people have finished their investigation.' Muggle authorities remain baffled but disinclined to pursue the phenomenon any further, which will allow magical authorities to proceed. More about the Forest of Dean on pg. 8."_

"Do the four of you have anything to say about this," Molly asked, knowing they probably did. These four young people were, in her estimation, the most-powerful witches and wizards since Albus Dumbledore, and might very likely have been involved.

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione exchanged several withering and guilty looks. Harry's eyes locked with Ginny's and Ron's with Hermione's.

"_Gin, what do you want to do? Do you want to tell her or not?"_

"_Harry, I don't know. What happened the other night was big—it involved the bond and I don't want this to get out."_

Hermione nodded slightly at Ron as if to say _they're doing it right now, aren't they?_

Ron nodded in return, but said nothing.

"_Gin, this is family. They're going to find out eventually, and I'd rather it come from us, rather than…well…the Prophet or some other form of media."_

"_Okay, but I want a Weasley Inquisition, including Fiona, before we tell them anything."_

"_I think that's a good idea, Love. We'll send Pig out tonight once we've determined your schedule."_

"_No. Not Pig. This is too important and he's too flaky. We need an owl we know we can trust."_

"_Errol can't make that trip, Gin, but we could always do the Patronus thing."_

"_I didn't mean Errol, Harry. I meant—"_

"_Ginny, I'm not ready for that yet and I don't want to talk about it."_

Ginny could feel Harry's sorrow as he was reminded of the painful loss of his beloved Hedwig the night he left Privet Drive for the last time. _"All right, Love. But we will discuss this owl thing another time."_

"_Gin, please. I can't."_

"_Harry—she wouldn't want you to hurt like this over her, you know that. Now I'm going to lay down the law here. Are you with me?"_

"_Always and forever."_

"Mum, we know about the storm. We were there, but that's all I'm going to say right now," Ginny explained, her eyes blazing with the don't-argue-with-me look. "I want Daddy to call an Inquisition, including Fiona."

"An Inqui—Ginny, what happened," Molly began, but Ginny stopped her.

"Mum, I promise we'll tell you all everything when we're all here—and I mean _all_ of us. Until then, this subject is closed."

"Harry? Ronnie? Hermione, what did you do," Molly moaned.

"Mum," Ron began. "We didn't _do_ anything…well, at least—"

"Stuff it, Auror, and that's an order," Harry warned. "Ginny said when we're all together and that's final."

"Right," Ron mumbled. "Sorry, Gin. Mum, really. Let it go."

When all eyes turned to Hermione, she made a gesture as to zip her lips and shook her head.

Molly was visibly upset and a bit miffed that she couldn't coerce her children into telling her what she wanted to know. She was used to being able to bully her brood into compliance, but this incident only reminded her that her babies were grown men and women and she would have to respect their privacy, even if she thought they might be in danger.

Harry and Ginny rose early the next morning to find Ron and Hermione also up early and seated at the kitchen table sipping tea and nibbling toast. They appeared to have been deep in hushed discussion when the Potters appeared at the bottom of the stairs because the discussion stopped almost immediately. "Uh…mornin', Harry. Mornin', Gin-Gin," Ron mumbled into his teacup.

"Mornin'. You two are up a bit earlier than usual," Harry observed. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing. Why do you ask," Hermione answered a little too quickly. "We just…we just wanted to see Ginny off, you know?"

"Oh. In that case, is there any more tea," Ginny asked, reaching for the pot. "Or do I have to…"

"There's plenty," Ron replied, summoning two more cups from the sideboard. "Sit."

"So…what were you two talking about," Ginny asked. The immediate end to the conversation hadn't escaped her notice.

"Wedding."

"Work."

Ron and Hermione answered at the same time and rather louder than necessary. Harry, being the crack Auror he was, knew they were lying, but he wanted to respect their privacy and decided not to pry.

"So…you're working on the wedding, then," he asked trying not to smirk. _"They're lying."_

"_You don't say. Just leave it."_

"_Planned on it."_

"Uh…yeah. We're down to about seven weeks to go," Hermione said with a bright smile. "But all we have left to do that we haven't begun is to make an appointment with my parents' minister to take some photos of the chapel so Dad, Bill, and Percy can…um…work their special magic."

The four of them couldn't help but laugh a little at Hermione's slight pun, but it still seemed a bit forced. The events of their camping trip still weighed on their minds and the fact that Ginny was headed out for a 10-day road stand dampened their spirits a little.

"But to answer your question: Mum's having a lie-in with Dad because you're leaving and she's a bit weepy. She doesn't want to show you that," Ron said. "You know the last time you had to go really tore at her, not to mention her worries about this git you're married to."

"Hey…" Harry said in mock indignation. "I'll have you know I'm not the least bit worried."

"Well, Mum is anyway, so she's upstairs drowning Dad," Ron snickered.

"Well, if there's anything you need help with, you know you can count on us. I mean, we are Best Man and Matron-of-Honour," Ginny reminded them. "When's our next fitting, by the way?"

"Um…let me check," Hermione said, reaching into her beaded bag. "Ah. Yes…it's—oh dear. It's Friday the fifteenth. Will you be back by then?"

"Should be, but I'll check with the Harpies and let you know. I know we have a four-game home stand between the end of this trip and Halloween, but I didn't think to copy down the training schedule part. I don't think it'll be a problem; it's not like training camp," Ginny assured her. "Besides, the whole team organisation knows my hero brother is marrying my uncommonly brilliant warrior-princess best friend and that I'm the MOH and my hero husband is the Best Man."

"I'm not—do the Harpies really say that I'm a hero," Ron asked, half-awed. "I mean, I'm not—"

"Ron, you have no idea," Ginny giggled. "You and Harry are pin-ups!"

"Bloody hell," Harry groaned. "Tell me you're joking."

"Sorry, my darling, but _I must not tell lies_," Ginny snorted and then realised what she had said. "Harry, I'm sorry. I forgot—" She took his left hand in hers and ran her thumb softly across the scars left by Umbridge's blood quill. They still showed light pink across the back of his hand.

"It…It's okay, Gin. It just jolted the memory loose, that's all. No harm done," he smiled down at her, kissing her nose. He looked down at her hand in his and noticed the time. "Merlin's egg timer! You're going to be late if you don't head out now!"

Harry dragged Ginny from her seat, allowing her a few moments to hug and kiss her brother and best friend goodbye before he shunted her out the door.

_As they reached the end of the Burrow's wards, Ginny looked into Harry's eyes and instantly felt what he felt. In fact, she felt the same way. "There's no shame in admitting that we'll miss each other," she told him with an encouraging smile._

_"That's true, but this is your dream, Love. You're a brilliant Chaser and well on your way to Rookie of the Year. I want this for you as much as you want this for yourself. I'll miss you terribly while you're gone, but…we survived Training Camp and we'll survive this," Harry added, brushing her hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear._

_"Big difference between ten days and six weeks, yeah? Two matches with practises in between," Ginny said, trying to convince herself as much as she tried to convince her husband. "Piece of cake."_

_"Piece of cake. I know you'll be safe as well. I've met those team bodyguards that travel with you. They're ruddy gorillas and hell with a wand," Harry laughed. "And…all but living together like the Harpies do must be great for team spirit," Harry said._

_"It's a bit like living at Hogwarts, really. We really get to know each other and have loads of fun together…and keep one another from becoming too lonely," Ginny said with a rear forming in her eye._

_Harry couldn't stand her tears. He never did know what to do with weeping women, and while his wife wasn't much of a weeper, when she did cry, it broke his heart. He took her in his arms and kissed the top of her red head. "Gin, you need to go now. You're due at the stadium in five minutes and you can't Apparate into the training centre proper. Besides, I'm running late for work myself," Harry said shakily, burying his face in her neck. "Dad's called a Heads' meeting for all of DMLE."_

_"Any special reason Dad would call a meeting," Ginny asked with a giggle. As unhappy as she felt leaving Harry again, she couldn't help but smile when Harry spoke so enthusiastically about his work. It was a dangerous job, but it was who he was as much as Quidditch was who she was and she would support him with the same fervour and respect as he supported her._

_"No, he schedules these coalition meetings once a month in order to keep everyone on the same page and decrease the number of superfluous memos flying about the DMLE, much to Ron's relief. It's something I'm sure Madame Bones would have done, given the chance," Harry said._

_"Is he still claiming Percy's the one behind all the memos," Ginny giggled again._

_"Oh yes, and until Percy can explain exactly what his job at the Ministry is, Ron will assume that it's simply to pester him with Glumbumbles on nettles," Harry snorted. If Ron was nothing else, he was comic relief for the force._

_"I really need to go, don't I," Ginny asked stealing one last kiss. "Gwen's going to work us hard today and I'd better not be late."_

_"I love you, Gorgeous Girl. Fly safe," Harry said, reluctantly letting her go and with a watery smile, she spun and Disapparated with a soft pop!_

_Harry stared briefly at the spot where his wife had just stood. I've really got to book a time for her to test for her Apparation license. The fines are astronomical. A fleeting urge to gather up her footprints and put the dirt in a conjured vial passed through him, but he managed to resist it. He'd read something about that custom in a library book in Muggle Primary School. He shook his head with a quiet chuckle. Get a grip, Potter!_

_Moments later through their bond, he knew she'd arrived safely in Holyhead with only moments to spare. Assured of her safety, he returned to the house to collect Ron and Hermione so they could Floo to the Ministry together._

__

_A few days following her arrival in Ireland, Ginny was the first one down to the mess hall for breakfast. The walls were festooned with Kestral memorabilia, reminding her of the Harpies' own clubhouse banners declaring the Harpies' past glories on the pitch, with framed jerseys bearing the names of those great women whose numbers had been retired. Something told her that her own number six would join them someday._

_Being Ron's sister and a Weasley, Ginny did enjoy her food, and despite the fact that in-season practices weren't nearly as physically demanding as the pre-season practise, she managed to work up quite an appetite all the same. There was no danger of her gaining too much weight as she was faithful with her workouts._

_She enjoyed the occasional run with Harry, Ron, or Seamus these past couple of weeks and had no trouble keeping up with the much larger and much-stronger Aurors. She returned to Holyhead having gained only a kilo, but it was solid muscle. The only fat on her athletic body was healthy fat and padded places it was supposed to, much to her husband's delight. As soon as she sat down, a graceful barn owl swooped in and dropped a letter in front of her._

_"Ginny and Harry Potter," Ginny mumbled and opened the parchment. "There's only one person who would put my name before Harry's." Ginny smiled to herself as she unfolded the parchment and began to read._

_Dear Ginny and Harry,_

_I'm back from South America again. It was only a short trip over the summer this time. Apart from studying the amazing plant and animal life, I also got the chance to live in an All-Wizarding __native village, where the inhabitants proudly claim to be direct descendants of the ancient Inca. I'm not sure about the truth of that claim, but their magic was impressive. The vast varieties of plants and animals have made them master Potioners, and some of them are highly-skilled in wandless magic._

_I learned that Neville is working at Hogwarts now. I must visit him because I brought back a few interesting exotic plants for his collection. I've been offered a position to keep working as Mr Scamander's assistant, but since he's not planning another journey until next summer, I'll have plenty of time to catch up with you, my dearest friends._

_I was very pleased to find an invitation to Ron's and Hermione's wedding among my mail. However, I think I might need a new owl, because there were droppings on it, unless that's the work of Nargles._

_How is your new life as a Quidditch player, Ginny? If the Harpies need a commentator for their matches, I'm available until next summer. I really enjoyed doing that at Hogwarts. Harry, I heard a disturbing rumour from my father, stating that the Department of Mysteries is growing, yes, getting bigger. I'm not sure it's a good thing if it spreads to the Wizengamot Chambers at level 10, because the Wizengamot is mysterious enough as it is._

_I send you both my warmest regards and hope to see you both soon._

_Regards,_

_Luna_

_Ginny couldn't help smiling at the letter. Luna had an original way of thinking, but she was very sweet and loads brighter than most gave her credit for, and a true friend. Anyone who'd watched her fight Death Eaters—and hold her own, no less—in their fourth year, or as she did her part in the early resistance during the autumn of their sixth year, knew about her loyalty, courage, and strength. She'd been captured early on, but survived imprisonment in the Malfoy mansion and was instrumental in keeping old Ollivander alive and sane. Ginny conjured up a quill and a parchment to compose an answer._

_Dear Luna,_

_Your letter arrived this morning. I'm currently in Ireland with the Harpies gearing up for our match against the Kestrals on Sunday. I suppose you're at home, then? I'll notify Lee Jordan to put your owl on the list of trusted ones allowed to deliver letters to the Burrow. The poor thing had to come all the way here instead of flying the short distance between your home and the Burrow._

_I'm really glad you're back in England, though, and I'm really looking forward to seeing you and I know Harry will be too. You know we're planning to build a house just up the road from the Burrow, right? We'll be neighbours with both you and the Burrow. At least I don't think there are any houses between us. It was Harry's idea to build a home in Ottery-St Catchpole and I think it's great, because it's just home to us. Besides, Harry doesn't think he could bear to live in Godric's Hollow with all the memories and everything._

_My life as a professional Quidditch player is fun, hard, demanding, and rewarding. Yesterday, Gwenog and I Apparated back to Holyhead to meet with some children from an orphanage who had lost their parents in the war. I still don't like being a celebrity, but in this case I was comfortable with it. The joy Gwenog and I were able to give those children simply by playing a bit of Quidditch with them gives the whole celebrity-thing some meaning. Of course there was a reporter there who asked me how I felt about making it a full year on the Witch Weekly's Most-Beautiful-Witch-In-England list. He told me I hold the new record for that revered spot. I thought about how to answer while I tried not to burst into laughter, because it felt so ridiculous. I mean, that day was about those children, not me._

_In all honesty, I had to tell him that Harry's the one who has wholeheartedly supported my position on that list (one of the few things he agrees with WW on)—but evidently, he's not totally impartial. Then I quickly changed the subject to Quidditch, which is where it should have been anyway. I think there'll be an interview published in the next issue of WW._

_That's one aspect of professional Quidditch, I guess. Of course there's the game itself and I absolutely love playing. Did you know I scored four goals on Oliver Wood in my very first professional match? That was way better than I dared hope for. The Irish we're playing against are, according to Gwenog, very tough, but she says I'm too fast for them. I guess we'll see._

_I also want to tell you about our new family member. While Harry and I were on our honeymoon, a cousin, Fiona Prewett, from America returned to England. My uncle had her and her twin sister sent there, along with their mum, to keep them safe during the first war against Voldemort. Both my uncles were killed by Death Eaters. They hadn't told Mum about Fiona and her sister, so it was quite a shock to her. Anyway, Fiona—or Onie, as we call her—got an apprenticeship with Madame Pomfrey at Hogwarts. Fiona knows a lot about plants and animals, so if you go to visit Neville, be sure to say hello to her from me. She's brilliant and I know you'll just love her!_

_Oh well. I need to get ready for practice, so I'll have to sign off for this bit._

_Warm hugs from your dear friend and comrade-in-arms,_

_Ginny Potter_

_It was a chilly morning in October. The sun had risen above the hills and warmed the stands of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. Fiona stood in the __Staff Box__ wearing a Gryffindor scarf, despite __the fact that __they didn't play __today—it was Ravenclaw against Hufflepuff. Fiona wasn't on duty this time because it was Madame Pomfrey's turn to stand by __to treat an__y injuries during the match._

_The air was filled with the standard __tension among the houses, but __palpably__ more than usual. Earlier outbursts against Purebloods this term had turned many Gryffindors __and most__ Slytherins against the usually fair__ and honourable__'__Puffs. Unlike the previous year__,__ there was no team vastly superior to the others so every match __was equally__ important__. __Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff knew they had a better chance to win the House Cup than they've had in many years__, since the Gryffindors and Slytherins couldn't boast the powerhouse players of the recent past__._

_Fiona watched as the teams enter the pitch and met Madame Hooch at centre field. She looked at Rupert, who stood next to her, decked out in slightly-faded Ravenclaw robes, cloak, and scarf._

_"Do you think you'll win today," Fiona asked him with a glint in her eyes._

_"I hope so. Ravenclaw hasn't won the House Cup in years. Sometime back in the 80's was the last time," Rupert said, focusing on the pre-match bickering between the two teams "At least we've got a team on which the players earned their place."_

_Fiona glared at Rupert, wondering what he could be talking about. True, each House was free to decide how the team was formed, but as far as Fiona knew, each team member in each House earned their place through some kind of try-out. "I heard a Slytherin boy bought his place on the team a few years back," Fiona said, as that was the only thing she'd heard about that she reckoned Rupert had alluded to._

_"Yes, that's quite common among the rich Purebloods with no talent whatsoever, especially in Slytherin House," Rupert spat in disgust. "But I also heard a disturbing rumour that the Prewett twins were awarded their places to ensure the purity in the Gryffindor team. Without them, a long tradition of Purebloods in Gryffindor House would've been broken—Weasleys, Potters, Sirius Black..."_

_"Oh come off it, Rupert Watson! We watched the try-outs ourselves! You know very well those girls won their places fair 'n' square. It didn't have nothin' to do with their stinkin' blood-status," Fiona snapped. "What's stuck in yer craw these days, anyway?"_

_"Fiona, dear," Rupert sighed as though about to address an errant student. "You don't have to defend them out of some sense of responsibility simply because you're related somehow. Besides, it isn't like you were sorted into that House. Your membership in it is strictly honorary, you know."_

_Why you conceited skunk! __Before Fiona could reply—or hex the man into oblivion—Madame Hooch's whistle screamed into the air as she released the Quaffle. Cheers erupted from the stands around her, turning Fiona's focus from her irritation with the man at her side to the match. Back in the Holler, she'd never taken much interest in sports, but Quidditch was a lot more fun than she'd imagined.__ You really missed out, Prewett. How many times did the Carver boys ask you to sneak down to Charlotte for a Copperheads game?_

_Twenty minutes into an already very ugly match, the score stood at 20-80 to the Puffs. Fiona took a small sadistic pleasure in that Rupert's mood had turned from sneeringly smug to decidedly grumpy. Suddenly a noise rose from the Hufflepuff section. They had conjured up a sign that read: __Ravenclaw – The featherless gits!__ A low rumble moved across the crowd, and soon one of the Ravenclaws managed to conjure a sign of his own that retorted:__ Badgers can't fly!_

_There was a furious roar among the Hufflepuffs, and from somewhere in their midst, a Reducto curse flew across the stands and blasted the Ravenclaw sign to bits. In retaliation, one of the Ravenclaw Beater dove for the Hufflepuff section and mangled their sign with his club. Fiona looked on in horror as a Ravenclaw Beater angrily whacked a Bludger at the Hufflepuff player. The iron ball viciously struck the boy in the back, knocking him clean off his broom. Madame Pomfrey quickly drew her wand and slowed the boy's deadly descent as he fell to the ground._

_The deliberate Bludger attack caused several things to happen all at once. Madame Hooch blew her whistle and it screamed through the din with the force of a Molly Weasley Howler. The deliberate attack with a Bludger to the back called for a penalty against the offending team. Her whistle was almost drowned out by the ever-increasing screams and shouts of fury between and amongst the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws, leading to a wicked volley of hexes and jinxes between the two sections._

_"Dammit all! This is turnin' into a full-scale riot," Fiona shouted at Rupert._

_"Ravenclaws rioting? Unthinkable," Rupert said in defence of his former House just as the second Ravenclaw Beater copied his team-mate by attacking spectators in the Hufflepuff stands with his club._

_The Hufflepuff Beaters again retaliated by whacking the Bludgers at the Ravenclaw stands. It was only a matter of time before students began to storm the pitch, while jinxes and hexes flew in all directions. Even the Slytherins and the Gryffindors had been drawn into the fight as deflected hexes bounced off their sections, striking their people._

_Initially, It had been more than obvious that the Puffs and the 'Claws had declared war on one another, but it was uncertain as to which side the Gryffs and the Snakes had taken. The match had turned to violence and chaos while the pitch quickly began to look like a war zone—much like it had only two years previous after the Battle of Hogwarts. Soon all Houses stood against one another, but occasional crossfire would unite two of them for a few moments, only to break down into multiple duels once again._

_With murder in her eyes, a very incensed Minerva McGonagall pointed her wand to her throat and amplified her voice. "STOP THIS IMMEDIATELY! NEVER IN THE HISTORY OF HOGWARTS HAVE I EVER HEARD OF..." Her orders were interrupted by an explosion over the pitch. The stadium shook and all fighting abruptly stopped._

_"Now what," Fiona wondered aloud. Madame Hooch stood at the place of the explosion with her whistle clamped between her gritted teeth, her hair flying in all directions, and her arms fiercely akimbo as her hawk-like eyes riveted each student in his or her tracks. In an instant, several professors had their wands trained at the students while the Heads of House worked trying to separate the warring Houses._

_Hagrid managed to bring his House under control the quickest by simply picking up his Gryffindors two and three at a time and physically moving them away from the massed group. Flitwick's Goblin heritage showed in his face as with gnarled teeth he shot little stinging hexes at his Ravenclaws, herding them away like a shepherd with lost sheep. Professor Slughorn tried to cajole his Slytherins into compliance without much success, while Professor Sprout simply raised her wand and glared at her Hufflepuffs, silently terrifying them into their own group._

_"My Snitch is ruined—a Reducto, I think," Madame Hooch announced. "It's blown to bits!"_

_Suddenly everyone seemed pulled back into the Quidditch match, forgetting all about the fight._

_"So now what," Rupert asked with a surprisingly cheerful voice that rubbed Fiona entirely the wrong way._

_"Professor Watson, are you blind or have you just had a sudden attack of amnesia? There are children hexed, jinxed, and injured layin' all over the field here, and you want to know what to do about that bloody Snitch," Fiona cried._

_Before the somewhat taken aback Defence professor could sputter out a response, Madame Hooch landed next to Professor McGonagall and conjured a several-feet-thick book which contained the complete set of rules for competitive Quidditch. It landed on the ground with a heavy thud while the formerly-rioting students stood in their House groups gaping, still stunned and under the intense scrutiny of their Heads of House and the other professors whose wands still held them in check._

_"What do you wish to do now, Rolanda," Professor McGonagall asked her long-time friend and colleague._

_"Minerva, I'm sure I...don't know." she said, as she browsed the many pages of the book "I don't know who won, or if the match even is over, since the match normally ends with the Snitch being caught. But my Snitch is...dust, so..."_

_"I certainly have no idea what to do with this mess," Professor McGonagall replied. "But we'll have a new riot unless we can announce a result."__ Perhaps a call to the Harpies..._

_Madame Hooch nodded in agreement, scratching her head as she pondered the fairest way to settle the question. Soon, she turned to the pitch, her body language declaring resolve. "Since there's no specific rule for a Snitch that has been Reducto'd by the spectators, I consulted the rulebook and have made a decision regarding this...match," she snarled. "I've decided to take 150 points from the House guilty of destroying the Snitch; therefore, the final score is 20 to Ravenclaw and minus 70 to Hufflepuff."_

_"How in Merlin's name do you know it's a Hufflepuff who cast the Reducto," Professor McGonagall asked with a whisper. "It might be a Slytherin or even a Gryffindor who did it."_

_"I honestly have no idea, but I have to make a decision, right? And it was Hufflepuff who started this...this...abomination," Madame Hooch replied with a gleam in her yellowish eyes._

_The Staff and the four Heads of House shepherded their charges back to the castle with admonitions to keep their eyes open and their mouths shut or there would be trouble.__The negative score for Hufflepuff had a shocking effect on many of them._

_The 'Puffs themselves were devastated because the loss greatly reduced their chances of winning the House Cup to practically nil. The Ravenclaws were naturally happy about their victory, but also dismayed at the shameful manner it had been brought about. The Gryffs and the Snakes took mild sadistic pleasure in mocking the 'Puffs, but their reactions were less than expected due to their collective shock over the negative score._

_"Shut it, you lot," Hagrid growled at his Gryffindors. "Eyes forward an' gobs shut!" Meanwhile, Madame Pomfrey, Fiona, and Professor Watson set to triaging injured students, and treating those who could be treated on the field and released. The rest would be levitated back to the castle on conjured stretchers and put to beds in the hospital wing for further treatment._

_An hour later, the ramifications of their actions shocked the students from their grumblings when they understood the more devastating score—the twenty or so bloodied and broken students they'd seen taken in a procession to the infirmary by the Matron, Miss Fiona, Professor Watson, and a few others. They watched in grim reverence as they offered quiet words of encouragement to their wounded classmates._

_Fiona left Rupert immediately to change into her signature scrubs and join her colleague and mentor as they further assessed the condition of their charges. As Hagrid settled the last student into a bed, a Gryffindor, Fiona gave the big man's hand a squeeze as tears the size of raindrops fell into his bushy beard. "It's all right, Hagrid. We'll fix 'er right up good as new. I promise._

_"Madame Pomfrey said this'n's got cursed wounds," Hagrid grunted and shook his shaggy head. "Never thought I'd see students gettin' 'emselves beat up like this again... not since the war..."_

_"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take care of 'er. Dontchoo worry none," Fiona said, immediately examining the typical cuts from the Sectumsempra curse. Hagrid nodded sadly and lumbered off to help with the others._

_Fiona turned back to the girl and brushed the hair away from her frightened and dirty face. "I'll give you a blood-replenishing potion, but I'll hafta use a really smelly potion to heal these gashes, though. I cain't say as I've ever seen anything quite like this, but we'll work it out, honey. Dontchoo fret."_

_The girl, pale in her face from losing blood, nodded appreciatively. "Okay," she croaked as a tears slipped down the side of her head._

_Soon more injured students arrived, the last one borne on a stretcher, accompanied by Septima Vector. Poppy bustled over to have another look at the student. "Miss Prewett, can you see to the others? This one is still critical and I'm afraid we'll have to ship him off to St Mungo's as soon as possible."_

_"Will do Ma'am," Fiona replied with a nod. "Will he make it?"_

_"I hope so, Miss Prewett. It seems he was close to the Snitch when it exploded and he's covered with the shrapnel. His heart and head seem to be all right, but I suspect a possible punctured lung and internal bleeding based on his colour and laboured breathing."_

_Lucky for them, most of the students in the hospital wing were simply in need of counter-hexes and jinxes for whichever curses hit them in the fight. In two cases, multiple hits had caused interference between the jinxes. One unfortunate boy had been struck by the Jelly Legs Jinx and the Conjunctivitis curse simultaneously, which resulted in his legs having been rendered unsteady and swollen to three times their normal size. Fiona had to use a combination of spells and Potions to neutralise the effects._

_Fiona didn't see Rupert for the rest of the day, but learned from Professor Slughorn at supper that he'd left the grounds headed for the Three Broomsticks._

_"Is that really wise," Fiona asked. "After all the excitement today..."_

_"Apparently he wanted to celebrate the Ravenclaw victory," Professor Slughorn replied, spearing a particularly plump sausage on his fork._

_"Celebrate," Fiona snapped. "Cain't that man be serious for once in his life? We got one student in still-critical condition at St Mungo's and three that'll have to stay the night in the hospital wing with cursed wounds and he wants ta go get himself plastered over a dad-gum Quidditch game?"_

_"Since none of them were Ravenclaws, he didn't see a reason to stay at the castle," Professor Slughorn added with a shrug._

_"Wha...? That insensitive...__polecat,__" Fiona huffed. "I'll have me a talk with him he won't never fergit!"_

_Professor Slughorn gave her an approving nod before gulping down the last of his pumpkin juice and excusing himself from the table. Even he knew to stay out of the way of an angry redhead._

__

_Molly sat working on her pile of Weasley sweaters when she heard the familiar flapping of an owl's wings. She set down her knitting and turned towards the open window. To her delight, it was delivering the latest issue of__ Witch Weekly. __Ever after Hermione supported the idea to start writing for the magazine, Molly had developed a renewed interest in every new issue, mostly to help her come up with ideas for what to write when she won the annual recipe contest and her own column in the magazine._

_Molly paid the owl and poured a cup of tea. She headed back to the parlour and flicked her wand to start the wireless before she made herself comfortable, her knitting all but forgotten. With Arthur, Ron, Harry, and Hermione at work, the Burrow was empty, and with Celestina Warbeck singing her latest hit, __Your Charm is Magic,__Molly took a sip of tea and turned her attention to the magazine. The smiling face of her daughter winked up at her from the cover._

_Merlin's midgets, what is it this time? "__The Record-Breaking Beauty, exclusive interview on page 8__." I guess it's to page 8 then. __Molly turned to the page, which turned out to be the beginning of a full spread about Ginny, because she'd held the number one spot on __Witch Weekly's Most-Beautiful-Witch __list for a full year.__Molly knew that Ginny's contract with the Harpies included giving a number of interviews, so apparently the club thought this was a good opportunity to get some attention in media._

_She had to admit it was a great picture of Ginny on the cover. She held the beloved Firebolt Harry had given her for her 17__th__ birthday and looked simply gorgeous in her Number 6 Harpies Quidditch gear. Included in the spread was a picture of Ginny in her favourite jeans and, much to Molly's pride, a Weasley pullover. In both pictures Ginny had slightly more make up on than usual. Molly took another sip of tea and began to read._

_**Ginny Potter, Beauty Of the Year**_

_She is one of our nation's most famous witches and this week, she's held the spot as the most beautiful witch in Britain for an entire year. Witch Weekly's had the privilege to meet Mrs Potter during the Holyhead Harpies tour of Ireland for two matches in the National Quidditch League._

_Witch Weekly (WW): Hello, Mrs Potter. Thank you for granting us this interview._

_Ginny Potter (GP): Hello, and please call me Ginny. _

_WW: All right, Ginny. A lot has happened during this year since you've been voted the most beautiful witch in Britain._

_GP: (blushing) Yes indeed. A year ago I was doing my NEWT year at Hogwarts and was still Ginny Weasley._

_WW: If you'd looked a year forward in time a year ago, what would you have seen?_

_GP: Well, I knew I was getting married, but I had only talked once with Gwenog Jones, so I didn't dare hope for a career as a professional Quidditch player._

_WW: What were your plans for a future?_

_GP: I was considering applying for Healer training at St Mungo's if I'd managed the proper NEWTs to be accepted. Landing a contract as a Chaser seemed unrealistic._

_WW: But you wanted a career of some sort?_

_GP: Oh yes. Harry's too fond of cooking to let me be a full-time house witch._

_WW: Now that your career as a Chaser has taken off, is it what you expected?_

_GP: I expected it to be physically demanding, and let me tell you: it is. It also means being away from home, friends, and family, like these ten days here in Ireland. I thought that would be the hardest part, but it's not so bad, really. Even though I miss Harry and my family, it's also great fun living together with the girls. It's a lot like the life I had in our dorm at Hogwarts. It was amazing to enter the pitch for the first time in Holyhead to play a match. I'm really looking forward to playing our home stand when we're finished here._

_WW: Many of our readers are of course interested in any beauty tips you might offer._

_GP: (chuckling) Well, I don't think I can give much advice there. What little I know about make up and glamour charms is what Hermione taught me. If you'd see me after practice when I'm sweaty, muddy and bruised, I think I'd lose that number one spot in right short order._

_WW: A lot of questions from our readers are of course about you and Harry. How did the two of you meet?_

_GP: The first time we met was September 1__st__ 1991. I had come along with my mother to King's Cross to see my brothers off to Hogwarts. On our way to Platform 9 ¾, there was this shy skinny boy who asked Mum how to find the Platform—that was Harry. He'd learned he was a wizard only a few weeks earlier and hadn't the slightest clue about our world._

_WW: And how did the two of you get together?_

_GP: That is a long story. You know, like many girls my age, I grew up with the story about The-Boy-Who-Lived. In fact, Mum often reminds me that I was four years old the first time I announced that I'd marry Harry Potter one day. One night in July of 1992, my mental brothers flew an enchanted car to Surrey and back to bring Harry to our home. As I headed down for breakfast that morning I stood face to face with him. I made a total arse of myself—or so I thought—blushing and dropping things. I even stuck my elbow in the butter dish at breakfast. I was so embarrassed, but Harry pretended not to notice and just carried on as if nothing happened. Still, I'd always be Ron's silly little sister in Harry's eyes._

_WW: But apparently that wasn't the case._

_GP: No. At the end of my first year, Harry saved my life. You might remember that there was talk about closing Hogwarts because the Chamber of Secrets had been opened and several students had been petrified. I was left to die in the Chamber, but Harry saved me, almost getting himself killed in the process. That was an experience that has meant a lot for our relationship. All right, it wasn't until my fifth year that we actually got together, but it was worth the wait._

_WW: And then you had to fight a war._

_GP: Yes. We both did what we had to do. I'd really prefer not to talk about the war if you don't mind._

_WW: Of course, we all know that the Death Eaters committed horrible crimes and we are indebted to all of you who fought for our freedom. Is the rumour that you've defeated an Auror during your NEWT true?_

_GP: I guess it is. I got lucky with a stunner._

_WW: According to your Chocolate Frog Card, you throw a wicked Bat Bogey Hex. Exactly what is that?_

_GP: It's a perfectly harmless but annoying hex that turns the victim's bogies into bats that attack his or her face._

_WW: What are your dreams for the future?_

_GP: Well, I hope to perform well for the Harpies, so I'll be invited back to play for another season. Harry and I are building a home, where I hope we'll raise a family at some point. I'm also looking forward to standing with Hermione as her Matron-of-Honour._

_WW: Family is important to you?_

_GP: Very. My family is where I find support, strength, and love. I think that's why I like the Holyhead Harpies. They're very much like a family, rather than just a team of co-workers._

_WW: Finally, what advice would you offer other young witches who wish to become Quidditch players?_

_GP: It takes a lot of practice and hard work, but I'd say what's most important is to never forget to have fun._

_WW: Thank you, Ginny, for allowing us to talk with you._

_GP: Not at all. Goodbye._

_Molly took another sip of tea, thinking about the interview. It was personal, but they had shown proper respect and didn't print any rot or unfounded rumours, nor did they appear to embellish her daughter's words.__ Raise a family at some point... my little Ginny's grown up. __Molly sighed glancing nostalgically at a family picture of a four-year-old Ginny hugging her favourite __Harry Potter__ storybook._

__

_It was dead silent in the Great Hall the morning after the Quidditch match melee. In fact, the only sounds to be heard were the sounds of flatware against stoneware as the students ate their breakfast. A most stern-looking Headmistress Minerva McGonagall hadn't uttered a word to anyone, not even the Breakfast Bunch._

_Most the students would have probably preferred a good shout, a Howler, or even detention with Mr Filch over the disappointed look on the headmistress' face. A wave of relief broke the tension as the morning post-owls flew into the Great Hall to deliver the mail. Mr Deeds swooped in and dropped a letter in her lap and then fluttered over to visit Hagrid and have a bite of bacon._

_Her heart trembled as she recognized the handwriting of her sister, Gallatea. It had been several weeks since she'd written to her sister and was beginning to worry, since she hadn't had a reply in so long. Fiona cut her breakfast short. She hadn't even glanced in Professor Watson's direction at all that morning, and had placed herself between Hagrid and Septima Vector. The letter simply afforded an excuse to further delay interacting with the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor._

_His behaviour the day before still bothered her and she didn't know what to make of it. She hoped to work that out before attempting to speak with him again. She politely excused herself and made her way back to her room. Deeds launched himself from Hagrid's shoulder and followed her, taking to his perch as she sat down in her armchair and opened the letter._

_Dear Onie,_

_I've read your letter quite a few times, now, just to take it all in. We have a big family, you've visited Daddy's grave, and you have an apprenticeship at our parents' old school. You've seen and learned so much, I can hardly begin to grasp it. _

_Here in Sioux Falls, nothing out of the ordinary's going on, other than one pretty funny event a few days ago. A couple of Aint tourists came to visit and learn about the Sioux, but one of them was a bastard—a real piece of work, let me tell you. When he started what he claimed to be a "rain dance," and wondered out loud how crazy the Sioux must've been to believe rain could be produced by dancing, Jayce had had enough. He confronted the man calmly and said that he'd never produce any rain with that ridiculous jumping around, because he was doing it all wrong. Next, Jayce started to dance in a much similar way and cast a spell, causing the rain to pour __down immediately. That man looked so defeated. Jayce asked me afterwards if he'd gone too far, but I thought it was hilarious. I've seen that ritual and it looked nothing like what the moron or Jayce did, trust me._

_Our British family seems very interesting to say the least. Aurors, Quidditch Player, a Curse-breaker, a Dragonmaster, and that joke shop. By the way, you were right about Jayce having heard about their war against Voldemort. It seems that our Secretary of Magic has met Harry Potter and officially thanked him for defeating the SOB. He was very interested to learn that Cousins Harry and Ron run the British Auror Office._

_I'm so sorry to hear about Cousin George losing his twin brother. It must have been hard for the entire Weasley family, similar to Momma dying, but if I lost you it would be like losing a part of myself. I can't imagine that and I hope I never have to (knock on wood)._

_I'm glad you're well and happy. Write soon!_

_Your sister,_

_Taya_

_PS: Jayce says HOW!_

__

_Seamus and Hermione stepped into the Three Broomsticks for Seamus' official induction into the ELF organisation. It Hermione felt way better about it this time, having Seamus there, in his own shape. Seamus also felt good about it. No one questioned his loyalty and devotion to his work, but Polyjuicing into Madame Rosmerta had led to a fair bit of __good-natured ribbing__ from his fellow Aurors. Ron had sided with Seamus, along with Jock Thompson, favouring Seamus ingenious disguise. The fact that it was Hermione he'd protected under such a cover was the real reason for Ron's praise._

_Harry had checked with Seamus several times, giving him the option to back out if he wanted to, but the Irishman had declined the offer, insisting he was the best man...er...woman...er...Auror for the job. Lavender hadn't said anything about the Rosmerta incident either. As a matter of fact, she'd said next to nothing at all to Seamus these past few weeks. They needed time, but to keep them both on the force, Harry saw to it that they worked different shifts. Harry had been assured by both of them that their break-up wouldn't affect their work, but thanked him for not scheduling them on the same shifts just the same._

_"We're ten minutes early, Seamus," Hermione pointed out as they surveyed the bar._

_"For the meetin' with ELF, yeah, but we're just in time for a Butterbeer, my treat." Seamus led Hermione to the bar and they got a pint of steaming hot Butterbeer each from Madame Rosmerta._

_"Ah. In this weather, a warm Butterbeer is exactly what I needed. Thank you, Seamus," Hermione sighed, warming her hands on the warm mug._

_"You're welcome, luv," Seamus replied, wishing his Butterbeer were a pint of Guinness._

_They both had a good mouthful each and felt the warmth spread through their bodies._

_"... I tell yer... 150 bleedin' points fer the ruddy Snitch is too damned much," they overheard a fellow saying to his mate next to them._

_"Wadda yer mean wi' tha'," the other bloke asked wiping his lips with his sleeve._

_"Yesterday. Ginny Potter scored seven goals, the other two Harpy Chasers scored I dunno how many more. The Harpies led the bloody match by 130 points," he said, pausing for a shot of Firewhiskey. "And then that sorry-arse Paddy Seeker gets lucky and catches the Snitch."_

_"C'mon, it ain't the freakin' Snitch. Yeh have the hots for Mrs Potter, tha's all," his companion snorted._

_"Yer cursed bugger. I have not. I'm simply sayin' the Seeker's getting' too damned important. The Harpies were the better team, but lost the match. And if yer mus' know I'd say it's Ron Weasley that's the lucky bloke, marryin' that Hermione Granger."_

_At this Seamus choked and sprayed of the men with Butterbeer. Seamus burst into laughter as the less-than-pleased man turned around._

_"What ruddy arse did tha'," he asked, obviously perturbed._

_"That'd be me, mate. Sorry. It's just I happened to hear what ya said, and so did me friend here," Seamus said, still laughing._

_The one who'd praised Hermione exhibited a very passable Weasley beet-root red blush seeing Hermione there in the flesh. Realising this, the sprayed bloke burst into laughter too, and in the background, Madame Rosmerta relaxed and let go of her Beater's club. "This is priceless..." he said._

_"Let me tell you, though, that I agree that Ginny and the Harpies Chasers did great. It wasn't fair that they lost," Hermione told the radiating man. "But don't speak of __sorry-arse Paddies__ in __Seamus' presence. He might feel offended."_

_The man turned from red to pale instantly, realising what he'd said with one of Ireland's finest fighters sitting right next to him._

_"Lighten up mate." Seamus said. "I won't duel ya to defend Irish honour... this time."_

_"Thank yer, Auror Finnegan. I'm very sorry, Auror Finnegan, sir," he pleaded._

_"Done, mate. Confidentially, I wanted the Harpies to win too," Seamus added with a conspiratorial wink. The man relaxed and let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and went back to his drink._

_A couple of hours later, a most-relieved Ron smiled wide as his fiancée step out of the fireplace followed by a rather amused Seamus Finnegan._

_"Did Slimeboil cause you any discomfort tonight, baby," Ron asked._

_"Yes, did he?" Harry asked "And by the way, how did the ELF-meeting go?"_

_Hermione smiled at Harry's less-than-subtle manner of pointing out Ron's priorities. Still she felt rather proud of him caring first and foremost for her well-being. "He certainly gave me a few looks I didn't feel comfortable with."_

_"C'mon Hermione. The man was clearly sizin' ya up, luv," Seamus clarified._

_"Well, yes. I guess that's one way of putting it, but Seamus' glares back at him were most helpful. At one point, I though you'd fly across the table and tear the man's throat out," Hermione snickered. "And Harry, the meeting was pretty boring for the most part. Most of it was spent introducing the new members and repeating the purposes and goals of the organisation."_

_"Did you discuss anything interesting? Or were there any interesting people there," Harry asked._

_"Yeah. Hermione's an interesting person," Ron huffed._

_"You know what I mean, you obsessive git," Harry replied with a smirk._

_"You're one to talk," Ron grumbled. "Who can't keep his hands off my sister?"_

_"I'm married to your sister," Harry retorted, shoving him like a schoolboy. "Get a grip, Weasley."_

_"Are they always like this," Seamus asked Hermione with a snort. "How do you 'n' Ginny stand it?"_

_Hermione sighed. "Yes, always. You'd think they were still eleven. Erm...Ronald. RONALD!"_

_"Wha...oh. Sorry," he grumbled. "Harry started it."_

_"And I'm finishing it," Hermione snapped, crossing her arms over her chest while Seamus laughed quietly to himself._

_"Ruddy...mad...both of ya," Seamus coughed out between guffaws._

_"Yes, quite. Now...It's perfectly obvious that Gumboil is thrilled with Seamus having joined," Hermione said, having taken control of the debriefing._

_"Oh yes," Seamus filled in, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "He admires the Aurors, especially__the new generation of elite wizards and witches, __as he put it. That means us I reckon—the DA lot."_

_"I've got that distinct feeling too," Harry agreed. "And remember that he's a Hit Wizard and knows enough about duelling to know the difference between someone giving a spectacular and impressive-looking show and those who actually know how to fight."_

_"So basically, today's highlight is getting Seamus into the organization," Harry summarized._

_"No, the highlight ELF-wise was that we managed to get Hermione elected to the post of ELF Historian. She'll be doin' historical research on Pureblood oppression over the rest of us," Seamus said. "But the real gem happened just before the meeting."_

_"Judging by the evil glint in your beady little eyes, I'd say it must've been amusing," Harry surmised, knowing by now when Seamus was up to mischief._

_He related the incident about the two disgruntled Harpies fans._

_"It pains me to admit it, being the youngest Seeker in a century and all," Harry began. "But they do have a point. We can win the match for a team that doesn't really deserve to win. It's rare that the Chasers win a match, the way the Irish did at the World Cup in '94, forcing Krum to catch the Snitch only to keep the score from climbing further into outer space."_

_"Boys and brooms," Hermione interrupted before they forgot all about the ELF meeting._

_"Right," Seamus said. "I'll talk to Peasegood. He's an all-right bloke. I'll ask him if I should invite Dean to the next meeting."_

_"Good work. It seems our plan is progressing," Harry concluded. "Now..."_

_"... Mum left some apple pie for us," Ron smiled._

_"Well what are ya waitin' for, man! Bring it on," Seamus prodded, conjuring a fork and red-and-white gingham napkin, which he tucked into his collar._

__

_Harry sighed as he stepped into the elevator, his face full of trepidation. Ron gave him an encouraging nudge. "You'll do fine, mate," he assured his dubious friend._

_"Yeah, right. I've got to learn a complex Ministry charm," Harry sighed. "Do you know what can happen if the Wedding Charm is cast wrong? Why the rules are so strict for licensing?"_

_"Can't say as I do," Ron admitted. "But it can't be that big of a deal, can it? I mean, Kingsley made it look pretty easy when he cast it over you and Gin."_

_"That's truer than you know, and yes it can be," Harry replied, lightly banging his head against the wall of the lift car._

_"What could possibly happen," Ron asked, looking rather confused._

_"If it's cast the wrong way, it won't matter that the bride and groom say __I do__,__" Harry moaned. "Cast correctly, the Wedding Charm creates the magical bond between husband and wife, as well as creating the paperwork that satisfies the legal-eagle bureaucracy here at the Ministry."_

_"And if you bollix it up," Ron asked with a degree of trepidation._

_"There is a chance of marrying the bride and the groom to someone other than each other."_

_"Which is bad," Ron admitted. "Blimey. Imagine if Kingsley casts it wrong and I wind up married to...Lavender? Hermione'd kill me!"_

_"Perish the thought, mate. Perish the thought," Harry said, shaking his head. "And there is an account, at least according to Hermione and she's usually right, that a Wedding Charm backfired in 1725 and sent the officiator to the Department of Mysteries. At least that's what they concluded when he walked out of the place ten years later with no memories of his whereabouts during the time he'd been missing."_

_"No room for mishaps, then," Ron suggested with a gulp._

_"Right. See you later, yeah," Harry said as the doors opened and he left Ron standing in the car feeling a bit worried about his best mate._

_At the appointed time, Harry entered the Licensing and Registration office to meet with his instructor, who turned out to be a young woman in her mid twenties.__ She must've left Hogwarts shortly before I started._

_She wore her hair in a quite elaborate arrangement around her head, and entirely too much makeup for Harry's tastes. He preferred Ginny's natural beauty to witches who felt the need to paint themselves up like French...well, anyway. Her dress was too revealing for the Ministry and appeared better suited to a dance club—or a street corner, which made Harry rather uncomfortable. She avidly displayed cleavage that a more-sophisticated man would associate with a push-up bra. She didn't look British, either. There was something exotic about her and many men would probably find her quite attractive. But not Harry; he found her frightening._

_"Uh, hello. I'm Harry Potter. I have an appointment," he said, uncertain as what else to say._

_"Of course, Mr Potter. May I call you Harry," she asked with a giggle and then continued before Harry had a chance to reply. "I'm Desirée Desperada Babbleham and I'm most pleased and honoured to meet you, Harry."_

_Harry had a sick gut feeling he hadn't felt since he first met Rita Skeeter. "Miss Babbleham," Harry said and shook the hand she'd extended._

_"Please. It's Desirée. You see...Harry...learning the Wedding Charm is not like learning those manly curses you Aurors cast to keep us safe," she began._

_Manly? If Lavender, Susan or Cho heard this..._

_"In fact, it takes a certain amount of...intimacy...and I've found that a first-name basis is most helpful," Desirée continued with a low voice, taking a half-step toward Harry._

_So far, there wasn't much for Harry to go on, but he didn't want to have any amount of intimacy with this woman on any level. He felt an immediate urge to have Percy develop a dress code for Minstry employees, demanding proper clothing, such as non-revealing robes, rather than the outfit this witch wore. "So!" Harry said far too loudly, which made Desirée jump back. "Shall we get started then?"_

_"Of course," Desiree said softly. "Despite the fact that I know you've experienced the Wedding Charm personally, we'll go through it step by step, allowing you to experience it from the caster's point of view."_

_"Yes. Of course," Harry said.__ Shacklebolt, your smarmy arse is grass and I'm the ruddy lawnmower!_

_"If you'll follow me, Harry," she said throwing her hair and sending the scent of roses Harry's way. "Please"_

_Harry rolled his eyes at Desirée's back and reluctantly followed her into a room where he knew he'd be stuck alone with her for the next couple of hours. He opened the bond and silently called upon his wife to sustain him in his time of trouble._

_"Yes, Harry?"_

_"I want you to HELP ME!"_

_"What is it, my darling? Are you afraid to work with any female that isn't Hermione?"_

_"You knew about this, didn't you?"_

_"Of course, Harry. Dad told me about her. Good luck. I've got to fly."_

_"Ginny Potter..."_

_"Be a good boy now and do your lessons."_

_"I love you?"_

_"I know."_

_"Harry, are you coming," Desirée purred from the doorway._

_Merlin help me. __"Gryffindors forward," he mumbled and passed through the door as a lamb to the slaughter._

_"What was that, Harry," his over-made instructor asked._

_"Oh...erm...nothing," Harry stammered. "I was just going over my schedule in my head."_

_"Well just put all that out of your mind because you need room for this lesson," she cooed. "Now, first I think it would be good to put ourselves in the shoes of the bride and groom. This is a very special day for them, so we need to remember to do our best to make it memorable."_

_"Uh...I remember my own wedding day quite clearly," Harry insisted._

_"Then this should be easy for you," she said giddily, taking the bride's side to his left and hooking her arm through his. "As the bride and groom approach," she continued, marching __Harry across the room, "you must clear your mind and focus on the bride and groom and the importance of the spell you're about to cast."_

_"Right. I've done some reading," Harry interjected. "But there wasn't much..."_

_"No, there isn't much in print, I'm afraid," she agreed, pretending to sympathise. "That's why you're here, silly."_

_Shacklebolt, Dad—you're dead men. __"Okay, so you've marched me up an aisle as long as a Quidditch pitch. What's next?"_

_"What? Oh! I have, haven't I," she giggled. "Well, now that the bride and groom have arrived before you, you have to greet them, the bridal party, and then the guests. You remember that much, don't you?"_

_"Y-yes, I remember that," Harry agreed. __What am I? Senile?_

_"Well, then you begin the ritual." Desirée produced a parchment booklet containing the rite and what is supposed to happen in each phase. "Now, this is critical. If even one syllable is mispronounced, the effects can be devastating. There was an incident in 1725..."_

_"Yes, I know. A friend of mine found that little tale in her research to help me with this," Harry interjected._

_"The most difficult part of the ritual isn't so much the words but the precise wand movements. We wouldn't want you to wind up marrying Mr Malfoy to one of your wife's cousins or Miss Greengrass to your brother-in-law," she said, giggling and squeezing Harry's arm in an all-too-familiar way. Harry was not amused in the least. "And we certainly wouldn't want to lose our heroic Head Auror in the Department of Mysteries, now would we?"_

_"Miss Babbleham," Harry began, looking at his watch. "I'm afraid our hour is up and I really must be off to the Auror Office."_

_Desirée's smile faltered as she let go of Harry's arm. "Oh dear, you're right. Until next week, then?"_

_"Right. Next week," Harry agreed, his temper threatening to boil over. "Um...see you then, I guess."_

_"Goodbye, Harry. It's been fun," she said, trying to keep her composure. __My, but he's hot. Ginny Potter is one lucky bitch—er, witch._

_Harry grunted his goodbye as he extricated himself from that office as quickly as he could without appearing cowardly or giving away the fact that he was seething._

_"Harry, what is it?"_

_"Not now, Ginny."_

_"Harry, what happened? Talk to me."_

_"Talk to you? You didn't want to hang around for me. Why should I talk to you?"_

_"Harry, I was in the middle of a practice. I couldn't hang around. I didn't mean..."_

_"What did you mean, Ginny? You all think this is some big joke? It's not. I'm going to work out in the gym."_

_"Harry James Potter, calm down this minute and tell me what's got you so upset. It's giving me a stomach ache!"_

_"You were in on this, weren't you?"_

_"In on what? You're not making any sense!"_

_"This little prank with my lesson."_

_"Prank? What prank? All I know is that your instructor is female. Dad told me ahead of time because I asked if Kingsley was going to train you or if there was an official instructor for that."_

_"Gin, I'm not sure you want to know."_

_"What does that mean?"_

_"Look, I'm almost to the office. Can you hang around now?"_

_"Yes. I'm off for a few hours."_

_"Good, because you're not going to like it."_

_Harry stormed into the lift car and punched the Level Two button. __I'll show them a bloody joke!_

_"Harry, please calm down before you break the lift system."_

_"Sorry. I'm just... How's your stomach?"_

_"It's settling."_

_"Level Two..." the sickeningly sweet voice called._

_"You don't say," Harry snarled into the air. "Open, dammit!" The gate opened enough for him to slip his hands through and throw it aside the rest of the way. With hair and robes flying behind him like Severus Snape's, he stomped down the corridor to his office where he found Ron at his desk with his feet up._

_"How'd it go, mate," he asked, noticing the thundercloud above his friend's head._

_"Don't ask," Harry snarled through his teeth. "If anyone cares, I'm in the gym."_

_"That bad," Ron asked as Harry slammed the booklet down on his desk._

_"Worse. The ruddy woman's a menace," Harry complained. "She was dressed like a French whore and made up like a circus clown! Then, if you please, she hung on my left arm as if I were a life-preserver and pretended to walk us down the friggin' aisle!"_

_"What!"__ Harry could feel Ginny's anger through the bond and now his stomach began to ache._

_"But...aren't you supposed to be learning the officiator part," Ron asked, thoroughly confused._

_"Oh yeah, but she said we had to do the aisle thing in order to—how did she say it—__put ourselves in the shoes of the bride and groom so we can make their day special__ or some such rot!"_

_"Oh, that witch is toast! And Kingsley's bollocks are mine!"__ Harry could feel the magic roll off Ginny and into their bond._

_"Had Ginny seen that..." Ron began, but Harry cut him off._

_"She'd kill the silly bint! I'm going to the gym before __I__ do!" Harry disappeared through the door to the Aurors' Locker Room without another word._

_"Bloody hell," Ron gulped, zipping off a memo to his father._

_A few hours later, Harry returned to the office, deep pink from the hard workout and a hot shower. He was still angry. Ron could see it in his eyes, but the thunderous fury had passed, much to his relief._

_"Feel better," Ron asked._

_"Some. Tell Mum not to wait supper tonight," he said shortly._

_"Why? You working late or something," Ron asked, a bit alarmed. Harry should be alone when he's upset like this._

_"Or something," Harry replied. "I need to see Ginny. I'll see you tomorrow, all right?" He scooped up his cloak and the booklet Desirée gave him and swept out of the office._

_"Yeah, sure, mate," Ron replied._

_Ron checked the roster for the swing shift and bade the on-duty team goodnight. As he made his way to the lifts to pick up Hermione, he couldn't help but worry about his best friend and brother. _

_He had been so lost in thought that he didn't remember even boarding the lift or leaving it on Level Four. All he knew was that suddenly, he found himself outside the doors to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures._

_"Ron? Ronald," a voice called through the mists of thought. "Ron, how long have you been standing out here? Where's Harry? Where's Arthur?"_

_"What? Oh...um...Harry left early and Dad's waiting for us in the Atrium," he said, leaning down to give her a kiss. "How was your day?"_

_Hermione sighed. "The same as every day, except I—unfortunately—was there." Hermione studied her fiancé. Something was definitely wrong here. He seemed distracted and a bit...worried. "Ronald, what's going on? Why are you so far away?"_

_"'Mione, it's Harry," he confessed. "I...he...he had that Wedding Charm lesson today and I don't think it went well."_

_"How so," Hermione asked, her brows furrowing with __let's figure out Harry__ thoughts. "What happened?"_

_"I dunno," Ron confessed. "He came storming into the office at full-boil, going on about how his instructor walked him down the __friggin' __aisle. 'Mione, he almost dropped the F-bomb."_

_"What? Why would he..."_

_"Not he, Love; she. It's a female."_

_"Oh, dear. This is bad. Very, very bad. I'll bet you Galleons to gumballs she came on to him," Hermione hypothesised._

_"Ya think? 'Mione, he ranted about it for a bit and then stomped off to the gym. He came out of the locker room three...hours...later. He was still angry, though not as much. He said to tell Mum not to wait supper and that he said he needed to see Ginny."_

_"He's gone to Ireland? Gwenog's going to have a fit," she said worriedly._

_"It doesn't matter, 'Mione. That rule just applied to training camp. Besides, with the state he's in, I doubt even the bodyguards would try to stop him."_

_"Well, we'd better get back to the Burrow. Perhaps he'll come home after all," Hermione said hopefully, knowing the chances of that happening were slim to nil. Harry wanted to see Ginny and nothing was going to stop him._

_They walked on in silence, each turning over the possibilities in their minds, hoping Harry didn't break down again, wherever he was. They met up with a seriously subdued Arthur Weasley at the memorial fountain in the Atrium. "Dad, what..."_

_"I have no idea, son," Arthur sighed. "Let's hurry. Your mother has supper waiting and she'll be in a right temper if we're any later."_

_The three of them walked on through the almost-deserted Atrium toward the Apparition point. "Dad, do you know anything about Harry's lesson today," Ron asked his father. "He wasn't keen on going and he was...well, you know."_

_"Ronnie, all I know is that he was to take his lesson with Miss Babbleham," Arthur said. "She's a bit...odd...but harmless."_

_"I wouldn't be too sure of that, Dad," Ron mumbled._

_"What do you mean, son," Arthur asked._

_"We'll tell you at home," Hermione answered for him. With that, the three of them stepped into the Apparition point and disappeared._

_Moments later, the three of them appeared outside the wards of the Burrow and made their way toward the house. They stepped through the door, shaking off the cold, to find the kitchen all but deserted, but full of the smells of one of Molly's magnificent suppers. As they moved toward the sitting room, they could hear the sound of female voices, one of them spitting like a wet Kneazle._

_"Mum, he's in a right state."_

_"Ginny, this isn't making any sense. How could you know what Harry was doing today and that he's in a right state over it?"_

_"Mum, he's right here. He feels...he feels like he's cheated on me somehow! I don't know what they're playing at, but it's going to stop __now!__" Ginny was seething as it was, but when Harry showed up at Kestral Stadium demanding to see Ginny, they let him in. Head Auror status definitely had its rewards. _

_"All right, dear. I'll see what I can find out on this end. You just calm him down and make sure he understands he didn't do anything wrong. And make sure he eats a decent supper," she added, thoroughly perturbed with her husband and the Minister._

_Molly stood stiffly and turned to her husband, her eyes moist with tears of anger for her daughter and son-in-law. She wiped her eyes on her apron and then narrowed her eyes at her husband of thirty years. "Start talking."_


	20. Chapter 20 A Chaser's Tale Part II

_**A Chaser's Tale Part II**_

_"Now, Mollywobbles..."_

_"Don't you Mollywobbles me, Arthur Weasley. What happened today," she demanded. Her arms were held akimbo with her fists curled on her hips in her classic intimidating pose._

_Hermione and Ron stood in amused terror, hoping to avoid Molly's wrath, but ready to enjoy the show they both knew was starting. "Mum..."_

_"Hush, Ronald. I'm talking to your father. Go eat your supper before it gets cold," she told him._

_"Molly, I think we have an idea as to what happened," Hermione said softly._

_"Arthur?"_

_"Molly, dear, I think Hermione and Ron believe Desirée might have..."_

_"Desirée! You mean to tell me you sent that poor boy into a lesson alone with __her?__ Have you lost your minds," she screeched._

_"Molly, I didn't make the appointment for him; Kingsley did. I...I didn't like it, but there was nothing I could say about it," Arthur explained._

_"We think she...well..." Ron stammered. "She may have..."_

_Molly's eyes flew wide open in shock and realisation. "Are you telling me, Ronald Bilius Weasley that that...that...__woman__...seduced your sister's husband?"_

_"It's the only explanation we can come up with, Molly," Hermione said. "You know how noble he is and he has eyes only for Ginny, so...well...you know. It...upset him."_

_Molly spun back to face the fireplace and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. "Kingsley Shacklebolt's office!" The flames whooshed green and the Minister's head appeared in the grate._

_"Good evening, Molly," he greeted her amiably. "What can I do for you?"_

_"You can bring your arse to the Burrow this minute, that's what you can do! The very idea," she barked._

_"Molly, is something wrong," he asked, obviously nonplussed._

_"Wrong? Oh yes, something is definitely wrong, Minister, and you have a lot of explaining to do. Now get over here or I'll come and fetch you myself," she barked again._

_"Okay, okay. Just give me a few minutes to lock up and I'll be right along," he said, hoping to placate the angry witch._

_"Kingsley is so in trouble," Ron intimated to Hermione._

_"It appears your dad's in for it too," Hermione giggled. "Just thank your lucky stars you're not in for it this time."_

_"I have my lucky star right here," he smirked and kissed her gently._

_"See that you are," Molly snapped and stood up again, arranging her clothes and pasting on a smile. "Now. How about some supper, yes?"_

_The four of them had just sat down to eat when the fireplace whooshed green and Kingsley stepped through. "Anybody home?"_

_"In the kitchen, Kingsley," Arthur called. "Come and have a bite to eat!"_

_"Thank you," the Minister said, striding into the kitchen. He sat down next to Arthur while Molly glared at him. "Molly, what have I done for you to summon me here in such a manner as you have? This smells wonderful, by the way."_

_"We'll discuss it after supper," she said flatly, returning to her plate. "And thank you."_

_Kingsley stole a questioning look at Arthur, who returned it with a withering smile, while Ron and Hermione smirked at one another and continued to eat. The Minister knew something was up because the Weasleys are not known for quiet meals and it quite unsettled him. He was almost tempted to try to begin a conversation, but thought better of it and concentrated on his plate._

_Following the meal, Molly and Hermione cleared the table and set the dishes to washing themselves while the men moved to the sitting room for a Firewhiskey. "Trust me, sir," Ron said, splashing a bit more of the amber liquid into their glasses. "You're going to need it."_

_"Arthur, what is this all about," Kingsley asked, becoming a bit agitated._

_"Harry's lesson," Ron answered for his father. "It didn't go well, apparently."_

_"I should say not," snarled a female voice from the doorway. "Setting that woman on Harry like that. What were you thinking?"_

_"Setting that woman on—Molly, where's Harry," Kingsley asked._

_"Right now he's in Ireland repairing his marriage," Molly snapped. "Or he thinks he needs to anyway."_

_Kingsley felt a jolt of alarm shoot through his body like lightning. __I'll kill her. I'll ruddy kill her.__ "Molly, please...start at the beginning because I'm a bit confused here. Why does Harry feel like he has to repair his marriage?"_

_"Desirée Desperada Babbleham," Arthur intoned, running his hands over his face. "Ronnie says she...uh..."_

_"Minister, we think she came on to Harry during the lesson," Hermione said while Molly continued to seethe._

_"Auror Weasley," Kingsley began. "What do you know about this?"_

_"Well, sir, Harry wasn't keen on meeting with her. He's never really comfortable around strange women and...well...he was a bit nervous about it."_

_"Yes, I'm aware of that. I chose her to give him the lesson because I thought it'd be a bit...uh...amusing," Kingsley admitted. "She's a bit exuberant around people she perceives as celeb—"_

_"YOU DID THIS ON PURPOSE," Molly shrieked. "YOU PUT HARRY ON THE SPOT LIKE THAT BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT IT'D BE AMUSING TO TORTURE HIM?"_

_"Now, Molly, I didn't mean any harm. I just wanted to have a little fun with him, that's all. I never meant—" Kingsley said with his hands up and palms out, trying to defend himself._

_"Whatever you meant, sir, it wasn't a good thing. You see..." Ron began to blush and dropped his eyes to his lap._

_"Minister, we believe she may have...erm...got a bit friendly," Arthur said. "Too friendly."_

_Kingsley dropped his face into his hands. "Oh no! I told her not to—"_

_"Not to what, Kingsley? What did you tell her not to do," Molly asked, calming down a little._

_"Before I answer that, suppose you tell me what happened, Ron," Kingsley said._

_Ron explained Harry's mood and demeanour when he returned to the Auror Office after the lesson. He related what Harry had said about the method she had used to teach the lesson and how she was dressed. "I haven't seen him that mad since Dumbledore ignored him our whole fifth year at Hogwarts. In fact, this was probably worse."_

_"Merlin's pants! I told her not to use that method since Harry is still a newlywed and didn't... Bloody hell," Kingsley snarled. "Look, I'm really sorry about this. I didn't mean for him to be hurt or upset like this. As for her appearance, that will be addressed first thing in the morning. There is no excuse for that whatsoever."_

_"I should say not. Really, Kingsley, you know about Harry's noble nature. He feels as though he's cheated on Ginny," Molly said, tears filling her brown eyes. "She's ready to hex your Miss Babbleham and if you don't do something, I can promise you that she will."_

_"Molly, Arthur, I swear I'll get to the bottom of this and do my best to make it right. Unfortunately, Desirée is the only person licensed to teach this charm," Kingsley said regretfully. We lost the other two to the war—one of them a Voldemort sympathiser and the other died in Azkaban thanks to Dolores Umbridge."_

_"Well then I suggest you do something about that too," Molly said forcefully. "That way, if that woman does something like this again, she can be removed from office."_

_"Yes, I know, Molly, but it's really not a priority. We've got Wizengamot elections coming up in a few weeks and we're still working through a logistical mess in each department. The only one, so far, that's even completely under control is DMLE, and that's thanks to you, Arthur, and Harry and Ron," Kingsley admitted. "But I promise you—all of you—that there will be official apologies to Harry and Ginny...from me and Miss Babbleham."_

_"Perhaps we might draft a dress code for Ministry employees," Hermione suggested. "Just a little something covering robes and make up?"_

_"And would you be available to do this," Kingsley asked, thankful for a change in subject._

_"No, but I know just the man for the job," she replied. "May I, Molly?" Hermione rose and approached the Floo._

_"Of course, dear," Molly replied, knowing immediately who Hermione had in mind. "I'm sure he'll be glad to help."_

_Hermione took a small handful of Floo powder from the bowl on the mantle and tossed it into the flames. "Percy Weasley!"_

_With a whoosh of green flame, Percy's head appeared in the grate. "Yes? Hermione, did you call me?"_

_"Yes, Percy. Could you come to the Burrow for a little bit? We have something to discuss with you," she said. "Ministry business."_

_"Uh...sure. I'll be right through," Percy said and stepped through a few moments later. "So what's this all about, Father? Minister?"_

_"A standard dress code for Ministry employees," Hermione answered._

_Percy raised his eyebrows into his hairline at the odd request. "But...I thought we had a dress code?"_

_"We do, Percy," Kingsley explained. "But it doesn't have any real teeth. It's more a guideline than a policy, and in light of something that recently affected your sister and her husband, we need you to draft something a bit more definitive."_

_"Ginny and Harry? What..."_

_Percy listened while his family and the Minister explained the situation with Miss Babbleham and the disastrous lesson with Harry. As he listened, evidence of his membership in the Weasley family became evident in his scarlet blush and the stormy expression on his face he had obviously inherited from his mother. "Indeed, Minister. Something must be done. I shall be on it first thing in the morning, sir. This is simply unacceptable."_

_"Too right it is," Ron huffed. "I'd have been angry too in Harry's place."_

_"As you should be, Ronald Weasley," Hermione said, kissing his cheek. "As you should be."_

_"Well then, whatever the case, I'm sure Harry—and no doubt Ginny too—will storm my office before this is over. I'll send him my Patronus with an initial apology telling him to just stay in Ireland and return with the team. __Expecto Patronum!__" A glowing silvery lynx leapt from the end of Kingsley's wand and stood fixated on its master. The Minister leaned over and whispered to the Patronus, which nodded and disappeared through the wall._

_"Well, how about some carrot cake? It's a recipe Fiona sent that's popular in America this time of year," Molly asked, rising from her chair. "The cream cheese frosting is rather nice with the spices in the cake."_

_"I'll help," Hermione said, rising from her seat next to Ron. "Carrot cake is rather nice, isn't it?"_

_Molly and Hermione left the men to their own devices. "Hermione, dear. Would you make some tea while I cut the cake?"_

_"Sure," Hermione said, flicking her wand at the kettle. "Molly? Do you think Harry's all right?"_

_"Oh, I think so. Once Ginny's had a chance to talk to him, he'll see that he did nothing wrong and he'll be fine," Molly replied reassuringly. "But I fear it's going to take a long while for him to forgive Kingsley for this."_

_"He thinks Arthur's responsible too," Hermione said. "I hope..."_

_"Arthur is the only father Harry really knows, dear. They'll talk it out and they'll be fine, too. Ginny'll make him see reason, but that...woman—"_

_"He won't want to work with her," Hermione warned. "He'll fight Kingsley on this. If I know Harry, he's written Miss Babbleham off as a nuisance right up there with Rita Skeeter."_

_Molly nodded knowingly. Yes, Harry could be stubborn when he wanted to be. But still, she had faith that her son-in-law would be reasonable in the end. "Harry's a strong young man, Hermione, you know that better than anyone," she said, lifting slices of cake onto plates. "He won't like it, but he'll do what he has to do to keep his word to Draco and Astoria. That's just who he is."_

_"I know, but it's going to be rough going until he tests out," Hermione said with a sigh. "He's going to need his sounding boards."_

_"And that's what we'll be if he needs us. We're his family," Molly said. "Now, let's get this cake to those men before they revolt." Just then, the kettle whistled. Hermione prepared a proper tea service and she and Molly levitated the treats to the sitting room._

_Later that night, Ron and Hermione sat reclined on their bed with Hermione leaning against Ron's muscular chest. "I'm worried," she said, taking Ron's hand and kissing it._

_"About what, Love," Ron asked. "Harry and Ginny?"_

_"Well, yes, but mostly about Harry and your father," she replied. "I mean, he thinks Arthur's in on this mess and...I'd just hate for them to have a rift between them. Harry has always trusted your dad and I have to wonder if that trust is...well...broken."_

_"Yeah, I know. I was thinking about that a bit too," Ron agreed, running his free hand up and down her arm. "Harry's been lied to and manipulated so much by people he believed in, that his trust isn't easy to earn anymore."_

_"And once broken..."_

_"Yeah. I had to work right hard to make him trust me again and I know he hasn't forgotten..."_

_"Ron, that was a long time ago and it wasn't about trust either. That was about immaturity and jealousy, and nothing more. You never..."_

_"I turned on him because of jealousy, 'Mione. Twice. And I don't know if I'll ever make that up to him," Ron said sadly. After all they'd been through since the war, Ron still felt guilty about how he treated his best friend during the first weeks of the Triwizard Tournament in fourth year and then how he'd run out on Harry and Hermione during the Horcrux hunt._

_"That hurt him, yes, but you never, never set him up or did anything to ridicule him no matter how jealous you were. Even during that time you and he weren't talking, you still defended him from Malfoy's comments about Rita's articles. Ron, if he didn't trust you, he wouldn't have chosen you as his partner," Hermione reasoned. "You need to let that go, my love, and just be there for him through __this__."_

_"But..."_

_"But nothing, Ronald Bilius Weasley. You're a good man and a good friend, and I've no doubt you'll be a good husband and father too," she said, turning in his arms and gazing into his eyes. "I love you, Harry loves you, my parents love you, and your family loves you. You obviously don't understand how special you are to us."_

_"Me? Special," Ron snorted. "Hardly."_

_"Ron, you are special in your own way. You have a place in each of our hearts that no one else could ever fill. But this really isn't about __your __relationship with Harry; it's about your __father's__," Hermione reminded him._

_Ron hung his head a little lower in shame. "Sorry. Looks like I went all selfish again, yeah?"_

_"No, not exactly. You're just still feeling guilty," she said, kissing his hand again. "But channel those feelings you have and put them on your dad. He's a very sweet man and the thought that he may have breached the trust of a son has got to be breaking his heart."_

_"Bloody hell! It'd kill him if Harry... 'Mione, we've got to explain—" The abrupt understanding of how his father might be suffering finally struck home in the young Auror's mind._

_"If we need to, yes. We'll try to explain, but what I'm really hoping for is that Ginny can talk sense to him." Hermione sighed. "I think...I hope...that deep down, Harry knows Arthur would never deliberately set him up to be humiliated like that, but knowing Harry, it's going to take time to get there. That's what bothers me most."_

_"Yeah, and from what Kingsley told us, he didn't mean for that to happen either. He's really hacked off at that Babbling woman," Ron mused. "Maybe it's a good thing he sent his Patronus to tell Harry to stay with the team until they get back."_

_"I wonder if it was meant as an apology or as a means to allow Harry to cool off before he storms the Minster's office and blows his—"_

_Ron winced. "I get the picture, Hermione. No need for graphic...hyperbole."_

_"Hyperbole? And since when does my ginger god use such big words," Hermione asked with a wicked grin._

_"Since he found his goddess," Ron murmured into her neck before he kissed her shoulder._

__

_"Artie, what is it, dear," Molly asked her husband as they doused the lights. "You're awfully quiet."_

_"I fear I've let Harry down," he sighed, running his hands through his thinning hair. "That boy has placed his trust in me more times than I can count and then...this."_

_Molly completely understood her husband's hurt. After thirty years of marriage and seven children, the elder Weasleys had developed a bit of emotional clairvoyance between them that allowed them to effectively comfort one another. "Artie, have a little faith in the boy. He didn't give up on Ronnie through all of their disagreement—yes, they've had them—so I'm sure he's not going to give up on you," she soothed, holding his careworn face in her hands. "And have a little faith in your daughter. She has a way of getting to him no one else can. It's that special bond they have. She'll calm him down, listen to him, and then set him straight."_

_"Ah yes. She does have that much of you in her, Mollywobbles," Arthur replied with a watery smile. "Still...it bothers me to know that I had some small part in hurting him this way. After all he's been through..."_

_"Arthur Weasley, you listen to me. Everything's going to be all right once you and Harry have had a chance to talk. In fact, I have a feeling he'll come to you first. He almost always does—well, at least after Ginny."_

_"I certainly hope so. I really do love him as much as our gingers," Arthur confessed. "To lose him would be like...like..."_

_"Like losing Freddie all over again," Molly asked, a bit misty-eyed._

_Arthur could only nod as tears began to stream down his face from cerulean eyes. Even a year-and-a-half later, he still hadn't entirely healed from Fred's passing, and now the thought of losing his raven-haired son's trust would be akin to losing him to death. "I couldn't bear it, Molly!"_

_"There, there," Molly soothed, stroking her husband's face and planting small kisses all over it. "Just let it go for now and get some rest. It'll all be much brighter in the morning."_

_"Good night, Love."_

_"Good night, my darling Arthur."_

__

_Ron stepped out of the Floo into the kitchen of the Burrow after a spectacularly crappy day. Harry had sent his Patronus saying he'd received Kingsley's and that he was taking the Minister up on his offer to allow Harry to stay with the team. He was obviously still barking after the Babbleham Incident, but most likely, Ginny had made him see reason before he arrived with wands blazing to curse Kingsley or Arthur to the next kingdom._

_In addition, the Harpies returned from Ireland, so Harry and Ginny were off to Merlin-knew-where doing Merlin-knew-what by now. The Harpies had won their second game in Ireland two days earlier and Ginny had again done a stellar job. She wasn't far from making the top-ten Chasers roster for scoring the most goals in a single season._

_Ron's happiness for his sister's skill as a Chaser wasn't enough to enhance his mood, however. He swore the internal memos that darkened the airspace at the Ministry had a mind of their own and took every opportunity to come in greater numbers than ever, only to drive Ron to the brink of madness in Harry's absence. The smell of Molly's supper did improve Ron's mood greatly, though, as he strode through the kitchen to kiss his mother's rosy cheek. __"__Hi Mum. Where is everyone? I know Seamus is still on duty, but it's so…silent. Is something wrong?"_

_"__Your father sent his Patronus just a short while ago. He's running a bit late—something about a load of memos."_

_"__Tell me about it," Ron huffed as he dropped his six-feet-four-inch fame onto his customary chair at the table. "They arrived in mutinous hoards today. I can banish a lot of them to __Chief Potter__ and only tend to those that require immediate action, but Mum, they're a ruddy menace!"_

_Molly gave Ron an empathic smile. "Well, speaking of __Chief Potter__, Harry and Ginny are still up the road. They managed to arrange a meeting with the Phelps brothers about the new house," she continued._

_"That's great. Harry needs to think about other things than that... incident. Ginny sure knows how to handle him like no other. If she'd been of age at the time, we could have used her…well, you know." Ron said._

_Molly chose to ignore her son's implication that Ginny could have been on the run during the war and in so much danger. "She's possibly more stubborn than Harry," Molly said, not without pride in her voice._

_"__So, they'll get started on building their house pretty soon," Ron concluded. "I better remind Hermione about those altered wards she promised them."_

_"__Altered, as in __unauthorized,__" Molly asked sharply._

_"__Mum, Harry and Ginny need the best wards available and that means 'Mione's. And since no one else knows how she casts them, there's a lesser chance of anyone breaching them undetected."_

_"__I guess you're right," Molly said, not totally comfortable with the arrangement. While so much stayed the same in their world, so much had also begun to change. Sometimes it was difficult for her to get her head around the fact that she was surrounded by talented witches and wizards that she had had some hand in rearing. Running her hands lovingly through her youngest son's thick locks, she smiled privately to herself. "Hermione is in your room, dear," she said quietly, nodding toward the stairs. __So like Billy…_

_Ron took the stairs to the top floor two at a time and opened the door to his and Hermione's room. Every available space was covered with piles of books, files and parchments. Hermione lay on their bed, reading, her brows furrowed in concentration, her wild curls tucked behind her ears. Ron hadn't seen this many books since Hermione had prepared for her NEWTs only months before._

_"__Uh, hello," Ron said._

_Hermione looked up from her book, with the kind of smile on her face that only books could generate. __"__Hello, Handsome," she said with a demure smile._

_"__What is...all this about, Love," Ron asked gesturing to all the books, picking one up "__The Second World War, Volume 2, Their Finest Hour __by Winston S Churchill. 'Mione, this is a __Muggle__ book."_

_Hermione closed the book she was reading and signed for Ron to sit next to her. After giving him a kiss she looked at him intensely. __"__Yes, it __is__ a Muggle book, and that," Hermione said pointing to six large stacks of parchments, "is __Wizengamot__ records. The pile you picked that book from—and please return it there since I've organized it all—is comprised of Muggle biographies and personal accounts of the war._

_"__Uh-huh," Ron mumbled and carefully returned the book to the pile. "And the one you're reading?"_

_"__I'm pretty oriented to the English viewpoint, so I'm brushing up my German history, getting to know the enemy, as it were. This little gem, if you want to call it that, is __Mein Kampf__, a book by __the German leader." She showed him the cover with a rather badly-rendered watercolor portrait of Adolf Hitler._

_"__Isn't that the nutter you and Harry said was a Muggle version of Voldemort," Ron asked, recalling the talk they've had about the Muggle war during the Grindelwald era._

_"Right in one, my love__. He was perfectly insane…and incredibly paranoid," Hermione said. "But I only read this book to get some background on him beyond what's taught in the schools. It's really rather disturbing."_

_"__How did you get all of this here," Ron asked._

_Hermione pointed to her old ragged beaded bag and Ron sighed in his dismay. __Is she ever going to part with that thing?_

_"__It still serves its purpose. We had loads more stuffed in it back in '98," she reasoned with a pleading look in her cinnamon eyes. She knew he was disappointed that she still clung to that old thing, but she just couldn't bring herself to transfer everything into the new leather one she'd bought and charmed from Harrods._

_"__And what's with the Geezergamot records, 'Mione? An alternative to sleeping draughts," Ron snickered, deciding to let the bag issue lay for now._

_"__It's only a starting point, you silly git," Hermione giggled, relieved he chose not to gig her about it. "Each pile contains records from the war years, 1939-1945. Do you remember how I found it peculiar that there's nothing in History of Magic about this war, because it must've affected the Wizarding world too, because of its scale?"_

_Ron nodded, keeping his mouth shut about how he was afraid Hermione might be overdoing this slightly._

_"__I intend to see what's hidden between the lines in those records, Ron," Hermione continued. "And take it from there. I will most likely have to go through several Departments' records based on the discoveries in the Wizengamot records, and try to ferret-out Ministry employees from the period."_

_"__And you're putting yourself through all of this for ELF? Isn't this going a bit over the top, 'Mione," Ron asked carefully. "What about Dobby's Law?"_

_"__Oh, but I find this intriguing. I do this for fun, but I might find something I can use in my infiltration of ELF," Hermione said confidently. "And as for Dobby's Law, that's all pretty-well set. All I really have to do is draft it, present it after the elections, and hope for the best. But since the very infrastructure of our entire government may be at stake here, this takes precedence."_

_Ron shook his head. No matter how much he loved Hermione, he would never understand how it was possible to study Wizengamot records for fun. Percy doing it was one thing, but his 'Mione? __I need to get her out more. __"All right. Mum's preparing supper, so I'll leave you to your... fun... until supper, then."_

_"__Ronald, I hope to have my fun __after__ supper—right after bedtime," Hermione said with an impish grin._

_"__That sounds like __my__ kind of fun," Ron growled and gave Hermione a passionate kiss before returning downstairs. "Mmm…tasty."_

_Returning to the kitchen Ron found Harry and Ginny there, thawing themselves out with cups of tea. __"__A bit left to do with the insulation in your home," Ron asked them. "And... Welcome back, Sis."_

_"__Oh, hail the great and powerful wise arse, Ginny greeted her brother. "And thank you."_

_"__All right, Harry," Ron asked tentatively._

_Harry turned to Ginny and smiled into her eyes. "Never better, mate. But I __will__ confront the Minister to have this mess sorted out, but I won't duel him over it." __As much as I'd love nothing better than to hex his bits off._

_"__Bugger, that could've been interesting. The former Head Auror against the current one," Ron snickered. "The duel of the century."_

_"__Like Ginny said, oh wise arse, the duel of the century happened over a year ago, remember? That's the one where Mum sent Bellatrix to a dirt-nap," Harry huffed._

_"No, it's the one where you sent Tom Riddle to his own personal hell," Ginny said, stroking her husband's face. "And you know it."_

_"Look, it's not important, okay," Harry said, becoming agitated. "It was a joke, not a point of historical doctrine."_

_"__So…how're the plans coming together," Ron asked, abruptly changing the subject much to the pleasure of his raven brother._

_"__Nicely, actually," Ginny said brightly, rubbing Harry's back to calm him. "The Phelps' said they can start building right after Halloween, and two weeks later our house will be ready for us to move in."_

_"__They've been quite busy with repairs and rebuilding homes after the war. Since we were able to stay here, we told them early on that they should see to those with nowhere else to live before building our house," Harry said. "But now it's really going to happen. Our own home—__ours__."_

_Harry looked lovingly at Ginny and raised her hand to his lips._

_"__By the way: where's Hermione," Ginny asked her brother, taking another sip of tea._

_"She's buried herself in piles of __Muggle history books about the Second World War, and then she wants to compare them to Wizengamot records for those years. She's having... __fun,__" Ron revealed with a roll of his eyes._

_Harry and Ginny looked dubiously at him. __"__So we brace ourselves for an onslaught of lectures," Harry assumed._

_Ron nodded. "She thinks she'll find it useful in her ELF activities." he said._

_"__Oh brilliant," Harry huffed, slapping his forehead. "As a Deputy Auror, she'll file her reports to me and then want to explain them." The three of them shared a laugh while Hermione read on._

__

Harry and Ron made their way through the Atrium, headed for the lifts. "What's your plan Harry," Ron asked, since this was Harry's first time back at work after the disastrous lesson with Miss Babbleham.

"I'm going to see Kingsley," Harry said in a determined monotone.

"Did you actually score an appointment," Ron asked in awe. It wasn't easy to make an appointment with the Minister for Magic, no matter who one claimed to be.

"He'd better fit me in," Harry growled. "It's the least he could do after—Look, it seems he meant no harm, and was as shocked as I was by Miss Babbleham's behaviour, but that's not the point."

"So you won't duel him, then," Ron asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, Ron. I won't," Harry laughed. "I'm hoping we can resolve this like adults."

"You'd take him, you know," Ron nudged him, grinning. They entered the elevator, and pushed the number two and number one buttons.

"I dunno, mate. He's a good fighter with years of experience on me," Harry said.

"Yeah? Well, so was Voldemort and you took him down," Ron argued, eliciting a scowl from his friend. "Aw, c'mon Harry, he's out of shape, and you're better now than ever before," Ron encouraged him. "Ginny can't keep her hands off you."

"Maybe, but it's not a theory I care to test right now," Harry said followed by a gleam in his eyes.

"No," Ron gasped, knowing very well what that gleam meant. "You're going to pull a prank on him! I think my sister's had a bad influence on you. Where's that Potter nobility?"

"What makes you think she's involved," Harry asked.

"Hello? She's George's little sister," Ron reminded him a little louder than necessary. "She grew up pranking people she by no means should even have been able to prank!"

Harry shrugged. "Well, she was very supportive and we did come up with this together," Harry confessed.

"Tell me."

"Oh, nothing fancy... just some Funny Floo Powder planted in his office," Harry revealed.

Ron grinned. "That's bloody brilliant," he said and looked seriously at Harry. "I hope you won't be sent to Azkaban for it," Ron commented.

"No worries, mate. Hermione says it's perfectly legal to prank the Minister, and besides, my public would be outraged and screaming for the Minister's head," Harry chuckled.

"She's in on it _too,_" Ron asked, aghast.

"We had to be sure there wouldn't be any legal ramifications."

They reached Level Two and Ron got off. Soon after, Harry left the elevator at Level One. He headed for the secretary he knew kept track of Kingsley's schedule.

"I'm here so see Minister Shacklebolt," Harry said with his authoritarian don't-argue-with-me tone.

"Of course. He's expecting you, Auror Potter," the secretary replied, sensing the Head Auror was not a happy man.

"He is," Harry asked surprised.

"Please, he's in his office," she urged, eager to be shot of an angry wizard of Harry Potter's calibre.

Harry confidently opened the Minister's inner-office door and strode inside, his chest out and his head held high. Harry was pleased to find Arthur there and nodded to him. Upon laying eyes on Miss Babbleham, Harry only glared. He noticed that today, she wore robes appropriate for work at the Ministry of Magic.

"Harry," Kingsley greeted warmly, if not cautiously. He knew Harry had a temper and his Head Auror's countenance belied it. "Welcome. Please be seated."

Harry eyed Kingsley and Arthur but appeared to ignore Miss Babbleham. Kingsley nodded to the apparently chastised instructor. "Proceed."

"Chief Potter, sir," Miss Babbleham began. "I'm very sorry for my less-than-professional behaviour during your lesson. It was immature and I humbly ask your forgiveness." She had been reading from a parchment, containing an apology Kingsley had ordered her to read.

"Before I forgive you, Miss Babbleham, I want you to bring something into perspective for you," Harry said with a hint of hostility in his voice. "I want you to know that the way you treated me was akin to a low seduction. When I left—nay, _fled_—your office, I felt unclean and used. Never has anyone, including witches who'd had even a glimmer of a chance at garnering my attention, accosted me in that manner."

The woman's face dropped to her lap, where she fiddled with her hands, knowing she'd royally overstepped her bounds. Her hero-worship had landed her in more hot water than she'd imagined after the Minister confronted her. "Yes, sir."

"Furthermore, I could demand your removal from your post based on sexual harassment, but I won't simply because you're the only person who can teach me the Wedding Charm at this time. And since I gave my word to Draco Malfoy to cast the charm over him and his beloved, I intend to keep it, regardless of my inability to trust you. I only hope you have learned your lesson here, because if it happens again, I shall demand recompense. Do you read me, Miss Babbleham?"

"Yes, Chief Potter. I…I read you," she replied meekly.

"Then you're forgiven," Harry said flatly, more because it was required, than that he actually meant it.

Kingsley signed for Miss Babbleham to leave, which she did with tears streaming down her face and her head hung low. As soon as she left the office, Arthur looked at Harry and took a deep breath.

"Look, Harry, son, I also want to apologize. I know Miss Babbleham, and I should have told you in advance what to expect. That said, I never dreamed she'd go this far. I can only hope your trust in me isn't damaged. I'll admit there was an aspect of sending you to her that seemed amusing even if I was less than enthused, but if I'd known… I should've told you about her so you could have at least been prepared for the possibility..." Arthur said.

"Dad..." Harry interrupted, which calmed Arthur considerably. "There's no need for you to apologize. I know you'd never do anything to intentionally hurt anyone in our family—or out of it for that matter."

Arthur sighed in relief. "Thank you, Harry," Arthur said.

Kingsley spoke next, hoping for a similar resolution. "Harry, when I made your appointments with Miss Babbleham, I specifically forbade her from using the bride/groom perspective method because of your own so-recent nuptials. Anyone who's ever worked with her knows she's a bit flighty around people she perceives as powerful or famous. When I found out what she'd done the other night, I was appalled and angry."

"Minister—"

"Please, Harry, let me finish," Kingsley interrupted. Harry nodded his assent.

"The moment she arrived to work, I summoned her to this office for a full-out dressing down. I let her know in no uncertain terms that she was never again to appear in this building dressed as though she were going clubbing, nor was she to ever to appear painted up like—how did Ron say you put it—a Knockturn Alley whore."

Arthur gasped at such coarse language, but this was hardly a time to worry about pleasantries and proprieties. His seventh son was severely wronged and as far as he was concerned, Harry had every right to use whatever language he saw fit.

"I ordered Miss Babbleham to formally apologize to you in person and in writing. She is also to send an official apology to your wife. Harry, if she steps one toe out of line again, you let me know and I will take care of it," he said "But I also must admit I thought it would be amusing to send you unknowingly into her lair."

Harry theatrically rose and paced around the office for a while, finally stopping in front of the fire place. "Kingsley, I understand you meant no harm, but knowing Miss Babbleham as you do, I have to wonder what the bloody hell you were thinking!" He used Kingsley's shock to switch bowls of Floo Powder behind his back while he glared at the Minister's discomfort.

"Do you have the slightest clue what this almost did to my marriage? I mean, I felt as thought I'd cheated on my Ginny! I had to go work out for a few hours just to get sweaty enough for a hot shower to cleanse myself. But I still felt dirty. I had to Apparate all the way to Kenmare to see Ginny. I had to confess!"

"Harry, you didn't—" Arthur began.

"No, Dad. I need to say this," Harry cut across him. "He needs to know how much this hurt Ginny."

"Kingsley, Ginny was heartbroken—not because she agreed with my cheating assessment, but that you would have blindsided me with this. I am married to the most beautiful, talented, smart, sweet witch on this godforsaken planet, and I'll be damned if any Ministry meandering is going to interfere with it!"

While Kingsley and Arthur gaped, Harry silently cast the Lacrima charm, causing tears to begin to flow. "Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to face Ginny, knowing how much this was going to hurt her," Harry choked. "I thought I would lose her!"

"Harry, I told you, I never meant—"

"I know that, but…but…" Harry conjured a handkerchief and made to blow his nose.

Arthur found himself taken in by his son-in-law's pain and stood to embrace him as a father would embrace a distraught son. "It's all right, Harry. Ginny understood everything, didn't she?"

"Y-yes. She…she said she didn't blame me, but…" Harry wiped his eyes and silently canceled the charm and smirked. "You are in deep shit when Ginny gets hold of you!"

"Bloody hell," Kingsley growled. "You had me going there, Potter. Where did you learn to act?"

"I'm an Auror, aren't I? The crying charm is pretty great, yeah," Harry said, re-taking his seat. "But seriously, Kingsley. I do forgive you—this time—but I do have a condition to working with Miss Babbleham."

"Name it," Kingsley replied, relieved that his Chief Auror let him off the hook with his bits intact.

"I am never to be in a room with that woman ever again without a third party in attendance at all times…to keep her honest," Harry told him pointedly. "Without fail."

"Who did you have in mind," the Minister asked.

"Well, when she's available, my wife," Harry replied simply.

"And if she's not," Kingsley led him.

"Let me ask you something, sir," Harry said with a twinkle in his emerald eyes.

"Ask away."

"What exactly is Percy Weasley's job," Harry asked point-blank, noticing Arthur's curious look.

Harry's question surprised the Minister because it was something no one really thought too much about.

"Right. That is a tough one, isn't it," Kingsley started. "Formally, he was promoted from Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic to Personal Assistant to Minister Fudge. That was shortly before Fudge resigned, you understand. The paperwork was done, but it was never officially announced."

"But Fudge is retired, right," Harry asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yes, well, until the Ministry fell in '97, he was Scrimgeour's liaison to the Muggle Prime. But now he is retired, yes. I heard he moved to southern France," Kingsley told them.

"And Percy?"

"Well, his job description is still formally _Personal Assistant to Minister Fudge,_" Kingsley revealed, feeling a bit sheepish for not having addressed this sooner.

"Are you saying Percy's an Assistant to a Minister that's no longer a Minister, and who's not even living in-country," Arthur asked, perfectly flabbergasted that his son's job was a non-entity.

"Formally, yes," Kingsley said, trying to maintain some degree of decorum.

"He's doing a job that doesn't exist," Harry asked for clarification.

"Yes, and truth be told, he's very good at it," Kingsley grinned. "As Minister, I can assign him tasks, but for some reason, I can't change his formal position. I have the Department of Mysteries looking into it, but they don't consider it a real priority. So the answer to your question is that I'm not really sure what his job is, since it doesn't exist other than he is a Ministry employee."

"Mental..." Harry muttered, and then sat up straight. "Well, I have a task for him, then."

"Name it," Kingsley replied, suspecting what was coming.

"While I have these lessons with Public Enema Number One, I ask for Percy Ignatius Weasley to be in attendance as a witness with or without my wife present," Harry said with a curt nod.

"Done," Kingsley agreed. "Harry, again, I sincerely apologise for putting you on the spot like that. I hope that this has taught all of us a valuable lesson."

"I believe it has," Harry agreed. _Or at least it will, you sneaky git._

Fiona lay sprawled across her bed, sobbing her heart out. Mr Deeds flapped down from his perch on the wardrobe and alit beside her, hooting mournfully. He nipped lightly at her fingers and nudged her hand with his great plumicorned head.

"Oh Deeds! What's this world comin' to? What makes kids wanna kill each other," she wailed. "Somethin's not right, here, ol' boy." She stroked his soft feathers as hot tears streamed from her blue eyes, now red-rimmed and swollen.

Mr Deeds hooted again and snapped his beak in sympathy for his friend.

"Those poor babies," she wailed again. "All cut up like that! And that poor boy layin' at that hospital! He might not make it," she sobbed. "He might die over a damn game! What did we get ourselves into, Deeds?"

The great owl hooted again as though he were trying to comfort her. "Hootle-ooh! Hootle-ooh!"

Fiona sat up, conjured a handkerchief, and wiped her eyes. Blinking away new tears, she spied her old guitar on its stand in the near corner to her bed. "Mokey," she breathed and made to get up. "That's what we can do, Deeds! We'll go visit our wounded Slytherin at St Mungo's and see if we can't lift his spirits a bit."

She packed Mokey into his case and shrunk him to fit in her rucksack, and then went into the loo to splash some cold water on her face. From there, she tossed a bit of Floo Powder into her grate. "Hospital wing," she said and dropped to her knees.

"Fiona, dear. What can I do for you," Poppy's head said.

"I…I was wond'rin' if it might be okay if I made a visit to St Mungo's. I…I think I c'n help that poor boy," she said, fighting back a new flood of tears."

"How so—_oh!_ Of course! It might be just the thing for the lad. The last report I got from Healer Wyatt was that he's stable, but still very critical," Poppy said, shaking her head.

"I know, Miss Poppy. I…" She couldn't hold back. Her tears for the injured children flowed again.

"I dare say that little trip might do you a bit of good as well, but stop by here on the way. I'll give you a little Calming Draught to settle you. You don't want to see the boy with puffy eyes, now do you," the matron said sympathetically. "You've got a bit of the Empath in you, no doubt. Probably from your mother."

"Yes, ma'am. Momma just always seem ta know…" Fiona wiped her eyes again. "I'll be right through, then."

"You can Floo out from here once I get that potion into you," Poppy told her.

Calmed and cool, Fiona sent Deeds for a fly, shouldered her rucksack, and Flooed away from Hogwarts to the Wizarding hospital in London. Upon arrival in the reception area, she showed her Hogwarts identification and asked where she might find Healer Leo Wyatt.

"Healer Wyatt is gone for the day, but Healer Augustus Pye is on-duty on that ward until midnight, Miss…Prewett," the grandmotherly receptionist told her, handing her an identification card. "Just take that set of lifts to the fourth floor. You'll find the Spell Damage ward there. Just sign in with the nursing station when you arrive and then sign out when you leave."

"Thank you, ma'am. I do appreciate it," Fiona said politely. She turned toward the lifts and walked away from the desk. The receptionist watched her as she walked away, wondering what brought an American witch to Hogwarts.

The lift arrived on the fourth floor and opened right in front of the nursing station. The clerk on duty looked up at the sound of the lift bell and smiled as Fiona stepped off. "You must be Miss Prewett from Hogwarts," she said softly. "Dorothy let us know you were on your way up. I'll notify Healer Pye that you're here."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you ma'am," Fiona replied, thankful for the effects of the Calming Draught. Just being inside the hospital knowing there was so much misery there tugged at her heart. She again fought back tears and was tempted to cast a Cheering Charm on herself just as a rather handsome young Healer approached.

"Miss Prewett," the Healer said, holding out his hand. "I'm Augustus Pye, but you can just call me Gus. I've been assigned to your student here."

"Pleased to meet you, Gus. I'm Fiona," she replied. "How's our Mr. Felton?"

"Jason's resting, but he's not out of the woods yet. Those are some vicious curse wounds. Have you any idea who might have done such a thing to him," he asked.

"I wish I did, Gus," she said regretfully, shaking her head and biting back a sob. "It was just a game and…then it became a war! Curses 'n' hexes flyin' everywhere. We had all we could do corral the kids and clean up the mess. Nobody knows who did what, other'n the first hexes came from the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw stands."

"But this boy's a Slytherin, am I right," Pye asked, his eyes fixed on the boy lying still in the bed.

"He is, but once the fight really started, it didn't matter a whit who belonged to what House. It was…it was…" Tears began to roll down her cheeks again. "I-I'm sorry. It's just so much. We got two more still in the wing at school. They're pretty banged up too."

"I see," Pye said. "So what brings you here this evening, Fiona?"

"Well, I thought I might could give Jason here a little boost," she said shyly.

"Oh? How so?"

"Well…if I say, ya gotta promise not to tell a soul," she said, looking straight into his eyes. "It's a rare thing and very private with me."

Gus Pye didn't quite know what to make of this redhead whose accent belied her American southern roots. Still, he couldn't sense anything sinister about her and since she was a fellow Healer, who was he to deny her. "All right, then. You have my word as a Healer and a wizard."

"I'm a Canticumagus," she confessed. "I can heal—or at least help heal—with song."

"Are you serious? I mean, I've heard of Canticumagi, but I've never met one. You people are a real mystery, did you know that," he said in awe of the young woman before him. "You—you're really…"

"I am."

"By all means, do your magic. If it doesn't heal him, it'll sure make the rest of us feel better. A Canti! Wow," he gushed and then slapped a hand to his forehead. "Please forgive my manners! Allow me to bring you a chair, shall I?"

"Thank you, Gus. I don't know how long I'll need to be here," she giggled.

A few moments later, he reappeared with a chair and set it down quietly near Jason Felton's bed. Fiona sat down and opened her rucksack, extracting a miniaturised guitar from inside. "_Engorgio,_" she whispered and flicked her wand. The instrument stretched and twisted until it returned to its original size.

Healer Pye looked on as she turned the machine heads to adjust the tuning and then slung the strap over her shoulder. Next, she reached into her bag and pulled out an object that looked something like an open clamp and attached it to the nut between the neck and head of the guitar. "It's a capo," she said, noticing Gus's questioning look. "It raises the pitch of the strings by half-steps, depending on which fret it's set behind."

Satisfied with the pitch of each string, she began to pick softly with her fingers. The sweet sound carried through the ward and attracted the attention of anyone within earshot. After a few minutes, she began to sing.

_My song for you this evening is not to make you sad,_

_Nor for addin' to the sorrows of our troubled northern land._

_But lately, I've been thinkin' and it just won't leave my mind—_

_I'll tell you of two friends one time who were both good friends of mine._

_Isaac Scott from Banagh, he lived just across the fields,_

_A great man for the music, the dancin', and the reels._

_O'Malley came from south Armagh to court young Agnes fair,_

_And we'd often meet on the Ryan Road and laughter filled the air._

_And there were roses, roses—_

_There were roses, and the tears of the people fell together._

_Now Isaac, he was Protestant and Sean was Catholic-born,_

_But it never made a difference, for our friendship, it was strong._

_And sometimes in the evening, when we heard the sound of drums,_

_We said, "It won't divide us; we will always be as one."_

_For the ground out fathers ploughed in, the soil, it is the same._

_And the places where we say our prayers, they've just got different names._

_We talked about the friends who'd died and hoped there'd be no more,_

_But little then we realised the tragedy in store._

_And there were roses, roses._

_There were roses, and the tears of the people ran together._

_It was on a Sunday mornin' when the awful news came 'round:_

_Another killin' had been done just outside Newry town._

_We knew that Isaac danced up there, we knew he liked the bands;_

_When we heard that he was dead, we just could not understand._

_We gathered by the graveside on a cold and rainy day;_

_The minister, he closed his eyes and for no revenge he prayed._

_And all of us who knew him from along the Ryan Road—_

_We bowed our heads and said a prayer for the restin' of his soul._

_And there were roses, roses._

_There were roses, and the tears of the people ran together._

_Now fear, it filled the countryside, there was fear in every home;_

_When late at night a car came prowlin' 'round the Ryan Road._

_A Catholic would be killed tonight to even up the score—_

_Dear God! It's young O'Malley they've taken from the door!_

"_Isaac was me friend," he cried, and begged them with his tears,_

_But centuries of hatred have ears that cannot hear._

_An eye for an eye, it was all that filled their minds—_

_And another eye for another eye, 'til everyone is blind._

_And there were roses, roses._

_There were roses, and the tears of the people ran together._

_Now I don't know where the moral is or where this song should end,_

_But I wonder just how many wars are fought between good friends._

_And those who give the orders, they are not the ones die—_

_It's Scott and O'Malley and the likes of you and I!_

_And there were roses, roses._

_There were roses, and the tears of the people ran together…_

With a soft arpeggio, Fiona's song ended. Unbeknownst to her, rivers of tears flowed down the faces of her listeners. They all wondered if this American with the voice of a Siren had any idea what had gone on in their world over the past three or four years. But more importantly, what no one noticed was the single tear that leaked from the closed eyes of Jason Felton, a Slytherin from Belfast, Ireland.

Without a word of acknowledgement, Fiona moved her capo up Mokey's neck and set it behind the third fret. With a few instrumental bars, she lifted her voice again and began to sing an Aint hymn from the battered old hymnal Granny had given her so many years before.

_Come, thou Fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing Thy grace._

_Streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise._

_Teach me some melodious sonnet sung by flaming tongues above!_

_Praise the Mount, I'm fixed upon It, Mount of Thy redeeming love._

_O, to grace, how great a debtor daily I'm constrained to be!_

_Let Thy goodness, like a fetter, bond my wandering heart to Thee!_

_Prone to wander, how I feel it; prone to leave the home I love!_

_Here's my heart, O take and seal it; seal it for Thy courts above!_

"M-miss Prewett," a weak voice croaked from Jason's bed. "I-is that you? W-where am I?"

"Jason! Oh thank Merlin," Fiona cried quietly. "Gus! Come quick!" Fiona turned her attention back to the injured student. "You're gonna be fine, honey. You just rest easy. Healer Pye's comin'."

Fiona's alarm broke through the reverie the magic of her song had woven through the ward and round the entire fourth floor. Caregivers leapt to action again and began to see to their charges. "Gus, he's awake!"

"Let me have a look. Fiona, hand me that tray of potions there, will you," he directed her. "There should be a nutrient potion there—yes, the white one. That's it."

"Come on, honey. Drink this down. It'll help you heal," Fiona told him, raising the boy up enough to take the potion. "Ya gave us quite a scare, ya know."

While Fiona talked to the boy, Gus waved his wand over his body and then opened his pyjama shirt to take a look at the wounds across his chest and belly. "They're beginning to heal, Fiona. You've done it," he grinned. "See this one here? We couldn't get it to close and now it's showing signs that it's closing from the inside out."

She couldn't speak for the tears that choked her. Had she just single-handedly saved a life with little more than a song? Were her Canticumagus powers that strong?

"Miss Fi-fiona," Jason whispered. "Tell me what…happened. Why am I here?" Fiona's heart lurched as the boy attempted to move, but winced with the pain of his deep wounds.

"Jason, do you remember the Quidditch match," Gus asked him.

"Y-yeah. Something about Bludgers and then…curses everywhere," he whispered. "I was trying to cover some scared Firsties—"

"Coverin' some first-years," Fiona replied, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Y-yeah. There were crying and trying to run, but I made them lie down on the lowest bleachers," he said again, tears leaking from his eyes in earnest. "There was no way—"

"Shh, now. Ya did fine, Jason. All the little ones're just fine, but _you_ were hit with an ugly kinda cuttin' curse we cain't quite identify," she told him.

"Sec-sectumsempra," he asked, horrified.

"It looked like it at first, but the customary ointment wouldn't touch it. We were afraid we were going to lose you for a while there," Gus informed his patient. "Madame Pomfrey brought you in personally."

"My…my parents. Are they…"

"They're on their way," said a gentle voice from the doorway. "I owled them as soon as you woke up."

"Thank you, Ruth," Gus said. "I'm afraid I was a bit caught up here."

"We all were, Gus," she smiled. "Miss Prewett, that was beautiful!"

The redhead demurred and blushed pink. "Thank you, ma'am. Me 'n' Mokey were just doin' what we do."

"Mokey," Gus asked.

"The guitar," she said, pointing to the old instrument she'd laid in its case. "His name's Mokey."

"Healer Pye, sir," Jason whispered. "I…I felt like…I heard…music."

"Yes, young man, you did. You heard our Miss Prewett's music. She was singing to you," Gus told him.

"Gus," she hissed. "You promised." The Healer assured her with a glance that he wasn't going to reveal that it was the magic of her song that brought him back to the world, only that it was her music he heard. Reading his eyes, she relaxed.

"It was nice," he whispered. "But I'm really tired. Would you please wake me when my mum and dad arrive?"

"Of course, Mr. Felton," Healer Pye said, returning to his professional demeanour. "Is there anything we can get for you? Are you thirsty?"

"A-a little," the boy said weakly.

Healer Pye nodded to Fiona, who was nearest Jason's bed table. She poured a half-glass of water from the pitcher and then cast a freshening charm followed by a cooling charm on it to make it more palatable. Then she conjured a bendy straw and held it to his lips. "Take it slow, honey. We don't wantcha bringin' it back up."

As soon as Jason finished, she helped him lie back. Even though he wasn't technically her patient while he lay in St Mungo's, Fiona couldn't help looking after him and doing all she could to make him comfortable while she was at his bedside. As a Hogwarts student, he was one of "her kids" and she felt a modicum of responsibility for him.

It wasn't that she didn't trust the quality of care he received under the watchful eyes of Healers Wyatt and Pye—she was sure they were more than capable—it's just that she felt a bit territorial when it came to her patients, whether man or beast. As Jason drifted back into the loving arms of slumber, she packed Mokey up and prepared to return to Hogwarts.

"Fiona, thank you," Gus said, taking her hand and shaking it. "As the Muggles would say, you've been a shot in the arm for all of us, patients and staff alike. Perhaps you wouldn't mind standing on call for special circumstances?"

"Well...I think you'd need to clear that with St Mungo's 'n' then the headmistress, not ta mention Miss Poppy, but sure," she said, blushing once again. "I'd be happy ta help when I can."

"Oh trust me: Once Leo gets a load of my shift report and the stories circulate through the shifts, that won't be a problem," he chuckled. "But getting past McGonagall's going to be another story."

"She can be a bit scary, I'll give ya that," Fiona agreed. "But for now, I need to get back to school. Miss Poppy's gonna want a full report."

"I'm sure she will. She's like a mother bear when it comes to her students," Gus said. "She had a real soft spot for one of them not too long ago."

"I suppose you're talking about Cousin Harry," Fiona asked, as he escorted her to the Floo area.

"Cousin Harry," Gus repeated, intrigued. "Harry Potter's your cousin?"

"Well, no. He's married to my cousin, Ginny," she replied. "He's quite the charmer. She's a lucky gal."

"He's a hero, you know," Gus informed her. "He..."

"I know, and he doesn't like to talk about it. He's pretty low-profile as heroes go," she laughed.

Fiona and Gus parted ways at the Floo in the Staff break room. Since she might become a part-time Healer there, he thought it a courtesy to allow her to use Floo from there rather than from the waiting room. She stepped through the Floo in Madame Pomfrey's office, delivered her report and retired to her rooms. In spite of the wonderful developments in Jason Felton's recovery, she felt drained, as if she'd run a marathon.

Mr Deeds flapped through the window and settled on his favourite perch on top of the wardrobe. He hooted contentedly and set to preening his feathers. Fiona smiled up at her owl-friend as he bathed himself, watching him intently as though she'd never seen him groom himself before.

"You are a handsome boy, Deeds," she said with a yawn. "I'd love to stand here 'n' watch ya, but I'm beat. I'll see ya at breakfast." He hooted softly in response and continued to preen. Soon, Fiona drifted into a deep and restful sleep.

Hermione sat in her cubicle, organising the piles of documents she'd fished out of the massive files in the RCMC office. Between this and her ELF research, she was nearly pulling her hair out. Her wedding was only two months off and there was still so much to do. She and her attendants still had at least two more fittings before their gowns were finished, Ron still had to finalise the menu with Sam Chang and make the final payments on the gifts for the wedding party, and the elections for the Wizengamot were fast approaching.

The elections had her a bit concerned because Harry held two inherited seats and could sit only one of them, that which belonged to the Potter family. If the Black seat wasn't sat, it could be forfeited as inactive, as it had lain dormant since Sirius' father, Orion Black, passed away in the early 1980s. Sirius' fugitive status prevented him from taking his rightful place as Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. Unfortunately, his name hadn't been cleared until _after_ he'd been killed.

She shook her head, as if to clear it of the cacophony of thoughts that whirled through her mind. The only hope for the Black seat would be for Harry to pass it on and the only viable candidate was Andromeda Tonks, one of Sirius' two remaining cousins. Essentially, the last hope for that Noble House lay with Harry. _Holy cricket! Harry doesn't know he owns the Potter and Black seats on the Wizengamot! We got so caught up in his titles that night...I've got to tell him somehow—and soon. He's going to go spare, I just know it!_

She had just begun to pound her head on her desk in frustration, when Selma arrived at her desk with a letter than had been delivered by a Ministry courier. "Hermione, dear. I have a letter for you from Hogwarts, it appears. A Miss Patricia Templeton."

"Oh yes! Patricia's a friend of ours and a very good student. I wonder what she has to say," Hermione said, already exuberant over the prospect of reading something not associated with work or ELF.

"I'll just leave you to it, then," Selma said as she turned to leave.

"Oh no, Sel. You can stay if you want to. Pats' letters are always fun to read. Sit down and take a load off," Hermione chirped. "Now what's happening at Hogwarts this week?" Hermione unfolded the letter and flattened it out on her desk.

"_Dear Hermione,_

_Hello from Hogwarts! Erica, Emma, and Joseph wanted me to tell you HI, so…HI! Ha, ha. They've been quite busy with Quidditch practice. Dennis has really been working the team hard. From what I've seen, they've got a real shot at the House Quidditch Cup this year. Demelza and the twins are really good Chasers. Ginny would be so proud of them! The fly like the wind and bank and roll like a well-oiled machine. The JPs' bats are wicked! I'm surprised the Gryffindor Bludgers are all dented up, they hit them so hard._

"She's talking about the Gryffindor Quidditch team. The twins are Emma and Erica Prewett, and Pats' best friends. The JPs are Jimmy Peakes and Joseph Pointer. Joseph is Emma's boyfriend, Hermione explained. "We called the four of them—Patricia, Emma, Erica, and Joseph—our Munchkins last year when they were Firsties. Erica's got a heavy crush on Ron, Emma had a thing for Harry, and Joseph used to carry a picture of Ginny around in his book bag. Anyway, all but Patricia play on the Gryffindor Quidditch team now."

"Sounds like they're very good friends," Selma said wistfully.

Hermione nodded and continued to read.

"_I suppose by now you've heard about the match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. I guess Onie must've written. About twenty students were injured, with one sent to St Mungo's and two others still in the hospital wing with curse wounds. Fiona and Mme Pomfrey have really had their hands full with that and now all the injuries from the fights that keep breaking out in the corridors."_

"Good heavens," Selma gasped. "Was it a game or a war?"

"Harry and Ron should have…" Hermione drew her wand and pointed it at the letter. "_Geminio_." She folded the copy into a little aeroplane and sent it to the Auror Office. "I'm sure Minerva's going to have my head for this, but I can't let this go, Selma."

"Of course not, Hermione. You've done the right thing," Selma assured her. "I've known Minerva McGonagall for forty years. She's a tough lady and a fine educator, but this sounds like something she shouldn't try to handle alone."

_Professor McGonagall is at wit's end. I heard her tell Professor Flitwick that she's considering calling Aurors in. Hermione, it's getting really bad. A few dodgy Hufflepuffs are after me to join some kind of club, but I don't feel good about it. There's just something off about it."_

Hermione shuddered. _Some kind of club…there's just something off about it. Oh dear. ELF's recruiting children!_

"Hermione? Hermione, are you all right, dear?" Selma's voice cut through her thoughts.

"Oh, fine. I just got lost in my thoughts for a moment. Let's see what else Patricia has to say, shall we," she said, regaining her lost composure.

_On a lighter note, Halloween's approaching and we're told that the feast is going to be spectacular this year. Last year's was grand, but they're saying this one is going to be a real blow-out! I hope they don't mean that literally. Ha, ha. Perhaps you could all come in some "official" capacity—hint, hint?_

_Anyway, we're having a great time in our classes. Professor Watson, our Defence professor, is really funny! He tells the best stories about what he did in the war. Did you know he knows Ron's brother, Bill? He told us about Curse-breakers and that Bill is one. Professor Watson was a kind of resistance fighter during the war, kind of like the famous French resistance during World War 2. We're learning shield charms and there's this one—Impedimenta—that we're told Mr Longbottom was really good at."_

Hermione had to let go a little laugh. _Impedimenta_ and _Stupefy_ were both very useful at the Department of Mysteries that night.

"Sounds like they're really teaching those kids something these days. Too bad it took a horrible war for the Board of Governors to approve a better curriculum," Selma observed. "I mean, really. Jelly-legs jinxes are not defence—they're pranks!"

"You're a woman after my own heart," Hermione said. "We started the DA—well, Harry did, so we could learn to defend ourselves properly. Madame Umbridge—"

"Oh don't talk to me about that woman," Selma snarled. "When they locked her up in Azkaban, they should have thrown away the key! Her Muggleborn Registration Department was a disgrace. She and her cronies ruined so many lives."

"And mine would have been one of them if not for Harry and Ron," Hermione said vacantly. "Did you know she used a blood quill on Harry?" Selma gasped in horror. "Yes, and more than once. Next time you see him, take a peek at his right hand. The scars are still there, big as life."

"Not that dear sweet young man," Selma said. "How—"

"To quote Old Toadface: _what Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him_," Hermione said in a sickly-sweet impression of the former Inquisitor of Hogwarts. "She was going to cast the Cruciatus curse on Harry because he couldn't—and wouldn't—tell her where Professor Dumbledore was or what he was up to," Hermione explained. "We don't have many fond memories of our fifth year at Hogwarts."

"Does Patricia say any more," Selma asked, dabbing at her eyes with handkerchief. She had grown quite fond of Hermione, Ron, and Harry, and the thought of them under persecution of any kind broke her heart.

"_Professor Slughorn is a bit of stitch, as usual. Does he really "collect" people? He talks about you and Harry all the time, you know, and he really goes on about Mrs Potter, Harry's mum. I guess she was quite good with potions. It's quite annoying, actually._

_Mr Deeds, Onie's owl, really likes Hagrid. Every morning, he flies into the Great Hall and goes straight to Hagrid's shoulder. I've seen him feed him bits of bacon and toast. He's a beautiful owl, but a real mooch. He and Murray have become pretty good friends. They sometimes go hunting together._

_We're all studying hard. It won't be long before end-of-term exams are up and I want to be ready for them if I'm going to earn all those NEWTs in my seventh year like you did. Joseph's already talking about wanting to make the grade so he can__ be an Auror like "Mr 'Arry."_

_Anyway, that's about all for now. Please write soon. And tell Harry and Ron the first Gryffindor's first match is against Slytherin the Saturday before Halloween._

_Hugs and Love,_

_Patricia_

"Perhaps that game won't erupt into a full-scale battle," Selma said. "I dare say it might not be a bad idea on Minerva's part to have a few Aurors and Troopers on hand just in case."

"I think you're right, Selma. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if that's what Patricia was driving at when she invited us to Halloween in some _official capacity_," Hermione agreed.

Harry, Ron, and Seamus were going over plans for the next ELF meeting in which Seamus would bring Dean into the organisation when Hermione's plane flew into the office and landed on Harry's desk.

"What's that then," Ron asked, crossing the room to stand behind Harry.

"Listen to this, mates," Harry said. "It's a copy of a letter from Patricia. Hermione forwarded this on to us." Harry proceeded to read the letter, and as he read, the top three Aurors in Britain began to seethe with anger.

"What was McGonagall thinkin' not callin' us in," Seamus exclaimed. "That was a bloody riot, that was!"

"Seamus, did Dumbledore call in the Aurors every time something went wrong," Harry asked.

"I can list a few cases when he should have, mate," Ron growled. "Always covering stuff up. Nearly got you killed how many times?"

"That's right, Harry," Seamus agreed. "This is big. Twenty students injured, three of 'em cut to ribbons, and one of 'em might not make it. She should have called us in, I tell ya!"

Harry sighed heavily. "Well, we know now. I think it's time we paid our favourite _feline_ a visit, yeah?"

"Yeah, and maybe have a chat with the students who were injured as well," Ron said. "Maybe we can get a real perspective as to what happened at the match."

Seamus smiled secretly to himself. He hoped he might run into the woman who had invaded his thoughts and dreams since he met her on Platform 9 ¾ several weeks before. He'd taken extra shifts and assignments hoping to keep her off his mind, but still she appeared in his dreams and he would awaken with a stiff testimony of his ardor.

"Coming mate," Ron asked, nudging the Irishman, handing him his cloak. "Or are you going to stand there daydreaming?"

"Right. Let's go," Seamus replied, throwing his cloak over his shoulders.

_A/N: Fiona's songs are "There Were Roses," by the late Tommy Sands and "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing," a hymn of thanks and praise originating in the 18__th__ century._


	21. Chapter 21 The Ancient and Most Noble Ho

**Chapter 21 – The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black**

On their way out, Ron's tactical senses alerted him. _Three Aurors barging into the headmistress' office? _"Mates," he intoned, halting Harry and Seamus in the doorway. "Maybe all three of us marching into McGonagall's office isn't the best way to play this."

The other two turned and eyed him questioningly. "So what are ya sayin'," Seamus asked.

"That we send Harry. Professor McGonagall does have a soft spot for him," Ron suggested.

"Maybe you're right," Seamus agreed "What do ya think Harry?"

Harry considered it and realised it may be a bit of a rash move for all three of them to converge on the headmistress at once.

"All right. I'll go first, but you two can tickle a pear and be ready to join the meeting," Harry said and left the office to Floo from the Atrium.

Minerva McGonagall sat in her office replying to letters from worried parents about the unrest at school as the Floo erupted in green flames. "Professor McGonagall, are you there," Harry's voice asked.

"Well, Auror Potter! Hello! I've asked you to call me Minerva, you know. I'm not your professor any longer."

"All right, Minerva, so long as you call me Harry," he sighed. "Could you spare a few moments of your time to see me?"

"Please. I need a break anyway," she said appreciatively, rubbing her temples.

The moment after Harry stepped out of the fire place. Professor McGonagall showed him to an armchair and conjured some tea for them.

"Tell me. How are Gryffindor's finest doing these days," she asked with a stern look hinting at a smile.

"Ginny and are having a new home built in Ottery-St Catchpole, a mile up the road from the Burrow. It'll be finished around the middle of November."

"Molly's letting you go," the headmistress smirked. "How did you get that around her?"

"I guess she's a bit dubious about it, but since it's not that far away, she's not too fussed. But then again, she's been busy with Ron's and Hermione's wedding preparations."

"Yes I received the lovely invitation. How's Hermione settling in at the Ministry?"

"Working with and for Amos Diggory hasn't been without its headaches, but she's doing just fine."

"With ten Os on her NEWTs, I'd be surprised if she remains a Junior Employee for very long," the professor commented on the most talented student she'd ever taught.

_If she only knew that Hermione's a Deputy Auror—she'd kill me._ "As you know, she's helping us out from time to time doing research we don't have a load of time for, and her crusade for the rights of all magical creatures has turned their room at the Burrow into a veritable library."

Minerva McGonagall allowed herself a smile. Hermione would accomplish wonders, she was sure of it. There was no stopping that brilliant young woman.

"... Parvati Patil works for Lee Jordan. They started out safeguarding the Secrecy Act by taking care of our publicity owls, and they still handle them except for the ones on a list that allows them access to the Burrow. But by now, Lee's team is less our Publicity Department than a bona fide security detail at the Ministry Owlery. Anything suspicious—you know: Dungbombs, Bubotuber Pus, minor curses—that goes directly to them before it can be forwarded on to the intended recipient, whoever it may be. People tend to send the oddest and ugliest things to Ministry people, especially Wizengamot members. Our Parvati has become quite the Curse-breaker," Harry continued as he told what he knew about his fellow Gryffs.

Harry sipped his tea before continuing. "Lavender and Seamus broke up, but they'll be fine. I schedule them on separate shifts for now, and Seamus has been taken in by Mum...er...Molly."

Professor McGonagall watched Harry's demeanour as he spoke. He seemed so confident and looked so strong and…healthy. Very healthy. She'd been present when Albus left him at the Dursley's door, not keen on it after having watched them all day as a non-descript tabby cat. Knowing what he had to endure there, it warmed her heart to hear him call Molly Weasley _Mum_.

"I never thought Lavender Brown would ever become an Auror," Professor McGonagall commented.

"I guess I never thought so either, but the war changed her. Well, she's still very feminine, but not annoyingly giggly and gossipy like she once was. She's really a very conscientious Auror and one of our best. Seamus Finnegan is still best friend with Dean Thomas, of course, and he and I are seeing eye-to-eye again. There was some bad blood—mostly over Ginny that we never got around to sorting before the war, but we're fine now. He has a portrait studio in his home and he's been quite busy with it. Seamus is my third-in-command and an able Team Leader. He's proven himself more often than I care to think about.

Finally, Neville Longbottom's married to Hannah Abbott, but I think you're more updated on him than I am since he's here a lot of the time," Harry finished. "I understand Hannah's working at the Leaky Cauldron and learning how to run it."

"Oh yes. Pomona is very happy with her Assistant Professor and Chief Gardener. He's done much to restore the greenhouses to their pre-war splendour and has even undertaken a few projects to improve and expand them. And thanks to Miss Lovegood, there are some exotic additions Neville's rather giddy about. I've never seen him smile so much as when he's working with and learning about those lovely specimens she sent him. But Harry, what brings you here today," Professor McGonagall asked. "Judging by the official Aurors' robes, I'm assuming this is more than just a social visit."

"Minerva, I heard about the Quidditch match," Harry confessed flatly.

"I would imagine you and the rest of Wizarding Britain have heard of it," she sighed. "Twenty students injured, two of them severely and one of them gravely."

"And a Reducto'd Snitch," Harry added with a raised eyebrow. "Professor, you had a full-on riot on your hands. Why didn't you notify us?"

"If it hadn't been for the seriousness of the situation, I'd probably have been very impressed by that. Still, I doubt it was intentional. It's next to impossible to hit one of those with a spell," she replied, hoping to interject a little levity into an otherwise dire discussion.

Harry took the headmistress' evasion of his question as a loss for an explanation. Rather than pursue it, he drove on to his point. "I guess it's the seriousness of the situation that brings me here. I'd like to offer Auror support here at Hogwarts," he said.

The headmistress eyed him carefully before answering. "Bring in Aurors? Wouldn't that be over-reacting a bit," she asked.

"Over-reacting to a riot situation? There's no such thing. However, it would clearly illustrate to the parents how seriously you take the safety of the students," Harry reasoned. "I'm sure owls have gone out. Now, I don't mean to post Auror guards all over Hogwarts and invoke martial law, but I'd like to post at least one pair here, with regular rotation," he suggested.

"Pardon me, but I don't see what two Aurors could've done to stop that riot," Professor McGonagall claimed. "It took the entire staff to bring them under control. I thought Hagrid might start tossing students around like ragdolls once he got his Gryffindors under control."

Harry looked seriously at his former Transfigurations professor and Head of House. "Minerva, one Auror would've sent a Patronus to the Ministry for backup while the other helped sort out the melee. More of us would've Flooed in and been at the pitch within minutes and perhaps fewer students might have been injured. If you'd seen the small-unit combat drills Ron's developing, you'd know that we would've divided the students in teams, two-by-two, using stunners and shielding charms."

"Ron's developing..." Minerva gasped.

"Oh yes," Harry said. "We both know he's by no means a bookworm, but he really is brilliant. He finished the Auror training in less time than anyone else—ever. Sure, Hermione helped him with the studying and I worked one-on-one with him on the duelling, but ultimately he did it himself. I can take him in a duel one on one, but give him a team and he's unbeatable."

Professor McGonagall had been witness to the training the DA Aurors engaged in during their year at Hogwarts, including the physical work. She had to admit that it had been impressive. She also knew from the accounts of the Mafalda Incident declaring that there were _Auror teams of three fighting like an army_. "Since you're here I assume you have someone in mind." she asked.

"I do," Harry replied. "Seamus. He's a fine Auror and he could use the change on a personal level too. Molly would never throw him out, but I think it'd do him good to be posted here, and get a room in Hogsmeade. He really does want a place of his own. Besides, in case there's another riot, Merlin forbid, he's also one of our best one-on-one, and can handle himself until more of us arrive."

"One of your best... Ginny wiped the floor with him during her exam," the headmistress said spontaneously.

Harry looked surprised at the professor. _Wipe the floor...that's a good one. _"Actually I practised with her before her NEWT and she's quite powerful to boot. She was never an average student. She was one of the first in the DA to master the Patronus."

Minerva McGonagall nodded. _Molly's daughter, Fred and George's little sister, and Harry's wife—no, Ginny is not your average witch. _"All right Harry. Bring Auror Finnegan in," she said resignedly, yet gratefully.

Harry conjured Prongs and sent it to find Harry's companions. Minutes later, Ron and Seamus arrived and were brought up-to-date over cups of tea. "So how about it, Irish? Would you like to be posted at Hogwarts for the time being," Harry asked, already knowing the answer.

Seamus' mind flew straight to a certain redhead first of all, before he focused on the job. "Yeah, mate. That'd be great. Not that I don't like it at the Burrow, but knowin' Mrs Weasley, this gives me an excuse to move out without her goin' spare," he grinned.

Ron shook his head. "That's my Mum for you... You're her eighth son, you know," he snickered. "She collects children like I collect Famous Wizard cards."

"You don't still collect those things, do you, Mr Weasley," Minerva asked with a sly grin. "I thought you'd have grown out of that at least months ago."

"No, I'm still searching for Agrippa," he sighed. A few seconds later, the four of them burst into laughter while they finalized plans for Seamus' new position as Hogwarts Chief Liaison Officer.

Molly proudly watched lovingly as her family ate the breakfast she prepared for them. Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ginny and Seamus stuffed themselves heartily, much to her delight, while Arthur sipped his tea awaiting the arrival of _The Daily Prophet_ before he took his toast. She cherished every moment she had them under her wing at the Burrow. She smiled sadly as she sipped her own tea, for she knew this scene would become rare in the coming weeks.

Harry and Ginny would move into their new home in a few weeks and Seamus was looking for a place of his own. She'd suspected as much anyway, but she didn't know he had already been posted in Hogsmeade for the discernible time-being. Ron and Hermione would of course move into their own place sometime after their wedding too. Sure, they would all be just a Floo away, but that still didn't assuage the emptiness that began to creep into her heart.

Harry and Ginny would be a short mile up the road, and even if they were likely to stay a night every now and then at the Burrow, it wouldn't be the same. On the other hand, Molly could see the benefits of an empty nest, as it were. That meant less household work that would allow her to test the dozens of recipes she wanted to test in order to choose the best among them to enter into the _Witch Weekly_ recipe contest. Her name did carry some weight after all, being mother to the Golden Quartet—well, half of them in the literal sense, anyway. With the children out of the house, Arthur would probably take more time with his Muggle trinkets in that shed of his. She chuckled quietly to herself._ He'll blow himself to bits one day, bless him_.

The hoot of a Post Owl interrupted her thoughts and drew the attention of everyone at the table. _The Daily Prophet_ arrived along with two letters, one addressed to Harry and yet another from Patricia to Hermione.

"Now, what's this," Harry asked no one in particular, picking up the two letters. This one's from the Ministry. I wonder why they didn't just memo this to the office." Harry turned the letters over and got a concerned look in his face. "I have a bad feeling about this," he said.

"How so," Ginny asked.

"These two letters are addressed to Lord Potter and Baron Black, respectively," Harry said darkly, turning to Arthur "These titles are only used in very traditional and formal occasions, right?"

Arthur folded _The Daily Prophet_ and nodded thoughtfully. Hermione stole guilty glances at him, trying to hide her concern. _I should've told him that I suspected this. Poor Harry. He'll go spare; he'll know I knew this was coming._

"Well, open it up _Lord Potter,_" Ron urged him.

"Ha-ha, Ron," Harry simpered. Sighing, he turned the letter over to once again reveal the Ministry seal. "I guess I have no choice." Harry suspected that because of the way the letters were addressed, he wouldn't like the content one bit.

Harry opened the letter and read it. With a furrowed brow, he set it aside. Without a word, he opened the other one and read it too. He handed both letters to Ginny and turned to Hermione.

"I have a seat in the bleeding Geezergamot," Harry huffed, looking a bit green.

"Well, of course you do," Hermione said with her best matter-of-fact voice. _Hold it in, Hermione._

"You knew," Harry asked, his hackles rising.

"All the old Wizarding families have an inherited seat, and as you are the Head of Houses Potter and Black, you naturally have them," Hermione stated succinctly.

"The House of Potter consists of me and Ginny—that's a shack at best," Harry snorted.

Ron and Seamus laughed at his comment as Ginny passed the letters to Hermione after a silently agreeing on this with Harry.

"So the Weasleys have a seat too, then," Harry asked, his question directed at the Head of House Weasley.

"Formally, there's a Weasley seat." Arthur said "But it hasn't been occupied by a Weasley for centuries."

Harry looked at Arthur inquisitively, silently encouraging the greying patriarch to elaborate.

"In the thirteenth century, the Weasleys were framed by a faction of Notts and Blacks, implicating the Weasleys in some serious criminal activity, the details long lost to history. The Potters, the Dumbledores, and the Gryffindors tried to intercede of our behalf, but they had no proof against the accusers," Arthur told them. As a result, the Weasleys were offered an ultimatum: Marry off their daughter, the only one in seven generations, to the only son of the House of Nott or suffer the consequences."

"Let me guess. The Weasleys refused to budge," Harry assumed.

"Right in one, Harry. The Notts wanted to marry into the Weasley family in order to take it over," Arthur said. "Since they refused, the Notts and the Blacks convinced the Wizengamot—such as it was at the time—that the Weasleys were in fact guilty of whatever heinous crime they'd brought against us. The result was that the entire Weasley fortune, lands, and the seat on the Wizengamot were all forfeit. With the power in the hands of the extreme Pureblood families, the Weasleys have lived in poverty ever since. Of course, the traditional Gryffindor House families, such as the Potters, have always tried to help us go on, as proven by your grandfather allowing us to build the Burrow on his land."

"Blimey, Dad," Ron gasped "I didn't know it went back that far in history. It sounds like a feud!"

"Essentially, it was. We meant to tell you once you came of age, but there's always been something more important to focus on than Weasley family history," Molly said. "Your brothers all know about this, of course, but we wouldn't allow them to tell you and Ginny because that was your father's place. Now you know."

Hermione suddenly needed their attention. "Harry, if I understand this correctly, this is an invitation to a formal Wizengamot gathering, where those who occupy an inherited seat welcome the newly-elected members. Attendance is mandatory."

"That's what the letter says. Even I got that," Harry said.

"Well, Lord Potter hold one seat while Baron Black holds another," Hermione continued, willing Harry to comprehend what she'd forgotten to tell him.

"Wha... _What?_" Harry paled and dropped his raven head into his hands. "Are you trying to say that I have...two seats?"

"Y-yes," Hermione confirmed. _Here it comes._

Harry sat in silence, head spinning, and heart aching. "I don't even want _one_ seat, let alone two. Isn't there some kind of law against one person holding two seats, and another one explaining how to get rid of them," he asked, near panic. "Oh, the headlines this'll breed... "

Arthur read the letters. "Harry, you can renounce you claim to the seats but..." Arthur started.

"Great! How," Harry interrupted. "I'll do whatever I have to!"

"Please, let me finish. You might not be so eager once you hear me out," Arthur tried again.

"I. Don't. Want. Any. Seats. On. The. Ruddy. Geezergamot," Harry explained slowly.

"If you renounce your seats there's a complex set of rules dictating who can lay claim to them," Arthur revealed. "The operative word here is _dictating_. There are a certain number of closest kin who have the right to claim the seats."

The kitchen lay momentarily silent until Hermione spoke quietly and deliberately. "And for the Black seat, Harry, the closest eligible kin aren't the sort of people we'd like to hand increased Wizengamot power over to."

"Wouldn't the closest Black relative be Andromeda Tonks," Ginny asked. "Or possibly Narcissa Malfoy?"

Harry nodded.

"They're women, Ginny," Hermione sighed.

"We know that, Ron said. "What's the big deal?"

Hermione sighed again, more loudly this time. "Ronald, it's a centuries-old law that states that women cannot inherit a Wizengamot seat," she explained.

"Why not?" Harry asked "There are women in the Wizengamot. Neville's gran, Professor Bones, even Toadface."

"Ron, that's not nice," Molly admonished her youngest son. "She's—"

"She's a sadistic nutter," Ron argued. "You've seen what she did to Harry. Show her, Harry. Show her your hand."

"Ron—it's not that important," Harry said, trying to calm his friend. "She's in Azkaban for it now, so just let it go."

"NO! Show her, Harry," Ron insisted. "She has to understand!"

Seamus made to hold his friend back, but Hermione's arms encircled his waist. "Ron, it isn't necessary. Calm down, now. It's all right. Harry's all right, you're all right—we're all all right. Dolores Umbridge can't hurt anyone anymore."

Ron's agitation didn't appear to wane, no matter what Hermione said or did to soothe him. It was as though he'd been thrust back in time to the end of the first week of Harry's detentions with then-Professor Umbridge. Harry's hand was shredded and bleeding from wounds that didn't seem to heal. An ugly message carved into his best mate's skin, etched there with an illegal blood quill. Punishment for simply telling the truth that the Ministry refused to acknowledge. "Show. Her. Harry," Ron snarled.

In order to placate his friend and resolve this very-tense scene, Harry sighed and pulled up the right sleeve of his jumper to give everyone a clear view of the still-pink message permanently carved into the back of his hand. _I must not tell lies_.

Colour drained from the faces of all but Harry and Ginny. Ginny had seen the scars hundreds of times and often found herself holding that hand to her lips as if to soothe any phantom pain that still lingered from the torture. Tears well, but she blinked them back. To allow them to fall might set her brother off again and she didn't want that. Ron was too big to allow to rage.

Seamus blushed deeply, for he had been among those who had first doubted Harry's integrity that awful year. He vowed to himself once again that he would never second-guess Harry Potter again.

Hermione continued to hold Ron and whisper calming words to him as he glared at the table, fighting to hold his temper in check. The mere mention or even the most fleeting thought of Dolores Umbridge tended to throw him into a fury. She wanted to crucio Harry for information he didn't have. She would have killed him for it. No, he could never forgive that evil, twisted bint for that.

Molly—being Molly—couldn't hold back her tears. "Oh Harry, I'd heard—I noticed…" she began to cry in earnest, wiping her tears on her apron. "I didn't realise how deep they were. I'm so sorry, son. That BITCH!" Molly wasn't prone to swearing and they'd all only heard her use that word once, and that was right to Bellatrix Lestrange's face. "How could she…"

"Like I said, Mum," Ron began with a low feral growl. "She's a sadistic nutter. We couldn't tell you because all of our mail was being intercepted and read and the Floo network was under surveillance."

"One of her _people_ broke one of Hedwig's wings trying to stop her," Harry said, now seething himself. "We were prisoners, Mum. We weren't allowed to use magic in her class—so we formed the DA and taught ourselves defence."

"Then she's right where she ruddy well belongs then, yes," Arthur said, hoping to diffuse the situation. "I wish…I…" He stopped and sighed, his heart aching for his children and what they endured at the hands of such a deranged person.

A few moments later, Hermione, satisfied that Ron had calmed, steered the conversation back to the original topic. "Yes, well, the Wizarding community has a long way to go in the establishment of equal rights for men and women. Ron, Augusta Longbottom and Amelia Bones sit on the Wizengamot at the pleasure of their Heads of House, who are now both dead. Unless there's some provision in Lord Bones' will for Susan, their family could lose their seat when Madame Bones passes away. The Longbottom seat is secure with Neville."

Harry thought about it for a while. "So if I renounce the Black seat, there's a load of Death Eater sympathizers who could lay claim," Harry asked for further clarification. "And the Potter seat?"

"You're the last of your House, Harry. Your grandparents had one son, who in his turn had one son—you. To safely pass the Potter seat on, we'd have to go back through your grandfather's family to find the closest kin…"

"... which essentially means that every Pureblood family in Britain could conjure up some relation to the Potters dating back to some obscure marriage. I mean, we're all related, more or less, to some degree," Harry said sadly. "For crying out loud, help me or they'll force me to wear a double set of those ridiculous robes. I won't be seen walking about like a giant eggplant!"

"Um…Harry? The robes are plum, not eggplant," Ginny snickered. "You'd be walking about like a giant plum."

"Bloody hell. Et tu, Ginevra," Harry huffed. This lightened the mood and everyone burst into laughter, before Arthur's serious look caught their attention.

"You can, however, let Andromeda occupy the Black seat. That way, you'll only have the Potter seat to worry about," Arthur said.

"Assuming Andromeda would like to sit in the Wizengamot," Hermione said.

"I doubt that, but I'll ask her anyway," Harry said. "If I hurry, I'll be able to go there before I'm up for duty."

Harry quickly finished breakfast and kissed his wife passionately. "Wish me luck, Love. I'll see you all tonight." He left the Burrow to Apparate to Andromeda's house.

Harry knocked on the door and waited. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard someone approach from inside.

"Who is it," Andromeda's called through the locked door.

"Andy, it's Harry," he replied.

Andromeda opened the door and met him with a bright smile. "Good morning, Harry! This is a pleasant surprise," Andromeda said, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

"Good morning. May I come in?"

"Of course. How silly of me, leaving you standing here like this," she chided herself. "Come in, come in. Teddy and I are just finishing our breakfast."

Striding into the kitchen, Harry found his godson still eating, his face covered with egg yolks and bits of bacon and toast scattered over the tray of his high-chair. "Hawwy," the boy shouted, waving his sipper-cup of milk happily at his Godfather.

"Hey, Tedders," Harry called, hugging the wiggling toddler before he took a seat next to him. "Your breakfast looks good on you this morning." Without asking, Andromeda poured him a cup of tea, which he gratefully accepted.

Once Teddy settled back into his breakfast, Harry showed her the letter concerning the Black Wizengamot seat. Once she finished reading it, Harry related the dilemma and Hermione's suggestion to the last viable Black to hold the family seat.

"Andy, truthfully I wouldn't wish that wonky assembly with a load of self-important poorly-designed stuffed robes on my worst enemy, but from what I've learned, you're the only trustworthy person within the family proper that I would consider appointing to occupy it."

Andromeda looked at him with pursed lips, carefully considering her answer. "Harry, the number of Blacks still breathing and cognizant is not that great," she agreed. "It's pretty much down to my sister and me…or Ginny.

"Bat bogeys would chase me to Antarctica and back if I even considered it," Harry interjected.

Despite our marriages, either of us can still occupy the Black seat by birthright and by approval of the official Head of our family—that's you, now," she said pointedly.

"The Malfoy family still own their seat, so Narcissa is busy grooming Draco to take his rightful place. Now, Harry, I'm deeply honoured that you would come to me with this, all things considered, but…"

"... it's not that I want to rid myself of the seat. As far as I'm concerned you have more right to it than I have. It's just that I can only sit one seat at a time."

"But you're the Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. It's your right and duty," Andromeda argued.

"I know, but I'm not a Black, Andy. I'm a Potter. That's just Sirius..." Harry started.

"Harry, Sirius exercised the rights and privileges he had as a Head. Even if he'd wanted to pass on the House of Black to me, he couldn't by law. He had to pass it on to a _male_ heir."

Harry felt a relief to learn that Sirius hadn't favoured him over Andromeda. "But... What if a Head of a House had only daughters," Harry asked spontaneously.

"He'd adopt a son, creating a Blood Bond," Andromeda explained.

"A Blood Bond? What's that," Harry asked, again aware of how little he knew about old Wizarding tradition and family law.

"It's basically a binding magical contract between the Head of a House and the person who'll be adopted into the House as stated in the contract," she explained. "It's the only way to become a member of a family other than by birth or by marriage."

"I can't adopt a son who's of age. It'd be ridiculous. Most likely that _son_ would be older than me," Harry said, defeated.

"Harry, a Blood Bond doesn't have to be father-son," Andromeda explained further. "You can adopt a brother or sister... Come to that, don't you think of Hermione Granger as your sister?"

"Indeed I do," Harry said with a chuckle. "I even call her _Sis_, sometimes."

"Well now, I must tell you that a Blood Bond isn't to be taken lightly. In the eyes of the law, the adopted person is as much family as anyone born into it. If you're considering adopting anyone into the House of Black to solve your dilemma, choose someone you'd like to have in your family."

"I take it you won't accept the Wizengamot seat," Harry concluded.

"As I said before, I'm honoured that you would offer it to me, I'm raising Teddy alone. And even if I'm not that old, I was still raised in the old ways. I think we need fresh blood in our government. We need to allow a younger and more-open-minded generation to take over, and that can start with the Potter and Black families. I understand it won't be long before young Neville Longbottom takes his rightful place as well."

"Well…I guess so. And Draco's going to be taking the Malfoy seat, as you said…"

"Exactly my point, Harry. My advice to you is to approach Hermione," she said and then broke into a wicked grin. "By placing a Muggleborn in an ages-old Pureblood seat, you—we—could really stick it to those narrow-minded stuffed robes sitting in their ivory towers in London. Besides, it'd have my dear aunt and uncle turning in their graves! Toujour Pur indeed."

Harry thought about it. Hermione was one of two people he'd consider adopting as a sister, or in Ron's case, a brother. But Ron wouldn't want to have a seat on the Wizengamot any more than he did. Hermione, on the other hand, might jump at opportunity to take a seat on that _august _body, increasing her chances to improve the lot of magical creatures everywhere. When she had Dobby's Law prepared she'd be able to present and defend it herself. With those thoughts, Harry began to grin as well. _Deary, dear. How Walburga Black's portrait would screech now!_

"Andy, darling, you're a genius! Did you know," Harry said, jumping up from his seat and rubbing his hands together. He then started as he glanced at his watch. "Bug— Merlin! I really must go. Duty calls."

"Not at all Harry. Will I see you and Ginny soon? Teddy sure misses you."

Harry turned to Teddy and ruffled his turquoise-blue hair. "Ginny and I will be back soon and we'll have a good time together. I'll bring my Firebolt and take you for a Broom ride. How about that, Champ?"

"Bwoom, bwoom," Teddy cried, screwing up his face to turn his hair raven-black and his eyes, emerald green. "Gee-nee! Bwoom!" Harry hugged them both and left for the Ministry.

Harry had already shared his plan with Ginny through the bond and she seemed as enthusiastic about sticking it to the bigots as he was. As the inhabitants of the Burrow sat down to supper, she nodded as if to encourage him to broach the subject right away.

"_Go on, Love. Now's as good a time as any to drop this little bomb."_

"_Right. Here goes."_

Harry looked around at his family and then tapped his goblet with a spoon. "As you know, I have two seats in the Wizengamot. Truthfully, I don't even want one, but in order to keep them in the hands of the right people, it seems have no choice but to take my place on Wizengamot as the Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. But that leaves the question of the Black seat," Harry began to explain. "As you all know, I visited with Andromeda Tonks this morning to offer her the seat, but she declined in favour of a better idea, provided the _idea_ is agreeable." Harry said.

Arthur, Molly, Ron, Hermione and Seamus looked curiously at him, Ginny already knowing what he was about to say.

"_A better idea,_ you say. Andromeda declined, then," Arthur asked.

"Yes, but she taught me a Wizarding tradition that could solve the problem—a Blood Bond."

Ron and Seamus looked puzzled. The others knew what it was. Harry continued. "As Head of the House of Black, apparently I can adopt people into the family," Harry declared. "And there is one person I already consider family and who I think could make a huge difference in the Geezer... _Wizen_gamot."

Seamus snorted into his goblet of pumpkin juice as Harry turned to his brother-in-law's fiancée. "Hermione, you're as the sister I never had," Harry began, already choking up.

Hermione blushed as she realised what Harry was getting at. "Are you saying..."

"Hermione Granger, I'd like you to be my sister through a Blood Bond, and represent the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black alongside the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter on the Wizengamot."

Silence. "I'd be...your...sister..." Hermione managed to say, struck nearly speechless. "Really and truly your sister."

"Don't thank me, though. It means dressing up in those ridiculous robes and sitting in that cursed chamber with a lot of old fogeys without a clue as to what's really going on around them," Harry warned.

"Harry, I've always thought of you as the brother I never had, but...the _Wizengamot_..." she gasped. _I'd have unlimited access to their archives. I'd be able to present proposals myself._ Are you sure..." Hermione said, regaining her ability to speak.

Her surrogate brother's proposal moved her to tears. She never doubted that Harry loved her like a sister, but formalizing it in a Blood Bond would make it reality, legally and magically, and the possibilities it presented as a member of the Wizengamot were astronomical. Meanwhile, Arthur smiled like the twins used to do when they'd pulled a particularly spectacular prank.

"What is it Arthur," Molly asked.

The man began a low belly-laugh that began to envelop his entire being. "I…I was…I was just trying to imagine...Walburga Black's portrait's reaction to a Muggleborn representing her proud House in the Wizengamot!"

At this everyone broke into a howling laughter, especially Harry, as he'd been musing about that all day. "_Disgrace! Scandal! Mudbloods and Blood-traitors! It's the end of the world,_" Ginny screeched in a perfect impersonation of the accursed portrait that hung in the entry hall of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

"Whatever happened to that portrait, Harry," Ron asked.

"Kreacher removed it. It's stashed away somewhere. It'd almost be worth having him retrieve it for us so we give her the happy news. Perhaps we could invite her to the ceremony...that is if Hermione agrees."

An air of seriousness returned them all to reality and they looked at Hermione. She nodded.

"I accept," Hermione said with the most beautiful smile any of them had ever seen grace her face. Ron beamed with pride that his wife would hold such high office in the Ministry. _My Hermione just might be the catalyst in a series of events that might someday restore honour and respect to the House of Weasley._

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Harry and Hermione Apparated in a park near her parents' home. "So, you'll do the talking," Harry asked while they walked toward the Grangers' door.

"I guess so," Hermione said tentatively. "I'm still thinking about how to tell them. And by the way, once I'm your sister, my parents would be your...?"

Harry stopped and took his soon-to-be-sister's hand. "Hermione, it doesn't work that way. I'm bonding with you as an individual, not the Granger family as a whole. I know it sounds a bit persnickety, but that's just how these things are done."

"Don't worry Harry. I'm just yanking your wand." Hermione said grinning. "But I won't have to renounce my own family, will I?" Until this moment, she hadn't given much thought to the effect this might have on her own family ties.

Harry looked at Hermione.

"You had me going, there. Ron's had a bad influence on you that way," Harry smirked. "And now, you don't have to renounce your own family. You'll always be Richard and Helen Granger's little girl and your father will walk you down the aisle to your doom…I mean, to Ron."

"You are such a royal smart-arse, Harry James Potter," she giggled, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.

"Not royal, dear sister. Just noble!"

The two of them were still laughing as they rang the Grangers' doorbell. A few moments later, Helen opened the door to find her daughter and her best friend standing there. "Hermione," she cried. "And Harry, welcome! Where's Ron? Richard, Hermione and Harry are here!"

"Hello, Mum. Ron's at the Burrow resting," she said as they entered. "He's had a long day and he's recovering from one of Molly's magnificent suppers."

Soon they were seated in the living room. Richard was there watching the news on BBC. He got up and hugged and kissed his daughter and greeted Harry with a firm handshake.

"What brings you two here without your better halves," Richard asked after some initial catching up.

"Actually we'd like to bring you back with us to the Burrow," Hermione said.

"All right," Richard agreed "What's the occasion? Snag in the wedding plans?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "No, Daddy. The wedding plans are coming along just fine. This is something…different."

Helen and Richard stole quick glances at one another. "Hermione, dear, is something wrong?"

"No! No, Mum. Nothing's wrong. Just…different," she replied quickly. "You see, Harry has offered me a Blood Bond—to become his sister." Hermione's straight-to-the-point demeanour came as no shock to her parents, as their daughter was never one to beat about the bush, a trait they had instilled in her since she was a small child. There was very little she might tell them these days that would surprise them much, but this caught them completely off-guard.

"His sister," Helen asked incredulously. "I mean, we know how close you are and that Hermione thinks of you like a brother, Harry, but still I can't help wondering... why?"

Hermione explained the situation with Harry's two seats and his offer to make Hermione his sister. "Basically I'd be a part of the Black family, and as such, allowed—by Harry's blessing and appointment—to represent the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black on the Wizengamot."

"Helen, Richard, I know this is a bit shocking to you, but rest assured that this will in no way affect your family unit," Harry told them, feeling the need to establish that fact. "Hermione will always be your daughter and a Granger. This adoption is a mere formality to keep the Black Family Seat out of the hands of unscrupulous people."

"This…Wizengamot sounds almost like the House of Lords in Parliament," Richard observed.

Hermione considered his words for a few moments. "I guess that's a fair comparison. The inherited seats on the Wizengamot are very much comparable to the House of Lords, while the elected seats could be compared to the House of Commons."

Helen gasped. "Are you saying that Harry's a _nobleman_," she asked. "And you'll be his sister?"

"By Wizarding standards, yes and yes," Hermione replied. "I'll be a baroness known as Hermione Granger-Black... or baroness (un-capitalised) Hermione Weasley-Black, once I marry Ron.

Helen embraced Hermione. "My little girl—a noblewoman," she sniffled.

"With a seat in the Wizengamot, I'll have so much opportunity to work for improved rights for magical creatures," Hermione beamed with pride. "And not to mention unrestricted access to the Wizengamot archives."

"This is... big. Huge," Richard said awestruck. "Nobility—magical or not—in the Granger family! Ron must be dead chuffed!"

Hermione rose from the sofa, pulling her soon-to-be-brother with her. "That he is, Daddy. I've never seen him smile so much. Now, are you ready to come with us? Arthur and Percy are preparing the ceremony at the Burrow right now. We'll take you Side-along."

Richard and Helen were ready in a few minutes. Harry took Richard by the arm, while Helen took Hermione's hand. They felt the now-familiar sensation as Harry and Hermione spun and whisked them off to Ottery St-Catchpole.

The Burrow was a-buzz with the usual denizens, plus Percy. Richard and Helen were welcomed with handshakes, hugs, and kisses. The Grangers remembered Seamus from Harry's and Ginny's wedding. After a bit of chatter and final instructions, Arthur called everyone to order.

"Now, are you ready to do this," Arthur asked Harry and Hermione.

Both of them nodded. Arthur and Percy had written a parchment, double -checking it to ensure there were no misunderstandings.

"This is simple enough," Percy declared and waved his wand over the parchment. "With your signatures and a drop of blood each, you become bound as brother and sister, legally and magically. Please read the text."

Harry and Hermione read the text together, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"_From this day, twenty-first October 1999, Baron Harry James Potter Black, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, son of James Potter, born thirty-first July 1980 hereby takes unto himself for all time Hermione Jean Granger, daughter of Richard Granger, nineteenth September 1979, his sister. Said Hermione is henceforth allowed the title baroness Black._

_Witnesses: Arthur Septimus Weasley and Seamus Patrick Finnegan."_

Percy turned solemnly to Harry and Hermione. "You are perfectly clear on the content of this parchment, is that correct? Yea or nay," Percy asked in an official tone.

"Yea," both of them answered.

"Very well," Percy intoned and handed each of them a new quill, signifying the new bonds of family. "Please sign."

When they were finished, Percy laid the quills in souvenir boxes and set them aside. "To finalise and seal your new bond as brother and sister, it is required that you should sacrifice a drop of blood to your commitment. Is this well with you? Yea or nay," he asked them, still with an official air.

"Yea," they both replied.

"Very well. Your right hands please," Percy instructed. Harry and Hermione stretched out their hands over the parchment and with two swift flicks with his wand Percy extracted a drop of blood from them each. The drop immediately disappeared into the parchment without a trace.

Next, Arthur and Seamus signed that they'd witnessed the ceremony. "Insomuch as Harry James Potter and Hermione Jean Granger have agreed to be brother and sister for all time, we invoke the blessing of all present on this new aspect of their very long and truly remarkable friendship. So mote it be!"

"So mote it be," they all repeated. Percy flicked his wand and with a flash of light, the parchment folded and sealed itself with the bold 'M' logo of the Ministry of Magic. Harry and Hermione felt a surge of warmth run through their bodies as the ceremony finished. Harry thought it had to be related to the bond forged with the Wedding Charm because of the "vows" they took as bonded siblings and the way the ceremony played out, but because it was a different relationship the feeling was different too. It was a sensation of closeness and belonging without the romantic pull of hearts.

Arthur duplicated the parchment and gave a copy to Harry and another one to Hermione, along with the souvenir boxes containing the quills they used to sign the document. The original was banished to the Ministry archives, where it would automatically register as permanent record.

"That's it," Harry asked, still catching he breath from the surge.

Arthur nodded.

"This may sound silly, but I hereby declare you brother and sister," Percy said with a wry grin.

"Are you making a joke, Percy," Ginny asked, without any hint of response from him. "Will wonders never cease."

"Lady Black," Harry said bowing to her in respect and greeting.

"Lord Pratter," Hermione replied as he kissed her hand.

"Hey! That's Potter, thank you, but as the Head of House Black, if anyone's a prat it simply can't be me." Hermione, for once stood speechless. "Sis, welcome to the family."

"My baby brother," Hermione replied and leapt into his arms. "I love you so much, did you know?"

"I know, Hermione. I love you too," he whispered into her hair. "So much."

Molly soon broke them up by announcing a small feast. "Gather round, dears," she called. In an aside to Helen she confessed, "It's not much, but I thought the occasion called for...something."

"Nonsense, Molly. It looks perfectly splendid," Helen said, surveying the delights Molly spread over the magically-expanded scrubbed oak table.

Soon all gathered at the kitchen table at the Burrow to enjoy the feast Molly prepared to celebrate Harry's and Hermione's Blood Bond.

"So, let me get this straight," Ron thought out loud. "You're a baroness now 'Mione?"

"That's what the parchment says. As sister to Baron Black, yes I am."

Harry sighed loudly while Richard and Helen looked rather proud. "Please don't call me that," Harry moaned. "I'm Harry. Just…_Harry_."

"All right, brother. I won't... much," Hermione snickered.

Ron was continuously in deep thoughts. "So our children will be…"

"Without titles, my love," Hermione answered and stroked a finger down his face. "You see, the title is passed to the Head's children."

"Meaning," Ron asked.

"That Harry's and Ginny's first son will be heir to the House of Potter and their second son the heir to the House of Black."

"And if we don't have any sons," Ginny asked.

"Then Harry'll have to do what Sirius did. Pass the House on to someone else. Harry was Sirius Godson, and that meant Sirius could pass on the House of Black to him, despite he never adopted Harry," Hermione lectured. "But our children will be allowed to use the name family name of Black, if they like."

Ron burst into laughter and the others looked at him. "In case you don't a son, mate, you can always pass it on to Teddy, son of a Werewolf and a Half-blood Metamorph! Charming Mrs Black's portrait would burst into flames and burn for all eternity! Oh, the shame of it! First a Muggleborn on the Black seat, next a Half-werewolf, at the Head! _Priceless!_"

The others laughed too at the thought before Ron continued. "But, no fancy titles for our children then," Ron said with an exaggerated grumpiness.

"The Weasleys are an old family, Dad. Were there no titles," Harry asked.

"Harry, as I told you before: The Weasleys were framed by the Notts in the thirteenth century. Our titles were revoked, our lands and fortune confiscated by the Ministry, and then re-distributed amongst the Nott family," Arthur reminded him.

Harry studied at the elder Weasley, full of compassion and righteous indignation. "Why didn't the Notts have a go at the Potters too, then? That would've saved me this mess," Harry complained.

"Oh Harry," Arthur chuckled. "I forget how little you know of important Magical History. The Potters were far too powerful for the Notts to even begin to persecute. The Potters would've chewed the Notts like Drooble's Best, spit them out, claimed their property, added it to their own, and then had the lot of them executed on general principle. Harry, yours is among the most-powerful families in Britain."

"Merlin's safecracker! I guess it's a good thing they left the Potters alone, the, or Gin and I would've had even more gold in that overstuffed vault," Harry sighed. _I really need to get with Bill about that._ "Hermione, I'm so happy you accepted this. I can't wait to see their faces when I formally present you. Weasleys, Potters, Grangers, and now Blacks: I give you Lady Hermione Granger-Black, baroness to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black! Sláinte Mhath!"

"Sláinte Mhath," they all chorused, and drank to Hermione's good health.

"Hermione, what did we just say," Richard asked his daughter privately.

Hermione giggled and leaned her head on her father's shoulder. "Daddy, Sláinte Mhath is Gaelic for_ to your good health_," she whispered. "In case you haven't noticed, the Weasleys and the Prewetts are quite Celtic."

"Ah. Of course. How silly of me," Richard said in mock solemnity, kissing the top of his daughter's head. "Please forgive a lowly peasant his lack of breeding."

"Daddy…" Hermione giggled. "You're not a lowly peasant. You're too bourgeois!"

The feast continued for a while longer before Hermione and Ron Apparated the Grangers back home just before midnight. Peace settled once again upon the oddly-shaped house famous in Wizarding Britain—the Burrow.

The next ten days passed in a flurry of activity at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Jason Felton made a full, if not miraculous, recovery and had returned to his regular classes, but with a twice-weekly foray into the hospital wing for a check-up from Madame Pomfrey and Miss Prewett. He had to take a mild Regenerative Draught to stave off fatigue, but soon he'd be shot of that. His parents had sent a letter to Fiona thanking her for all she had done to aid in their son's recovery. They'd offered her monetary compensation, which she politely declined in her reply, telling them that music is a gift and should be passed on as such.

The Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams had been practising hard for the upcoming match on the sixth of November. Since Halloween fell on a Sunday, the students took the opportunity to prank one another—all in good fun, of course—and spend the day just sharing treats and enjoying the day. Dennis called a practice for that afternoon and then the team would go to the feast together.

"Jess, hurry up! I've only got the pitch for two hours and then the Snakes have it," Dennis called up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

"I'll be down in a minute," she called as she sifted through her trunk. "I can't bloody find it—oh! Here it is!" Moments later, Jessica Spinnet, Keeper for Team Gryffindor, pounded down the stairs with two books clutched to her chest.

"Oh come on, Spinnet," Jimmy Peakes moaned. "We're practising Quidditch today, not studying."

"I know that, you ridiculous git," she spat playfully. "I have to return these books to Madame Pince or she'll be after my blood!"

"We'll go with you, then," Dennis said.

"No, that's okay, Dennis," she demurred. "I'll just meet you in the Entrance Hall. How's that? I won't be but about five minutes or so."

"Well…"

"It's just a quick run to the book drop and I'll be right back," she cooed, running her fingers up the front of his practice robes. She loved how his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed hard.

"Uh…erm…if...if you say so," he said haltingly. "But if you're not in the Entrance Hall in say—ten minutes, we're coming after you. I don't want any of your girls getting caught in the open by yourselves."

The Munchkins rolled their eyes. "Oi, Creevey! Aintchoo gettin' a right bit paranoid, mate," Joseph teased. "It's not like it's Whitechapel in the 1880s. The Ripper ain't gonna jump out at 'er."

"I don't mean that, JP," Dennis replied in annoyance. "It's just all the fights—she's a Pureblood and that 'Puff lot have been right nasty lately. It's like the Slytherins used to be."

"Honestly," Jessica snarled and headed out the portrait hole. "I'll see you in the Entrance Hall in a tic!"

The others shrugged their shoulders and stepped out into the seventh-floor corridor. "She's liable to beat us all there," Patricia observed. "She'll run the whole way."

While the Gryffindor team descended the stairs to the Entrance Hall, Jessica made her way to the library on the fourth floor, where she slid her books into the book depository in the door. "There. Now she can't pester me anymore."

She turned back toward the staircase and began to jog past the few deserted classrooms near the library. Just before she reached the stairs, she felt a hand close around her mouth and several pairs of hands drag her into one of the rooms.

"Easy there, Spinnet. We're not going to hurt you…much," a gravelly voice said into her ear. "We just want to have a little…chat."

Jessica struggled against her captors' clutches and swore behind his hand, loosening it enough to bite it hard.

"Pureblood bitch! You'll pay for that," he snarled, shaking his injured hand. "Take her wand!" A hand reached roughly into her robes for her wand, trying to squeeze one her breasts in the process.

"Keep you filthy hands off me, you great buffoon," Jessica snarled. "Let me go!"

"Not until we've had our chat, bitch," another voice sneered and shoved her against the first boy. Jessica couldn't make out who held her captive, but she vaguely recognised one of the voices. It was just too dark in the room.

"I'm warning you: if I don't appear in the Entrance Hall two minutes ago, you're going to be sorry," she snarled again, trying to ignore the cold fingers of fear that began to seize her heart.

Her captors only laughed. The one who had been giving the orders shoved her to the floor. Jessica fought as hard as she could, but there were seven of them—all boys—and only one of her. Terror gripped her as she kicked and scratched at her attackers, hoping to hurt them enough to get away and run for help.

"Hold her down, damn you," the familiar voice growled as he tore at her robes. "This Quidditch gear should be easy enough to—aaaaaaaaargh!"

Jessica squared the boy with her boot and rolled away, trying to regain her feet. Her wand lay near the door. If she could just move fast enough, she could snatch up her wand and race through the door. She was almost there when she heard the sickening squelching sound of a sealing charm. "Now we've got her."

Jessica screamed as rough hands pulled back toward the centre of the room. "You'll pay for that too, you little Gryffindor slut!" He backhanded her and sent her sprawling into the circle of boys that quickly surrounded her.

"Yeah, Creevey'll thank us for loosening you up," another sneered.

"You leave Dennis out of this, you filthy bastard," she screamed. "Let me go, damn you!"

"All in good time, my Pureblood whore," the first boy growled into her ear. He flicked his tongue and she screamed again.

"NO! LET ME GO," she cried, the fight in her giving way. She may have been an athlete, but even an athlete can't go on forever. "Please…please don't do this. I'm…I'm a virgin. Please don't." Jessica began to sob. She wasn't ready for a physical relationship, but she promised herself she'd give herself to Dennis when she was ready. Now, that would be ruined and he wouldn't want her anymore.

"We know, little slut," the boy said again, slapping her hard across the face. "We're just going to help Creevey out a little, that's all."

"NO! Please, no," she cried harder, still trying to struggle. She cried out with each rip and tear of her robes. Soon, they were shredded and her jumper began to rise over her belly and then it was torn away, leaving her top half naked but for her bra. "Please…."

"Yes, please," the boys laughed, as the leader began to unfasten her uniform pants. "I'm glad to oblige."

"No, Dennis wouldn't understand. I…I'm a virgin. Please don't…don't hurt me," she sobbed.

Soon, her attackers had torn every stitch of outer clothing from her body, leaving her shivering in her lacy under things. As a group, they began to touch her in ways and in places she'd reserved for Dennis.

The familiar boy had just hooked his fingers into the waistband of her knickers when she let out a bloodcurdling scream. "Nooooooooooooooooooo! Denniiiiiiiiiisssssssss!"

"He can't hear you. You're on the fourth floor and he's in the Entrance Hall with the rest of your ruddy Gryffindork team," the boy laughed while the others guffawed in delight.

"," she screamed again just as the lace gave way.

BOOM! The door to the classroom burst open in a hail of twisted metal and oak splinters. Seven wands shot brightly-coloured spells into the room through smoke and dust as seven attackers were knocked to the stone floor. "_Expelliarmus! Stupefy!_" Soon the fights were on, with four Gryffindor men taking on the seven or so attackers.

In a matter of minutes, the attackers decided they'd had enough of the hardscrabble Gryffindors. "Merlin's balls! Let's get out of here," one of the boys cried. "She's not worth this!" Soon, the stumbling of feet and the rustling of robes shot out the remains of the door.

"JPs," Dennis' voice called out as he wiped a trickle of blood from the side of his mouth. "Bring the headmistress! Twins, bring Madame Pomfrey or Miss Fiona—or both! Pats, Demelza, give me a hand with Jessica. Quickly!"

"Right you are, mate," Jimmy called as he and Joseph dashed from the room, with Emma and Erica right behind them.

Dennis drew upon all the love he felt for the injured girl on the floor at his feet. "_Expecto Patronum!_" A glimmering silver German Shepherd burst forth from his wand and sat waiting attentively for his master's pleasure. Dennis whispered his message and the dog disappeared through the wall toward Hogsmeade.

Seamus sat in his room on the first floor of the Three Broomsticks reading over some sift reports when a silver German Shepherd Patronus appeared. "Mr Finnegan, come quickly," it barked with Dennis Creevey's voice. "We've had an attack at the school! We're in the hospital wing!"

_Mr Finnegan._ Seamus preferred his first name, or _Irish_. He and Dennis had lived in Gryffindor Tower as students together, although in different years. Still, after his year filling in for a couple of classes teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts last year, he'd become _Mr Finnegan_. The gap between the totally unacceptable _Professor Finnegan_ and the preferred _Seamus_ had simply been too great.

He quickly checked the duty roster and sent his fox Patronus to Susan Bones, who was on standby this shift. She responded immediately, saying she would meet him there. He also noted that Cho Chang was on duty in case he needed further assistance.

Seamus thoughts on his way down to the Floo bounced between the possibility of laying eyes on Fiona Prewett again and worrying about the reported attack. He swooped through the bar in his maroon Auror's robes, nodded politely to Madame Rosmerta, and stepped into the Floo. "Hogwarts," he called and vanished in the green flames.

Hogwarts Chief Liaison Officer Finnegan looked cautiously around as he hurried to the hospital wing, where found Dennis Creevey and the Gryffindor Quidditch team, less the Keeper, and the Prewett twins' friend, Patricia. They all huddled together, shaken and pale.

"Seamus! Thank Merlin you're here," Dennis cried out in his anguish. The Captain of Team Gryffindor had a purple bruise on his face and a hint of dried blood around his lips. He'd clearly been in a fight, as was also evident on the faces of the two Beaters. "All right, you lot. What's goin' on," he asked just as he heard another person on the stairs. "Wait. That'd be Auror Bones."

"Seamus, what happened," she asked, eyeing the battered students before her. "Another fight?"

"We were waiting for Jessica in the Entrance Hall, but when she didn't come, we came up to the library to find her. We had just topped the stairs when we heard someone scream. We thought it was Peeves or Filch haunting someone, so we decided to check it out." Dennis reported. "But when we arrived, the door was sealed and we had to blast our way in. Jessica was..." Dennis choked up. He turned violently and slammed his fist into the wall, breaking his hand and loosening a bit of old mortar from between the ancient stones.

Patricia took a deep breath. "It's Jessica. A group of 'Puffs pulled her into an empty classroom forced her down to the floor. It appears as though they were about to... abuse her," Patricia said.

"As in _rape,_" Seamus asked to be clear on the matter.

The Prewett twins nodded. "They beat her up pretty badly," Erica said, tears welling.

"Do you know who these 'Puffs were," Susan asked, masking her horror at the possibility that members of her old House would do such a thing.

"It was dark in the room, like they'd cast a spell to dim the lights, but I'm sure one of 'em was Stiles," Joseph said. "Ever after the incident on the train, I'd recognize his voice any day of the week."

"Right then. We'll take care of this. Has Professor McGonagall been notified," Seamus asked.

"Yes, sir. She's just gone to Floo Jessica's parents and Madame Pomfrey and Miss Prewett are treating Jessica. She didn't seem to be badly injured, but very shook up," Dennis said, cradling his now throbbing hand. "Those bastards are going to pay."

"Susan, Hufflepuff common room," Seamus ordered. "I'll let you lead the way since you lived there for seven years."

They had to find Stiles and his gang immediately. This was very serious and the implications of such a crime could lead to trouble. Ryan Stiles was an ELF kid and if he were found guilty and expelled...

Susan led Seamus through the corridor where the painting hiding the entrance to the kitchen hung. The Hufflepuff common room lay in the next corridor. As they reached it, the light got weaker. "_Homenum Revelio_," Seamus whispered and his wand vibrated slightly, indicating the presence of people ahead. They couldn't see clearly, as the passage was unnaturally dim. "Wands ready, Bonesy."

"Are you sure it's Stiles' bunch," Susan whispered back. "I don't remember him ever being any trouble before."

"We only know what Creevey told us, but I've picked up the spell Dennis described," Seamus said. "We take no chances, Sue. During the Quidditch match, this lot cast some very nasty curses and I don't care to catch one."

Seamus and Susan cast Disillusionment and Silencing Charms on themselves and advanced into the corridor, where they heard a group of boys talking quickly, but could only see shady silhouettes.

"Stiles, I don't like this, man. Attempted rape! We'll be expelled for sure," one voice said.

"_Attempted _is the key word, mate. Besides, they can't be sure it's us anyway," another one, presumably Stiles, replied. "We never actually did the deed."

"Yeah, but you—"

"Not just me, Stormer. You lot were just as keen," Stiles bit back.

Seamus had heard enough. He sent a mental note to Susan through Legilimency to cast a shield charm covering them both and stay alert. Next, Seamus cancelled the Silencing and Disillusionment charms and took a deep breath. "Aurors! Wands on the floor and hands in the air," he barked.

The shady group of approximately seven boys stiffened, until one of them took the initiative. "C'mon. Jolly likely. We're not falling for that old prank," one called out.

"_Finite Incantatem_," Seamus hissed and the light returned to the corridor. "Auror Finnegan, at your service, me lads."

The boys paled, until the apparent leader of the group spoke. "You think you're tough because you know Harry _bleedin'_ Potter. Well, he's not here now, is he? In case you haven't noticed, _Auror Finnegan,_ there are seven of us and only one of you." The others seemed less than eager to test their skills against an Auror, but the leader, Stiles, drew his wand.

"Stiles, there's no way you'll get away with this, even if by some freak of nature you should beat him," one boy said.

"I'll just wipe his memory," Stiles replied confidently. "C'mon, we can take him."

Seamus waited for them to make the first move, knowing that Susan already had a shield in place. In the dim light in the corridor and all focus on Seamus, the boys hadn't noticed the all but invisible Susan.

"_Impedimenta,_" Stiles shouted and flicked his wand.

Seamus noted the surprise on the student's face when he didn't do anything to defend himself. The jinx dissipated harmlessly against Susan's shield. Next, Seamus fired off three rapid stunners and knocked out Stiles with a double-hit and dropped one next to him, probably Stormer.

"_Protego,_" Seamus said in a bored tone before the five remaining Hufflepuffs had even pulled their wands. Susan dropped her Disillusionment becoming visible as she shot off two stunners, taking out two more of the gang.

"Once again, gentlemen—wands on the floor," Seamus barked, hoping they wouldn't have to stun all seven. The three remaining boys hesitated for a few moments before surrendering their wands and raising their hands over their heads. They looked at their four unconscious comrades, and then the realisation that these two Aurors took them out in mere seconds struck them like a tonne of bricks. The very idea that Stiles presumed he could take even one of them seemed like a bad joke now.

The Aurors had played it safe to avoid injury to their targets, but either one of them were more than capable of flattening all seven of them without breaking a sweat. Even thought all of them were in fifth, sixth and seventh years, studying Defence Against the Dark Arts at OWL or NEWT level, the three conscious Hufflepuffs understood without a doubt that NEWT-level magic was universes apart from Auror level magic.

Once disarmed and returned to the Land of the Conscious, the subdued and deflated Hufflepuffs were led to the headmistress' office by their own captors. Just outside, the Gryffindors stood waiting in turn to be questioned. Upon sight of the miscreants, Dennis made to draw his wand with his now-bandaged hand. The JPs grabbed an arm each and held him back. "They're not werf it, mate," Joseph said firmly, but gently. "Let Mr Seamus and Miss Susan settle their 'ash."

"Auror Bones, we'll need to help Minerva with this lot," Seamus said. "I'll call Chang to check on Miss Spinnet. Once we've got these squared away, I'll need you to join Cho when she's ready to interview the girl."

"Is that really necessary," Susan asked in a whisper, not keen on the idea of Jessica being forced to relive her terror.

"I'm afraid it is, Love. We need her statement," Seamus replied sadly. He didn't like it either, but the simple fact was that they needed to know what had happened and that meant questioning both of the Hufflepuff attackers, the Gryffindor saviours, and unfortunately, the victim herself.

"Good thinking on letting Cho talk to Jessica," Susan said. "She's good at that sort of thing."

"I'll send a Patronus to the Burrow. Harry and Ron are goin' ta wanna know about this," Seamus added.

Fifteen minutes later, Auror Cho Chang entered the hospital wing and approached Jessica's bedside. Madame Pomfrey had left to report to Professor McGonagall and meet with the girl's parents, but Fiona stayed Jessica's side for moral support.

"Good evening," Cho greeted them gently, removing her Aurors' robes and laying them on the bed next to Jessica's. Cho thought it was a good idea to appear less-official, since this was such a delicate case and should be conducted as more a conversation than an interrogation.

Fiona watched the lithe Asian beauty with interest. She'd heard stories about her—a niece to Sam Chang who ran the Black Dragon restaurant that Ron was so fond of and former girlfriend to Cousin Harry. From what she was told, this woman was one of the top duellists on the force, one of few who could actually cause Harry to break a sweat. All in all, she looked nothing like a warrior at all. _If those bastards would-a jumped her instead o' Jessica, they'd-a been parked in these beds in a New York minute. Would've served 'em right too._

"I'm Fiona Prewett, Healer Apprentice," Fiona said, extending her hand.

"Oh yes. Ron's told about his American cousin. I'm Cho Chang," Cho replied, glancing at Jessica, who was currently sleeping. "How is she?"

"Physically, she'll be fine after a good night's sleep, but I doubt she'll sleep very good. The potions are wearin' off, Miss Cho," Fiona replied, absently brushing a lock of hair from the girl's face. "By the time Dennis and the team got to 'er, them idjits had torn most of her clothes off. Still, they didn't have the chance ta get at 'er, but they came close. If they had, I don't wanna think what young Mr Creevey might-a done to 'em. It must-a been awful for her."

"Would it be all right if I spoke with her before you give her another potion," Cho asked.

"I s'pose so," Fiona said, feeling comfortable with this very gentle young woman. _Aurors obviously come in all shapes 'n' sizes, from my mountain of a cousin to this sweet ol' gal. _"I think she'll wake up in a few minutes. Once I give 'er the once-over, you can talk."

"This is horrible. Honestly, I thought we'd seen the last of students beaten up when the war ended," Cho sighed. "When will it end?"

"You were dragged into that war, too," Fiona asked.

Cho nodded. "In my fifth year, my sixth-year boyfriend was one of the first ones killed in this war," Cho said sadly. But almost as quickly, she pasted on a smirk and continued. "But my very brief boyfriend in my sixth year put it to an end."

"Harry," Fiona presumed.

"_Boyfriend_ is pushing it, really. We had crushes on each other, and a brief and rather confused relationship, but we both knew it couldn't last. Still and all, my crush on Harry got me into Dumbledore's Army. That's where I really learned how to fight."

"Y'all fascinate me. Ye've lived through stuff I can hardly imagine and came out of it smellin' like a dozen roses," Fiona said.

"And that was one of my motivations for becoming an Auror," Cho said as Jessica's eyes began to flutter.

"Cho...what are you doing here," Jessica said weakly and then turned her eyes to the other side of the bed. "Onie..."

"We're here, Jess. Miss Cho would like to talk to you before you have your Dreamless Sleep Potion. Think yer up to it?"

"It's all right," Jessica replied with a watery smile. She knew Cho from Defence class last year and was grateful to have a familiar face to talk to.

Harry and Ron had come straight to Hogwarts as soon as they received Seamus' Patronus. They gathered the reports from Seamus, who'd questioned the Hufflepuffs, Professor McGonagall, Susan who'd talked to the Gryffs, and then Cho's report of her chat with Jessica.

Harry shook his head. "They ruddy ambushed her," Harry growled. "The bleeding cowards ambushed a lone _girl!_"

Ron shook his red head in disgust. "But was it really Jessica they were after, personally, or just any Pureblood girl—or friend of a Pureblood?"

"With that rationale, they could have attacked just about _any_ girl," Harry growled again, thinking of their beloved Munchkins.

Ron nodded again, but held his peace. An infuriated Professor McGonagall had vowed to send an owl to the Board of Governors to decide whether this would be handled as a school matter, or full-blown criminal investigation, leaving it in the hands of DMLE. She wanted the Board to decide, primarily because of the consequences. If it was left a school matter, the assault and attempted rape would be punished according to school rules. Otherwise, there would be a trial and prison time. "Honestly, mate, I don't know what's best. Either way, there could be backlash," Ron observed.

"How so," Harry asked.

"If the seventh-years who are of age are sent to Azkaban, it might play right into ELF's hands. Muggleborns sent to prison. With Hermione as historian, they could likely present examples of numerous crimes committed by Purebloods who were let-off due to _insufficient evidence,_" Ron said with quote fingers.

"Ruddy politics. And what best-serves the seven 'Puffs best but still meets the demands of justice," Harry asked.

"Hardly Azkaban, mate," Ron replied. "And I don't know if it's the best course of action to expel them, either. Detention with Filch for the rest of their time in school...seems rather lame, actually."

"Yeah, but it's not a sentence I'd want to serve," Harry agreed. "For them, though, it just may be the worst penalty they can imagine."

"And it'd be harder for ELF to use. There's enough to expel them, so they might appear_ lucky_ to get away with just detentions…since there was no—uh—you know."

Harry and Ron decided to add their thoughts with Professor McGonagall's letter to the Board without making an outright recommendation. It was important for the Board to have the full picture before they made a final decision. Either way, DMLE wouldn't have to take much heat for the final outcome.


	22. Chapter 22 The Consequenses of our Actio

**Chapter 22 – The Consequences of Our Actions**

This six remaining denizens of the Burrow gathered wearily around the breakfast table the Friday morning following the Halloween attack at Hogwarts. Molly served platters of eggs and sausage, rashers of bacon, home-fried potatoes with onions (one of Fiona's favourites), toast with butter and jam, tea, and pitchers of juice and milk.

As had become the custom just about every morning at the Burrow, they shared breakfast while Arthur read from _The Daily Prophet _and thenthey wouldcommenton the various articles; shop talk was reserved for supper time. They had just sat down to eat when, right on schedule, a brown delivery owl swooped through the kitchen window and landed in front of Hermione, who dropped a few Knuts into its pouch, fed it a bit of bacon, and sent it on its way. As per usual, Hermione passed the paper over to Arthur, who snapped it open and began to laugh.

"What is it, dear," Molly asked her husband with a smile. "What's so funny?"

"Look," Arthur howled, and dropped the paper on the table. There, big as all outdoors, was a full front-page photo-spread of the Minister for Magic decked out in a lime-green tutu executing a perfect pirouette to the astonishment of the French Premier du Magique and his staff. The headline read _BRITAIN'S PRIMA MINISTRINA FOR MAGIC MAKES GRANDE ENTRANCE._

Ginny and Harry just grinned evilly while the others passed the paper around and laughed at their friend's plight.

"Harry, you did this, didn't you," Ron asked with a Cheshire grin. "This was the Floo Powder prank, yeah?"

"Right in one, my brother," Harry snickered. "It's a new one George came up with—_Here's Tutu Your Funny Floo_."

"Harry…" Hermione began. "You pranked the Minister for Magic in front of the French Premier! You could be sacked!"

"Oh, lighten up, Hermione," Ginny teased. "It serves Kingsley right. Maybe he'll think twice before he sets Harry up again."

"Too right it does," Molly giggled, passing the paper back to Arthur. "Is there an article?"

"There is, but it's just a blurb," Arthur replied and began to read.

"_Yesterday, Britain's Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, paid a diplomatic visit to France to co-ordinate future co-operation between our two magical nations in a post-war economy. As a show of trust, an agreement had been passed that directly connects the two leaders by Floo, thereby allowing them access to mutual communication._

_In a further show of that trust, Minister Shacklebolt Flooed to France rather than arrange the customary International Portkey passage across the Channel. The Premier's smaller fireplace was a 'tights' squeeze for the Minister's size, but he made it through gracefully, landed on perfect pointe and greeted the French leader with flawlessly-executed pirouette and plié. The __Minister had no comment on his rather unusual attire or entrance, other than to state unequivocally that lime-green isn't really his colour, as he would have much preferred blaze-orange, and his slippers were a bit stiff."_

"I couldn't have asked for a more perfect payback," Harry howled. "And it made the front page too!" Harry and Ginny fell all over themselves with laughter, while Ron high-fived them both. Hermione tried to hide her amusement, but it was no good. She found herself laughing along after a few moments.

"But…" Arthur began. "But judging from the size of the Minister, that's got to be an eight-eight! That horrid colour reminds me of Fudge's old bowler hat!"

Molly studied the picture again. "Arthur, you're right! It's the exact same ghastly shade as that stupid hat Cornelius wore like a crown."

"Guess he wishes he'd used that Portkey now," Ron guffawed, wiping tears from his eyes. "Harry, you're a genius! But how'd you do it?"

"My guess that you switched powder pots during your theatrics in his office that day, am I right, son," Arthur asked, grateful that he'd been truly forgiven.

"Right you are, Dad," Harry confirmed between snickers. "About the time I turned on the water-works, I switched the pots from behind my back. It was all Ginny's idea, really."

"Water works," Molly asked.

"Oh, it was brilliant," Arthur told her, catching his breath. "Harry cast the Lacrima charm on himself and ranted on about how much Kingsley's little joke nearly ruined his marriage and how it hurt Ginny. The man was horrified that he might have destroyed the Great Harry Potter's marriage!"

Just then a flash of silver appeared in the room in the form of a lynx. It bounded across the floor and up onto the table in front of Harry. Kingsley's voice boomed from its mouth. "You do realise, Drama Queen, that this means war?" Having delivered its message, it vanished.

"Drama Queen," Ginny snickered. "Oh that's _good!_"

Harry cast a sidelong glance at his wife and drew his wand. "_Expecto Patronum!_" Prongs burst forth and eyed its master patiently. Harry whispered to it and sent it on its way.

"Harry, what did you say," Ginny asked slyly.

"Oh not much," Harry replied with a smirk. "Just _bring it on, Ballerina Boy!_" They all broke out in gales of laughter again, their breakfast forgotten.

"I think I'm going actually look forward to going to work every morning," Arthur beamed, winking at his wife and children. "Yes, it's going to be a very interesting place to be for a while."

"Bloody hell," Hermione breathed, and buried her face in her hands.

Seamus met Harry in the Entrance Hall to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was a little bit surprised that his boss and friend would arrive without his partner. "Top o' the mornin', Harry," Seamus said with a grin. "Where's Red?"

Harry smirked at his Irish comrade-in-arms. "You don't ever want him to hear you call him that, you know," he warned good-naturedly. "He doesn't like it when Jock says it."

"Aye, but it fits the sod," Seamus replied. "So…"

"He's in Hogsmeade on a separate mission to his brother," Harry said. "It has to do with specialised defence in light of recent…events."

Seamus had an idea as to what his boss might be alluding to, but decided to keep his peace. They had bigger fish to fry and he had a feeling it was going to be unpleasant. "The Board's made a decision, then?"

"Yeah, and it's up to us to see that it's carried out," Harry replied. "More so on you, since you're the CLO here."

"I was afraid o' that," the Irishman mumbled. "I suppose we'd best get inside, yeah?"

"Lead on," Harry sighed. He wasn't looking forward to this meeting at all; however, he had to admit that he was grateful that the ultimate decision as to what to do with Jessica Spinnet's assailants didn't fall to him. He and Ron had determined at the outset that no matter what, those who made that decision were going to be damned no matter what they did.

"Hail Caledonia," Seamus barked at the Gargoyle.

"You didn't have to shout, ya ruddy Mick," the Gargoyle growled. "I'm not deaf!" It leapt aside with a disgusted sneer and allowed the two Aurors to pass.

"He's become quite temperamental in its old age," Harry snickered as they mounted the stairs. "Been biting the heads off a lot of us lately."

"I heard that, Potter," it snarled from the base of the stairs. Harry's and Seamus' laughter drifted down the stairwell while the Gargoyle continued to mutter about the impudence of young people these days.

Harry rapped on the door to the Headmistress' office and waited for leave to open and enter.

"Come." The two Aurors stepped into the office to find the Head Boy and Girl, Professors Hagrid, Sprout, Flitwick, and Slughorn, and Fiona Prewett seated in chairs around the room. Minerva McGonagall sat at her desk with a rather official-looking parchment in her hands. She nodded to the two remaining chairs directly across from her desk. "Chief Potter, Auror Finnegan, welcome. I'm sure you know everyone?"

"Uh…well…not quite everyone," Harry replied glancing at the fair-skinned brunette girl and tall, medium-blond-haired boy. "I don't believe I've met your Head Students."

"Oh, of course. Forgive me," she said quickly. "Miss Bradford, Mr Townsend, this is Head Auror Harry Potter. You know Auror Finnegan, I trust?"

"Yes, ma'am," the Head Girl replied, blushing prettily. "Lisa Bradford. Nice to meet you, sir."

"Miss Bradford," Harry replied, leaning forward to shake her hand.

"Dalton Townsend, sir," the boy said, also shaking Harry's hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"Mr Townsend," Harry replied. "A Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor. Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir," they replied together.

For a few moments, silence fell over the dimly-lit office. Where there used to be an almost constant whirr and chirp of various and sundry magical instruments when Albus Dumbledore occupied these offices, there was only the monotonous tocking of an old grandfather clock that stood proudly near the steps where Fawkes' perch used to be.

Harry knew this clock to be an heirloom passed down from the Headmistress' maternal great-grandparents. Etched into the glass pane in the cabinet that housed the pendulum were the words _Time Waits For No Man_. As austere as its owner, it appeared to glare down at the assembly, almost demanding they begin this most-unpleasant meeting.

Minerva glanced over the parchment one more time before she set it down on the immaculately neat mahogany desk. "Yes, well, we know why we're here, do we not?" Everyone nodded in reply to everyone else. "I have here an official decision from the Hogwarts Board of Governors regarding the most-unfortunate attack on Miss Jessica Spinnet, but before I read it," she said, adjusting her square spectacles, "I would wish for Miss Prewett to give us a status report on the young lady."

"Of course, Headmistress," Fiona began, working to keep her accent in check. "First of all, we are pleased to say that there was no internal damage. Her physical injuries were mostly superficial, with only a few deep bruises that we were able to repair in only a couple of days. The rest of her cuts and abrasions healed in only a few hours."

"Excuse me, Fiona," Professor Sprout interjected. "But was she…well…"

"No, Miss Pomona. Mr Creevey and his friends managed to rescue her before her attackers could get that far," Fiona assured her. Professor Sprout breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She was already horrified that members of her House, long known for its devotion to fair play, could engage in such reprehensible behaviour. She had already confined the boys responsible to their common room pending further investigation.

"Thank Merlin and Maeve," she said, her eyes filling with tears she should have shed days before. "So Miss Spinnet will be all right then?"

"Well, that's the skunk in the woodpile, isn't it," Fiona answered, briefly allowing her southern roots to stick out. "Physically, she's fine as frog's hair, but emotionally…she's a train-wreck. Won't let a boy within ten feet of her."

Hagrid's face under his scruffy beard grew red with anger. He'd been stewing about the attack since the night it happened, doing all he could to comfort a quite shaken Dennis Creevey and keep the rest of his lions from tearing any badger they came across to shreds. The situation at the school had become a tinderbox and one more spark would set it off. "What kin we do," he said in his gravelly voice, raising his tablecloth-sized handkerchief to his eyes.

"Honestly, Hagrid, this is beyond me," Fiona replied honestly. "I can fix a broken bone, close a cut—hell, I can even stop internal bleeding, but when it comes to the mind, I'm at a loss. Miss Poppy and I have talked about this at great length and I'm afraid we need someone better-trained for this kind of thing."

"Are you suggesting a Mind-healer," the Headmistress asked pointedly.

"Suggesting it," Fiona asked. "Prescribing it, Headmistress."

All the while Fiona gave her report, Seamus listened with rapt attention, his eyes caressing her ruggedly beautiful face. He reveled in her southern lilt; it was music to him—the voice of an angel. It didn't matter that the subject of her report was heartbreaking; her voice made it bearable. _Saint Brigid and Queen Boudica in one glorious package, this one_.

"Auror Finnegan," Minerva said, snapping her fingers. "Did you hear the question?" Seamus didn't answer. He was too lost in his thoughts about the redhead across the room.

Harry turned to find the man staring directly at Fiona, a goofy smile playing across his lips. Bugger. "Auror Finnegan! Front and centre!" Seamus leapt from his seat and stood at military attention. "The headmistress has asked you a question and you will answer it!"

"Yes sir," Seamus replied with a shout. "Um…Chief?" His face turned crimson with embarrassment at having been essentially reprimanded in front of his former teachers and the object of his affection.

"What is it, Finnegan," Harry replied in an authoritative tone trying not to break into laughter.

"What…what was the question, sir," Seamus asked sheepishly, while Fiona hid her smirk behind her clipboard.

"The question, Auror Finnegan," McGonagall began, "is do you have anything to report?"

"Oh…uh…yes, ma'am," Seamus answered, still standing at attention.

"As you were, Auror," Harry commanded. "What've you got?"

"Right. Well, the night of the attack, Auror Bones and I set out to secure the castle when we came upon seven young men having a rather interesting discussion near the Hufflepuff common room area." Seamus proceeded to relate the conversation they overheard, complete with names, and that there was a one-sided duel that resulted in the arrest of those involved.

"So you're saying that the students in question confessed their guilt," McGonagall asked over her spectacles.

"In a manner of speaking, yes, ma'am," Seamus replied. "Chief Potter has our reports."

"That's correct, Headmistress. I have reports from Finnegan and Bones and another from Auror Chang," Harry added, and passed copies around the room.

Professor Sprout scanned the official Auror reports and all colour drained from her careworn face. She stole a few nervous glances toward Hagrid, whose face was unreadable under all his whiskers, but his eyes blazed with a fury that should never be induced in a man his size.

"I understand you were present during Auror Chang's interview with Miss Spinnet," McGonagall asked Fiona.

"Yes ma'am. It was just like this parchment says. Auror Chang was very patient and kind with Jessica," Fiona replied. "She answered the best she could, all things considered."

"And the witnesses? Hagrid, have you spoken with Mr Creevey and company," McGonagall asked the large man who still seethed in his oversized chair.

"I spent lots o' time wi' me Gryffs, Headmistress. They're shook up pretty bad," Hagrid growled. "D'ya need 'em ter talk t'ya, 'Arry?"

"Not right now, Hagrid, thanks," Harry replied. "Since we have a confession—more or less—and the Board of Governors have opted to keep this a school matter, there's no need to traumatize any of them further."

"I might suggest a little counselin' for them as well, Miss Minerva," Fiona advised. "Dennis isn't takin' this too well. He…well, he keeps tryin' to visit Jessie, but—"

"She won't see 'im," Hagrid finished. "The poor lad's at the end of 'is tether worryin' about 'er. 'Is poor 'eart is breakin'." The half-Giant blew his nose into his handkerchief and blinked back a rain of tears.

Fiona knew that if something wasn't done soon to rectify the situation, Dennis might very well explode. She'd already had to repair broken knuckles from his assault of a stone wall; she didn't want to have to rebuild a broken body…or two.

The headmistress sighed heavily and rubbed the bridge of her nose with a thumb and forefinger. "Fiona, notify Poppy that she is to order the Mind Healer for Miss Spinnet and see what can be done for Mr Creevey and his friends." Fiona nodded and made a note on her clipboard.

She picked up the parchment and rattled it, glancing around the room to see that she had everyone's attention. "I have here the decision of the Hogwarts Board of Governors regarding the punishment of our young perpetrators." She shot a look of sympathy to her old friend, the Herbology professor. "Their decision is as follows:"

"_We, the Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to hereby decree the following action against Jonathan Andrew Corwin, David Peter Dearborn, Steven Barkley Dearborn, Carl William Farrell, Bradley Thomas Scott, Ryan Allen Stiles, Gerald Ethan Stormer Jr, and Hans Albert Waldheimer, regarding the unfortunate attack against the person of Jessica Darlene Spinnet on 31 October 1999:_

_We adopt and concur with the "house arrest" condition levied by Professor Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House. This condition shall exist throughout the rest of this school year. The aforementioned students shall be confined to their common room except for meals and classes. Hogsmeade visits are hereby suspended indefinitely._

_The students shall serve detention each and every Saturday with Mr Argus Filch in whichever capacity he sees fit, within reason, between the hours of 9:00 AM and 9:00 PM._

_The students shall meet with an anger-management counsellor twice per week and keep a journal of their individual progress to be handed in to Professor Sprout for inspection on Saturday mornings before breakfast. The journals shall be charmed to expunge any attempts to deceive or cheat._

_The students shall submit approved written apologies to Miss Spinnet and the Spinnet family. They shall further stand before Headmistress Minerva McGonagall and the entire staff and student body of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry confessing their crime and offering a __sincere__ apology._

_The Headmistress shall submit a weekly report to the Board of Governors regarding the progress of the students in question, which shall be forwarded to their parents. Any further misconduct by these students shall result in expulsion and incarceration with Magical Juvenile Authorities."_

The headmistress laid the parchment back on her desk and surveyed the faces of the other seven people in her office. "Any questions?"

Nobody spoke, but Harry let out a quiet sigh of relief. _Damned if they do and damned if they don't. _He knew that, no matter what the Board's decision might have been, public opinion would be divided. Some would agree with it since the girl hadn't actually been raped, but others would be outraged because of the violence of the attack and the magical implications of rape as well.

"Very well," McGonagall said, rising from her seat. "Let us be adjourned, then. Thank you all for coming." She offered her hand to each of them as they rose to leave. She exchanged a tired look with her favourite alumnus as he opened to door for the others to pass; Harry and Seamus were the last to leave.

Professor McGonagall waited until Harry and Seamus were gone and then carefully knelt down before her Floo. I really must see about a low kneeling stool. "Caretaker's Office," she called and tossed a bit of Floo powder into the flames. Almost immediately, Argus Filch's head appeared in the grate.

"You called, Headmistress," he growled.

"Yes, Argus. I have an order from the Board of Governors assigning you seven helpers on Saturdays. You are to keep them busy between the hours of 9AM and 9PM—no earlier, no later. Whatever work they perform is to be performed without magic and within reason," she informed him, telling him there would be no abuse of the convicted students.

"Aye, ma'am. I'm sure I can find plenty to keep 'em busy," he said with a wicked grin, his blackened teeth showing green in the flames. "And for how long, if I might ask?"

"You'll have them for the rest of the school year, Argus, except for Christmas and Easter break. You'll need to file a report with Professor Sprout as to the work assigned and what they complete. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am," he replied. Once her head left his grate, he pick Mrs Norris up and held her close as he danced a mad jig around his dingy office. "Helpers, my sweet. Yes. We'll have us a bit of a lark, won't we, my dear?" Mrs Norris purred in his arms, her reddish eyes glowing even in the dim light of his dungeon office.

"Sorry about…back there," Seamus apologised sheepishly. "I guess I was a bit…"

"…distracted. Seamus, were you checking Ron's cousin out," Harry asked suspiciously. "I saw you flirting on the platform that day, you know."

"She's somethin', isn't she," Seamus admitted with a twinkle in his blue eyes. "And that accent—"

"She knows about you," Harry warned. "She knows about your…uh…reputation."

"What reputation? I don't have—"

"Oh come on, Irish! Anyone who knows you know you're a ladies' man," Harry argued. "You've dated just about every witch in our year. Hell, you even got round the Ice Queen of Slytherin!"

"How did…nobody was supposed to know about Daphne," Seamus growled. "I did that on a dare from Thomas, you know. I didn't even expect her to give me the time o' day, let alone—"

"I don't want to know," Harry said, cutting him off. "Just…mind yourself around Fiona, Seamus, I mean it."

"Mind meself! She's a grown woman, Harry! If I ask her out and she agrees, that's gonna be between her an' me," Seamus snapped. The two Aurors looked as though they were about to square off when common sense took hold of both of them.

"Look…Seamus…she's a nice girl, okay? She's thousands of miles from home, so we're all a bit protective of her," Harry explained. "You do have a reputation, she knows it, and she's on guard. Besides, I hear she's seeing the Defence professor."

"Ah, that's over," Seamus assured him. "At least it's pretty close. The way he blathered on after the Quidditch fight—she about hexed his bits off!"

"You weren't even here! How do you know—"

"I'm CLO here, right? The students like me, right? Well, I can tell ya that a certain House was all too keen to tell me the whole story," Seamus argued.

"We all know what happened," Harry reminded him. "We got the reports."

"Oh yeah, but we didn't get the unofficial ones," Seamus smirked. "There's more to the story than what's in those ruddy reports, Harry. At least the interestin' parts."

"Come on," Harry said putting a friendly arm around his third-in-command. "You can tell me about it on the way to the village. I need to meet up with His Redness. We have to get to the ministry so I can present Hermione to claim our seats before we lose them."

"His Redness? Do you call him that to his face," Seamus asked with a smirk.

"Not a chance," Harry laughed. "I rather value my bits and so does Ginny."

The two men left the castle and made their way to the gates, Seamus filling Harry in on the second-hand report of the short and not-so-sweet discussion between Fiona and Rupert Watson concerning his flippant attitude about the near-fatal fight of a few weeks before.

Harry approached the Wizengamot Administration Services desk he'd located via the directory in the Atrium. He waited patiently while the wizard on duty examined a rather lengthy bit of parchment. "One moment please," the man said, acknowledging him without raising his eyes from the document.

Five minutes later, the man still sat reading as if petrified, so Harry conjured a comfortable chair and a cup of tea. He had just finished his second cup when the man finally folded the parchment and banished it to an archive.

"Now, let's see, how can I help you," he asked in a bored monotone, finally looking up at the young man seated in front of him. He hadn't realised he had kept Harry Potter waiting for his attention "Sir, Head Auror Potter. I'm very sorry to have kept you waiting."

Harry chuckled a bit. He still didn't like his celebrity status, but this man had actually treated him like he would treat anyone else. "No worries. It gave me an excuse to sit down with a relaxing cuppa," Harry replied.

"Of course, sir. Any time is a good time for tea, right," the man asked nervously. "What can I do for you, sir? Archibald Wheeler, at your service."

Harry produced his two parchments concerning the Wizengamot seats. "I was told I had to file an official report regarding whom I intend to occupy my families' seats."

Wheeler raised his eyebrows in curious interest, but after having browsed through Harry's parchments, he looked at him with a smile. "Yes, of course you must. I assume you have a representative for one of the seats and will sit in the other yourself?"

"That is correct," Harry confirmed officiously. "There's one thing I wonder, though."

"By all means, ask."

"How come the seats would be forfeited all of a sudden if I didn't claim them now? I mean, after all they've been empty for years," Harry asked.

"This is the first formal gathering of the full Wizengamot after you came of age, Auror Potter. A seat can't be forfeited simply because you were underage," Mr Wheeler told him.

"And the Black seat," Harry asked. "What of that?"

"Mr Black was imprisoned, but since you are his legal heir and wasn't of age upon his death…"

"Thank you, Mr Wheeler," Harry grinned, shaking the wizard's hand. "You've been most helpful."

"Not at all, sir. Not at all," Wheeler replied, banishing Harry's parchments to the Wizengamot archives.

Seamus closed his office in Hogsmeade and made his way back to Hogwarts to secure the castle for the night. As per usual, he would join the Gryffindors for the evening meal and catch up on all the latest gossip. He had a rather finely-tuned bullshit detector, having dished a bit of the blarney himself, so he was usually able to separate the wheat from the chaff, as it were.

He had just topped the stairs from the Entrance Hall when he heard raised voices up ahead, one of them he recognised immediately. Fiona Prewett was engaged in a rather heated discussion with…someone who was a man.

"Are you tellin' me that you think the Board came down too hard on the little varmints," Fiona hissed.

"Fiona, they didn't exactly rape the girl! You did the exam," Rupert argued.

"Seven of them attacked a lone girl! How can you say…how can you…" Fiona stormed. "They beat that poor girl black 'n' blue and tried to…to…"

"But they didn't," Rupert argued. "I'm not saying that what they did was acceptable, but you're making far too much of it."

"Oh for the love o' Merlin, Rupert Watson! I can't believe you! Making too much of it? Are you loco," Fiona snarled. "What if it had been me they'd attacked?"

_Rupert Watson? She's—oh this is too good to be true!_ Seamus grinned evilly and stepped behind a tapestry that all but hid him from view if one wasn't looking for him there.

"That's…that's entirely different," Rupert sniffed. "You're staff. And you're mi—"

"Don't you dare say it, damn you. Don't you even think for one _minute_ that I'm yours. I belong to me, do you understand? Me," Fiona fumed. "Staff or student, she's still a young woman with feelings. It's only by the grace of whatever gods were payin' attention that that girl is still…intact!"

_So they weren't really an item. Finnegan, me lad, this is your lucky day. _He mentally patted himself on the back for his good fortune.

"And that's the point, isn't it," Rupert said with a degree of triumph in his voice. "A few gods were paying attention and sent Mr Creevey and his friends to her rescue. No harm done."

_Git._

Fiona's heart broke at the knowledge that a man she thought was kind and gentle, if not a bit dodgy, was such an insensitive skunk. Her blood boiled and her temper raced to the surface. Her sky-blue eyes darkened to sapphire and her freckled skin turned scarlet. "NO HARM DONE! ARE YOU OUT O' YOUR COTTON-PICKIN' GOURD? That girl has retreated into herself and the young man who loves her with every fibre of his being is sittin' in Hagrid's hut night after night cryin' his heart out because she won't let him near her! Don't tell me _no harm done!_"

_You tell 'em, darlin' girl! He's not worthy of a beauty like you._ Seamus could feel his body reacting to the fire in her eyes and power of her will.

"Now, Fiona, don't overreact," Rupert said shakily, his hands up in defence. "I…I meant to say that it's a good thing that Creevey found her in time." He was backpedalling and doing it badly. He'd already ruined his chances with the Apprentice Healer and he knew it. All he could hope for now was to escape with his bits still attached to his body and his face in one piece.

_Oh, now me bullshit detector is goin' off full tilt. Ye're done for, Watson. She's gonna eat you alive!_

"You are a lyin', sneakin', low-down duhty dawg, Rupert Watson, and I want you to stay the hell away from me, you heah," Fiona shouted, tears coursing down her cheeks. "You killed… whatevah we had…dead!" Fiona turned on her heel and stormed back toward the hospital wing her angry footsteps fading into the darkness.

Seamus watched as the Defence professor bowed his head in defeat, turned toward the now-empty corridor, and made to follow. But evidently pride took over and the man simply straighted himself, adjusted his tie and robes, and continued past the hidden Auror and down the stairs to the Great Hall.

_Ya ruddy bastard, ya made 'er cry with yer tripe. An' that poor girl lyin' in that ward—ye got no heart, Watson. You're a lyin', sneakin' low-down dirty dog, all right. Fiona's got the full measure of ya, now, tosspot._ He debated whether he should go on down to supper or go to the hospital wing to make sure Fiona was all right. He decided after a few minutes that maybe he should just leave her alone. A man might very well be the last thing she wanted to see right then.

Fiona pushed the swinging doors of the ward inward as she stormed inside. She stood in the centre of the room out of sight of Jessica to collect herself, furiously wiping her tears dry and sucking in calming breaths. She straightened her hair and clothes and approached the partition that afforded the traumatized girl a bit of privacy. "Hi, Jessie. How ya feelin', honey?" All thoughts of Rupert Watson and his infuriating attitude left Fiona's mind as she began to minister to her patient.

That evening, the Weasley clan gathered around the supper table for another of Molly's signature meals, this time involving a honey-glazed ham with all the trimmings with mulled cider to wash it all down. As Molly served apple pie and coffee, conversation turned to the events of the day.

"I understand the Board of Governors has made a decision on the Jessica Spinnet case," Arthur began, gratefully accepting a rather sizeable wedge of pie from his wife.

"Yeah, Dad," Ron replied, as Harry's mouth was full of pie. "The boys are under House arrest and have to serve detention with Filch every Saturday night until the end of the year."

"That's going to be tough on the fifth- and seventh-years involved," Hermione said. "I mean, they have OWLs and NEWTs…"

"Hermione, they're lucky they got off with this so lightly," Ron retorted.

"Lightly?"

"Lightly, Hermione," Arthur said, backing his son. "Rape is a serious crime in our world."

"But…"

"Hermione, they brought this on themselves. They tried to rape Jessica and they would have succeeded if Dennis and the others hadn't blown the door away and rescued her," Harry said. "They messed her up pretty badly."

"Oh dear. All we heard in RCMC is that there was an attack on a girl and that the boys slapped her around a bit," Hermione reported sheepishly. "What's all this about rape?"

"Hermione, seven Huffle—"

"Seven! On one girl? Great Circe," she gasped.

"Seven," Ron reiterated. "They ambushed her near the library and dragged her into a classroom. They beat her nearly senseless and had all but torn every stitch of clothing off her before her teammates found her."

Tears welled in Hermione's cinnamon eyes. "Oh poor Jessica," she began to sob. "Why? What had she done to deserve…" Her thoughts wandered back once again to Malfoy Manor and the night she came so close to a similar fate. Who knew what Greyback might have done before he tore her limb from limb? Suddenly, she covered her mouth, leapt from the table, and tore up the stairs toward the loo.

"I'll…I'll just head up and…look after her. Mum, perhaps some of your special tea," Ron said as he excused himself from the table.

Molly watched worriedly as her son ascended the staircase after his fiancée. "That poor child."

"Hermione or Jessica," Ginny asked, leaning her head on Harry's shoulder.

"Both," Molly replied, taking her seat and sinking her fork into her own slice of pie.

"So what was the determination, Harry," Arthur asked.

"There's an official decree from the Board that Minerva read to us. It says that they'll be under House arrest and have detention with Filch, like Ron said," Harry continued. "Their Hogsmeade privileges are revoked indefinitely and they have to undergo anger management therapy."

"And Miss Spinnet," Molly asked, feeling protective over a girl she never met.

"Well, she's going to need counselling," Harry reported. "Fiona says she won't let a boy within ten feet of her—not even Dennis. McGonagall have Poppy the go-ahead to contact St Mungo's and bring in a Mind Healer. The boys have to journal their progress and hand it in to Pomona every Saturday at breakfast. If they don't comply, they'll be remanded to the custody of the Magical Juvenile Authorities."

Ginny listened intently to everything Harry said, wondering just how Professor Dumbledore might have handled a situation like this. While she admired the man, she sometimes wondered if all the rumours about his being a bit mad might not have been true after all the things she'd seen Malfoy and his lot get away with, not to mention Snape's mean-spiritedness. She silently applauded Professor McGonagall for taking the proverbial bull by the horns and seeing some semblance of justice done. "Will she be all right, Harry? Jessica, I mean?"

"I don't know, Gin. Fiona says she's in pretty sad shape. And Dennis—well, he spends most evenings down with Hagrid trying to make sense of it all," Harry sighed. "Hagrid says his heart's breaking for her." Harry could only imagine the pain Dennis must have been going through. His own heart ached for love of Ginny and want of her embrace while he, Ron, and Hermione were on the run. But distance and war didn't separate Dennis and Jessica—no, it was the violent act of seven cowards who turned a vibrant, fun-loving young woman into a frightened rabbit. If that had been Ginny lying in that bed, terrified of him…

She could feel the magic roll off him in waves through their bond as his hands curled into fists and his jaw clenched. She knew what he was thinking and sent love and calming energy back through to settle him.

"_Calm down, baby. I'm safe. I'm here. Professor McGonagall, Madame Pomfrey, and Onie are going to make sure Jessica recovers so she and Dennis can be together."_

"_I know, Gin, but this is just so…WRONG. She was…what did she ever do to them? What did Dennis ever do to them?"_

"_We may never know what they were thinking. Why does anyone hurt someone else? They're sick, Harry. That's the only explanation I can think of. Perhaps this punishment regimen will straighten them out. We can only hope."_

"Harry, Ginny," Arthur said, finally gaining their attention. "Is something wrong?"

"N-no," Ginny replied, gently rubbing circled on her husband's back. "We're fine. This has all just been a bit much for him, I think, that's all, Daddy."

"Well, it's been a long eventful day for you, Harry, dear," Molly said pouring a cup of her special tea and levitating it up to Ron's and Hermione's room. "Perhaps a spot of this might help you rest, yes?"

"Thanks, Mum," Harry said quietly, accepting the cup and sipping it slowly. "You're the best."

"Goodnight, son," Arthur said. "Goodnight, Ginny-girl."

Ginny stood and kissed her father's cheek. "Come on, Harry. Bedtime." He followed without argument. He rather looked forward to crawling into a nice, warm bed with his nice, warm wife and wrapping his arms around her for a nice, warm sleep. Molly met them at the base of the stairs and kissed both of them before they disappeared up the stairs.

With a heavy sigh, she returned to her seat at the table and sat down next her husband. "That boy takes so much to heart. He just hurts for everyone."

"He carries a heavy responsibility, Molly. He's carried it all his life—first as the Boy-Who-Lived, then as the Chosen One and Saviour of the Wizarding World, and now as Head Auror," Arthur explained. "No doubt he's wrestling with feelings of inadequacy for what's been going on at Hogwarts."

"He can't be everywhere at once, Arthur," Molly reasoned. "The safety of the students is Minerva's and the teachers' responsibility, not Harry's."

"No, but he still found it necessary to assign Seamus as Chief Liaison Officer after that Quidditch mess," he said, sipping his coffee. "He hoped that do so might rein in the trouble. I think it was a sound decision."

"But it didn't stop this, did it," Molly replied regretfully.

"This happened in the light of day, Molly," Arthur argued. "Seamus' team are there at night. I'm wondering where those damnable portraits were when she was taken. They're all over the school, including the library corridor!"

"Minerva isn't Albus, dear," Molly reminded her husband. "She doesn't have the respect and influence Albus had."

"Still, Molly, those portraits are bound to the headmaster or headmistress. They should've alerted someone the moment that girl was dragged into that classroom against her will," Arthur growled.

"Well, what's done is done and all the wondering in the world isn't going to change it. I'm sure our boys will get this all under control," Molly assured him, hoping she was right.

Ron held Hermione's hair as she lost her dinner. When she finished, she fell back against him and sobbed, spittle running down her front while her nose ran. Ron offered her a tissue so she could wipe her eyes and face and blow her nose. He then summoned a glass of cool water and handed it to her while he held her close to his chest, planting tiny kisses on the top of her head.

"All right, 'Mione," Ron asked softly, still holding her close.

"Y-yes, I think so," she sniffled. "I…I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, Love. You ready to head up? Mum sent up some of her special tea," he murmured into her hair.

"I'd like to brush my teeth first, if you don't mind," she replied, grabbing hold of the sink for leverage to pull herself up. "You go ahead. I'll see you up there."

"Not a chance, Granger. I'm not going to have you take a header down the stairs because you're dizzy all of a sudden," Ron argued good-naturedly. "No. You're stuck with me."

"Ronald?"

"Yes, 'Mione."

"I love you," she said as she summoned her toothbrush from their room and proceeded to clean her mouth.

"I love you too, baby," he replied, watching her methodically manoeuvre the toothbrush over and around her teeth. "Floss?"

"I can do that upstairs," she replied. "So…will my knight carry me or am I to travel on foot?"

Ron scooped her up in his strong arms and carried her sideways out of the bathroom and then up the stairs to their top floor bedroom. "Your wish is my command, Milady."

Ron helped Hermione undress for bed and then waited while she flossed her teeth. "Ah oo gotah fah too, Wah?"

"Huh? Hermione, I can't understand you when..." Dawn broke over Ron's horizon. "So turnabout is fair play, is it?"

Hermione giggled and took a sip from the tea Molly had sent up. "I said aren't you going to floss too, Ron?"

"Fine. Hand it over," he huffed, knowing she'd fuss if he didn't. He pulled a length from the container and snapped it off. "I ih?"

"Yes, like that. Just don't saw it or you'll cut your gums. Just down and up, down and up," she instructed. "That's it." Hermione sipped her tea while Ron flossed. Molly really did have a way with peppermint and chamomile. Her stomach settled and she was able to relax. By the time Ron finished, she had finished her tea.

"Come on, Love. Crawl in," Ron said, holding the covers back for her. "Feeling better now?"

"Mm. Much. Ron, what does Wizarding law say about crimes like rape," she asked. "In the Muggle world, it's second only to murder or manslaughter."

"'Mione, rape is all but unheard-of in our world. It just isn't done," he explained. "The ramifications are too great."

"I would hope so," Hermione huffed. "A convicted rapist in the Muggle world can go to prison for a very long time. What about what happened to Jessica? Why didn't Harry—"

"He…we couldn't have done much, really. Our hands were tied because as the law is written, those boys didn't technically commit a crime. Believe me, I think what they did was beyond wrong, and so does Harry, but we can act officially only according to the dictates of the law," he explained.

"But they assaulted her and tore her clothes off," Hermione argued. "Doesn't that just scream their intentions?"

"Probably, but the law doesn't work that way," Ron countered. "In all honesty, there's no precedent for this because like I said before, rape just isn't done because the consequences are so serious!"

"I understand that, but even attempted rape carries a prison sentence, let alone the actual act itself," she argued again.

"'Mione, sex crime carries a far-deeper sentence than a kip in Azkaban," Ron said, finally realising that she didn't understand that it was more than a crime of violence. "You see, sex in our world can lead to magical consequences—bonds that can't be broken until one of the partners dies. If not for that, there's always pregnancy or diseases, not to mention family issues."

"Family issues? What family issues," Hermione asked. "You mean like counselling and…things?"

"That's the least of it. We'll use this case as an example, okay? Say Stiles did penetrate Jessica, just for the sake of discussion, okay? You're not going to like this, but Stiles' father is a Muggleborn, which makes him a Halfblood; Jessica's a Pureblood…"

"What does blood-status have to do with it," Hermione asked angrily. "A young woman was violated! Isn't that enough?"

"It should be, Love, but it isn't. Say he penetrated her and it formed a bond. Magically, you know what that means. Think of Harry and Ginny," Ron coached.

"Y-you mean she'd—"

"She'd never be able to marry, Hermione. She'd be bonded to Stiles. Her life would essentially be over and his family would become responsible for her. If there was a baby—"

"Sweet Circe! There's no abortion in the Wizarding world, is there," Hermione asked.

"A-what," Ron asked.

Hermione blew out a puff of air. Her question was answered with Ron's question. "Ronald, abortion is the willful and purposeful termination of a pregnancy."

"That's…that's barbaric, that is!"

"In general principle, yes, but in cases of incest or rape or absolute confirmation that the child would have no quality of life, abortion is an acceptable…alternative," she said.

"No, Hermione. There's no abortion—at least that I know of. You'd have to ask Mum or Poppy about that," Ron said. "I…I don't think I'd want to have to make a decision like that."

"I hope we never do, my love," Hermione said with a sigh. "So, say there's a bond, but no pregnancy. What then?"

"Well, like I said—his family would be responsible for her until he came of age, then he'd have to acknowledge her as his wife and they'd be stuck with each other," he replied.

"So…where does the execution come in," she asked.

"Well…that's kind of sticky. You see, her family could demand he be executed for the crime of rape—which is a capital offence, by the way, if the victim can prove the rape occurred—"

"It take it that it's not an easy thing to prosecute, then," Hermione surmised.

"No, it isn't, which is good and bad. It's good because it'd be damned hard for some woman to accuse a guy of rape when she's only angry with him; it's bad because true victims' names are dragged through the mud and she's humiliated in court."

"At least that's the same in the Muggle world. Rape cases are ghastly difficult to prosecute, so most of them are either never filed or they're dismissed entirely. Most women just don't want to go through the humiliation of the examination, the photographs, the implications—it's awful," Hermione explained.

Ron shuddered at the thought of his fiancée or his sister—or any of the women he cared about having to go through something like that. "Well, Wizarding courts use Veritaserum to dispel any doubts, but sometimes that doesn't even work. But if the guy's convicted, she or her family can demand his life so she can have hers back—that is in case a bond forms."

"I assume there's precedent," she said flatly.

"Well, yeah, I guess so, but you'd have to dig through the archives at the Ministry to find out. And if he's a Muggleborn and she's a Pureblood, he doesn't have a chance. In Stiles' case—he's lucky the Gryffs broke it up before he did any permanent damage. It could've cost him his wand, his magic, and his life."

"Because he's Halfblood?"

"Because he's a Halfblood rapist," he corrected. "Now 'Mione, don't wind up. I didn't write the laws. But you have to understand why rape—or even the attempt—is so horrible and a capital offence."

"And if there's a baby?"

"His family will be responsible for its upkeep even if her family raises it."

"That seems fair—but what if…what if—"

"Hermione, there are a thousand what-ifs. Each case is different. All I'm saying is that rape is a crime almost unheard of in our world because of the seriousness of the magical consequences to not only the perpetrator and the victim, but to their families as well. _Yes_, it's archaic, _yes_, it's brutal, but these laws have been on the books for centuries and they're among the very few that have proven effective," Ron told her before she could launch into a rant.

"So do you think the punishment for Jessica's attackers is fair," she asked, wrapping his arms around her and holding his hands.

"It really doesn't matter what I think, since I'm neither on the Board of Governors nor the Wizengamot, but yeah—I think it's fair. I'm just glad Jessica's going to get some help to cope with it all. She's got loads of friends and Fiona there for her. She'll make it. I just can't help but feel a bit sorry for Dennis. He really cares about her."

"Ron, he loves her. Patricia said they'd become quite an item and a kind of power couple like we were and like Harry and Ginny were," she said. "I hope they can find some middle ground and work this out."

"Yeah, me too, 'Mione. Me too," Ron agreed. "Now, Miss Granger-Soon-to-be-Mrs Weasley—you need to get your rest. You've got an ELF meeting tomorrow and the rally coming up. Are you ready?"

"I think so," she replied. "Seamus is bringing Dean in, but it's mostly a planning meeting for the rally. Are you and Harry going to be there?"

"Mm. I don't think so. I think Harry's sending in Boot and Goldstein. They're not so high-profile and would blend in easier," Ron said. "But don't worry. We're only a Patronus away."

"Good night, my Red Knight," Hermione said, turning his head for a kiss.

"Good night, my brave damsel."

"My dear friends," Gumboil began, fixing his gaze on Hermione. "Tonight's meeting has to do with the elections to the Wizengamot and how we want to address it."

"Ve need to meet vis da people and tell dem just how unjust our system is and vy ve need people in de elected seats who vill verk to rid our goferning body of its self-perpetuating Pureblood tyrants," Waldheimer declared. Stormer nodded in agreement.

"Yes, the abolition of the old Wizarding families' inherited seats must be our highest priority, since we can't hope to legislate any new laws with current Pureblood domination," Gumboil declared.

"And with enough popular support the Wizengamot—" Ernie Dearborn started, but Gumboil interrupted him.

"Support from people is exactly what we need, and instead of trying to make the front page of _The Daily Prophet_, we shall make sure we meet the people we want to vote for us."

"And if we get enough people to listen, we'll end up on the front page anyway," Dearborn concluded.

"You're suggestin' public meetin's," Seamus asked.

"Yes I am, Auror Finnegan," Gumboil answered. "Public is the word. Pubs are great places to talk to people. You know, a few Butterbeers and a shot of Odgen's finest are almost as effective as Veritaserum."

"We'll need flyers stating what we stand for," Stormer said. "Eldon, Ernie, you're in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Do you know anyone who can create nice-looking flyers?"

The Dearborn brothers looked at each other. "You have a point. We need posters and flyers that won't remind people of studying Goblin wars with old Binns," Ernie agreed. "But we don't do that. All the fan merchandise is produced by the clubs themselves."

"Hermione, you're Ginny Potter's sister-in-law. Do you think there's any chance the Harpies would assist us," Mr Gumboil asked.

Hermione thought about it. "Honestly, gentlemen, I don't think they'll support any political group, even if they agreed with us," she said.

"I might be able to help," Seamus told them. "Me best mate, Dean Thomas, is an artist with his own studio and everything. He suffered imprisonment at Malfoy Manor during'the war. I think he'd be willin' to help us."

With very little fanfare, it was decided that Seamus would invite Dean to join ELF. Other tasks were assigned, and Hermione was asked to proofread all literature to be disseminated. Gumboil and Peasegood would arrange the meetings at the pubs. ELF was about to launch its first campaign.

_Dear Aunt Molly and All,_

_Just a little note to update you on my progress here at Hogwarts. I'm sure you've heard about all the fuss over the past several weeks. I just can't believe how kids can be so ugly to one another. I thought that war was over!_

_Anyway, I'm about ready to tear Rupert Watson's head off. Aunt Molly, no offense to Billy, but that man is a skunk! He thought the Quidditch mess was FUN! He enjoyed having to quiet that down! But that's not the worst of it. When our Jessie was attacked, the idiot acted like it was all okay because she wasn't actually—well, you know! I couldn't believe my ears! I thought I might have been falling in love with the fool, but if I was, it isn't happening now._

_I got to go to St Mungo's and visit our seventh-year, Jason Felton. That boy's a bona fide hero, Aunt Molly. He was the one we almost lost. Gus Pye and Leo Wyatt were his primary Healers, but Ruth, his nurse, told me he just wouldn't heal. I figured I had to try, so I took Mokey on over there and sat down with him. I sang him a couple old Irish songs Momma taught me. I thought he'd appreciate them since he's from Belfast and all._

_Aunt Molly, it worked! On top of that, Gus suggested I might come and work with them at the hospital a few hours a week if Miss Poppy and Miss Minerva were agreeable. They were, so I go on Wednesdays and Saturdays. They tend to put me in pediatrics, since I usually work with kids anyway. As for our Mr Felton, he's back at school and almost good as new. He still gets a bit wore out, but Poppy gives him special nutrition potions Sluggy brewed just for him. He's a good sort, Professor Slughorn, but a bit eccentric._

_Anyway, I've enclosed the directions for brining the turkey. Trust me—you won't regret it and it won't be salty. I plan on Flooing in after my Wednesday shift at the hospital. Since it's a family thing, I've been given the entire weekend off and don't have to be back to Hogwarts until supper Sunday night. I'm really excited about seeing you all again!_

_Love,_

_Fiona Francine Prewett_

_Healer Apprentice_

Molly read her niece's letter with pride. _Oh Fabian, you and Rhiannon must be so proud of her! She's a wonderful girl. I hope we can meet Gallatea someday soon._ Molly and Fiona had become very close through their letters back and forth. Molly still stung with regret for the initial way she'd treated her brother's daughter, but was grateful that she and Fiona could work past it and become close.

Molly had cooked many a turkey dinner in her day, but she'd never heard of brining the thing. And what on earth was Kosher salt? She'd have to ask Hermione about that one. The rest of the ingredients were familiar to her and she knew she could find them at the market in Diagon Alley or in Hogsmeade. _Kosher salt. Kosher? What kind of word is that?_

Having sent her brood off to work, she began her routine of scrubbing the breakfast dishes and general household work. There were several loads of laundry—mostly Harry's and Ron's uniforms—that needed to be done. Auror uniforms. There was no doubt as to whose uniforms and robes were whose. Ron's were much larger and longer. Harry was no runt, but he was nowhere near as big as her Ron.

She thought it was rather ironic that the Aurors' robes were maroon. Ronnie hated maroon with a passion. His Weasley jumpers were always maroon and those ghastly dress robes he had to wear to the Yule Ball in their fourth year were also maroon. She still felt bad for saddling him with those horrible lacy things, but at that time, it just couldn't be helped. Then she thought of the lovely deep-green dress robes Harry wore and how handsome Ginny said he looked in them. She imagined they must've looked much like his wedding robes and sighed to herself. _Oh, Lily and James—Harry's such a good man. In spite of everything, he's was always been polite and kind and our Ginny loves him very much._

Having finished the laundry a few hours later, she fixed herself a light lunch of cucumber sandwiches on honey-oat bread—another of Fiona's recipes—and tea. She had a list of things to do for supper, and then she would sit down and work on her knitting. Billy's, Charlie's, Percy's, and Georgie's jumpers were all finished, but she still had to finish Ronnie's, and then get to work on Hermione's, Harry's, Ginny's, Fiona's, and Seamus'. She liked the dashing Irishman and thought he'd make a nice match for Fiona, now that her relationship with that prat of a Defence professor was over.

Ginny would be home for another few days and then she would be on the road with the Harpies again. This time, they were travelling up to Montrose to play three games against the Magpies before heading back down for a rematch at Puddlemere. Molly had had some trepidation about the Montrose games for some reason. She just couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible might happen. She'd just have to make sure that Harry and Ronnie were on hand to help out with security. She would speak with Arthur about that this evening after supper. _Oh and that reminds me—Hermione won't be home for supper tonight, what with that rally at The Three Broomsticks. I hope it doesn't get out of hand._

It was a small group that entered the Three Broomsticks that evening—Hermione, Seamus, and Dean—who brought with them posters and flyers he'd created for ELF. In a corner they noticed Alastor Gumboil with his eyes glued to Hermione. She knew she should feel comfortable with her friends around her, but she spotted the other members in ELF sitting in the pub too, and at some rather strategic points. Apparently they'd arrived earlier one by one and only the Dearborn brothers sat together.

Hermione scanned the other tables and recognised Daphne Greengrass having dinner with her sister, Astoria. The other guests at the pub were unknown to her. Gumboil headed for Madame Rosmerta, while Hermione, Seamus and Dean found a table and sat down together. "Gumboil's arranged with Madame Rosmerta to talk about the upcoming elections tonight," Hermione told Dean.

"So that's why I've brought these personally," he commented with a nod to the flyers lying on the table in front of him. "I thought I was only making a delivery tonight."

"What can I get you," the barmaid asked them, causing them to jump.

"Oh! Um…mulled mead? Is that all right with you," Hermione asked her friends and got nods in return. "Three mulled meads, please."

The maid flicked her wand and three steins of mead appeared on the table. With another flick she applied a heating charm and soon the mead was steaming hot and gave off a comforting aroma. Seamus paid her and Hermione raised her stein.

"Sláinte," she said.

"Sláinte," Seamus replied.

"Huh?" Dean, not having spent any time among the Weasleys, hadn't a clue what Hermione and Seamus had said.

"Weasley tradition," Seamus explained. "It's a toast in Gaelic. It means _to your health_."

"Blimey, that's cool. As you might've noticed I'm not of Gaelic ancestry…and since when do you know about Weasley traditions?"

"I lived with them for about six weeks after Lavender and I split," Seamus replied. "Molly wouldn't have me bunkin' at the Ministry."

Hermione giggled. "I would never have guessed you weren't of _Celtic _origin," she said with an ironic tone.

They drank more of the mead and felt the warmth spread through their bodies, allowing them to become more comfortable with their surroundings.

After a few minutes, Alastor Gumboil got up and stood at the centre of the pub. "My dear wizards and witches, I'm Undersecretary of Magical Law Enforcement Alastor Gumboil."

"Yeah? Let us have a drink in peace, will you," one wizard snorted. "Ruddy Ministry gits."

"Peace. Yes, I agree, sir," Gumboil replied. "We definitely want peace."

"Right, Mr Fancy Ministry Title," the wizard said. "What would your lot know about peace?"

Gumboil took a few steps towards the wizard. "Let me ask you, why have we seen two devastating wars recently, Mr…?" Gumboil asked.

The wizard took a gulp of ale and looked at him sceptically. "Name's Brooks."

"Mr Brooks, I'd say the two Wizarding wars happened as a result of outdated laws and traditions that created an unjust society. Pureblood tradition gives them power and rights for no apparent reason other than they're Purebloods. I'm here to expose some of this injustice, and what I intend to do about it, provided myself and others who share my beliefs are voted into the Wizengamot."

Brooks eyed Gumboil thoughtfully, torn between returning to his ale and hearing what the man had to say. "Nah, it's no ruddy use votin'," Brooks said, returning to his ale.

Gumboil turned around and addressed the entire pub. "Believe me, Mr Brooks, you're not the only one who feels that way. And why? Because the Purebloods hold their inherited seats in perpetuity and keep the power in their own hands. But know this: this election presents an opportunity like never before to bring about some drastic and much-needed changes."

Brooks and several others turned their eyes to Gumboil, who noticed he'd caught their attention.

"Many Pureblood families supported the Halfblood fraud, Tom Riddle, and they now suffer the consequences in Azkaban or in their graves. Their families still hold inherited seats, but they will now be occupied by inexperienced wizards and witches. Now is the time to strike for changes. We won the war, Mr Brooks; now it's time to win the peace," Gumboil said enthusiastically.

"He's good," Seamus commented and both Hermione and Dean nodded. "I, for one, agree with him so far."

"So did millions of Germans when Adolf Hitler said basically the same things in 1933," Hermione added under her breath.

"What is it you want to change, Mr Gumboil," a middle-aged witch asked.

"First of all I want to abolish inherited seats. No one should hold a Wizengamot seat simply because he or she grew up in an old Wizarding family. Just because their ancestors sat on the original council with Merlin doesn't mean they are competent to sit on the Wizengamot today."

Gumboil's statement was received with several nods and a mumble in the pub. The Greengrass sisters said nothing but listened carefully to what this Mr Gumboil said.

"I want all seats to be elected seats, where every member has earned their place because this community trusts the wizards and witches on the Wizengamot.

"What if the Purebloods resist," Brooks asked, still sceptical.

"What can I say? If they indeed are superior, they will surely win the confidence to remain in their seats, won't they," he answered, receiving a few laughs in response. Gumboil took a few sips from a Butterbeer before he continued.

"There's another injustice we need to change," he began. "The restrictions on underage magic."

"What about it," a wizard with a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand asked.

"We all know that Hogwarts isn't compulsory, sir. All magical parents have the right to educate their children at home. It was Riddle and his Pureblood lackeys who declared attendance at Hogwarts compulsory last year, but only for Pureblood and Halfblood children. Muggleborn children were denied entry and accused of having stolen magic."

"We know all this, Gumboil," a rather rustic-looking fellow growled. "What's yer point?"

"Magic performed in a magical home is detected by the Ministry, but the Trace can't determine whether the magic was performed by an underage wizard or witch, or their parents. In fact, it's perfectly legal for the magical child to perform magic if supervised by an adult. This means that children with magical parents can start their training at a younger age, when their magic starts to develop, but the Muggleborn wizard or witch must wait until they are eleven before they even learn the truth about what they are."

"That happened to Harry," Hermione whispered to her companions. "Just before second year and then again just before fifth year."

"Codswallop, Gumboil! You make it sound like the Trace is of no use," the wizard huffed after emptying his glass of Firewhiskey "Rosie love, another one of that Odgen's Double Oak Matured, if you don't mind."

"Sir," Gumboil addressed him, "the Trace serves one very important purpose and that is detecting unsupervised underage magic outside magical homes. But it can't separate the difference between your magic or your underage children's magic. If you remember a few years back, Head Auror Potter was accused of underage magic performed in the Muggle home he grew up in. In truth, it was magic performed by a House elf. If Mr Potter had lived in a magical home, he wouldn't have faced the accusations at all, which is a perfect example of an injustice we need to change."

"How would you like the restriction of underage magic to function, Mr Gumboil," Brooks asked.

"Thank you for asking, Mr Brooks. That's a very good question," Gumboil replied. "We need a law that allows Muggleborn, Halfblood, and Pureblood alike to have the same opportunities to develop their magic before they're thrust into their first year at Hogwarts. The Improper Use of Magic Office does detect new magical signatures once a Muggleborn performs his or her first unintentional magic. It's at this point that these children's families should be approached and informed about what they are and of our world, and be offered a mentor who is willing to supervise them and help them come to terms with their unusual abilities. I think this would benefit our community as a whole as well as calm worried Muggle parents and Muggleborns who don't understand what's happening."

"My parents about went spare when I got my letter," Dean admitted. "They thought it was a joke until Professor McGonagall came to see us."

"Dumbledore came to my house," Hermione said. "Harry said Hagrid came for him."

"Hagrid," Seamus replied. "Why Hagrid?"

"Because he's bigger than Vernon Dursley, I would imagine," Hermione said. "Harry's home life really was horrible."

"Blimey," Dean breathed. "I always thought he dressed like that for attention."

"No, mate. I thought that too, but the Weasley twins put me straight," Seamus said. "Fifth year, remember?"

"Shh!" Hermione scowled at the two and jerked her head toward Gumboil.

Gumboil noted that most of the people in the pub seemed to agree with him when he decided it was time to address another issue of great importance, one that was a bit more radical. "Friends, we need to address the fact that Purebloods own a vast majority of Wizarding lands and properties. Hidden in Gringotts are vaults full of Galleons—gold that could be used to pay for the mentors I mentioned, for orphanages where children—innocent victims of the last war—can live in safety and peace until they're either adopted or reach their ages of majority. There's no doubt that Pureblood ideals caused the war. I say the Purebloods can afford to pay, so... let them pay!"

This statement caused a murmur in the pub. Clearly some agreed while others hesitated.

"But Harry's heir to two Pureblood fortunes," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"Yeah, but he's The Chosen One," Seamus countered. "The Saviour of the Wizardin' world. I'm sure he'd be exempt."

"Right—who'd dare send Harry a bill for a war he won," Dean added.

"You'd be amazed, Dean," Hermione said sadly.

"But there were Pureblood families fighting _against_ Voldemort," someone said.

"And the Death Eaters that survived rot in Azkaban right now," another said.

"C'mon, let the man talk! He's right, you know. Who knows how many millions of galleons those families are sitting on? The Ministry ought to seize those vaults, open them up, and let them pay for all the destruction the war caused."

"Blimey, this may turn ugly," Dean said as he noticed Madame Rosmerta move behind the bar to close her fist around her infamous Beater's bat.

"The Ministry will never legislate theft," Daphne Greengrass said loud enough for the fanatic to hear her.

Mr Gumboil, encouraged by the patrons of the now-crowded pub, approached the young witch.

"Of course there'll be no theft, Miss…" he asked.

"Daphne Greengrass."

Gumboil nodded slowly, realising he spoke to a daughter of a traditional Pureblood Slytherin family, but one that had stayed fairly neutral during the war. Surely the Greengrasses subscribed to a lot of Death Eater rhetoric, but they hadn't been among the suspected war criminals.

"Miss Greengrass, I wouldn't support any official theft, but I do think it's unjust that a minority of our community controls a vast majority of the financial resources of Wizarding Britain. I think a progressive tax would be fair, forcing those who can afford it to pay for the benefit of the entire community."

Daphne looked at him, while thinking about her reply, but Astoria pulled her back to her seat.

"Daph, let's just return to our dinner," she pleaded, afraid that there might be trouble because of the somewhat hostile views on Purebloods. Gumboil fixed his gaze on Daphne as if he challenged her to debate, but the witch returned to her seat.

"That was scary for a few moments," Hermione whispered to her friends, noting that Seamus put his wand back in the Auror wrist holster.

"What is this bloke really opposin'? Certain outdated laws and traditions, or Purebloods in general," Seamus asked switching his gaze from Hermione to Dean and then back again.

"A little bit of both, evidently, mate," Dean said. "This last bit's a bit barmy, though. Just taxing certain people because they're rich or because they're Purebloods. Isn't that kind of like what You-Kn—Riddle did in the reverse?"

"For the most part he's brilliant and makes some very good points, but I don't like him," Hermione said with a shudder. She couldn't help but compare Gumboil's philosophies with those put forth by the likes of Adolf Hitler and Vladmir Lenin.

Gumboil emptied his glass and decided he'd made his point. He flicked his wand and summoned the flyers and posters lying next to Dean. "Some of us have formed an awareness group we call The Equality and Liberation Front, or ELF for short. Please take a flyer and read more about us. You are always welcome to contact me care of The Ministry of Magic if you wish to attend the next ELF meeting and support us in our efforts for a just community for all of us."

Several witches and wizards accepted the flyers, and a couple of people also took posters to display in their shops or offices. Gumboil thought the rally was a success, but there were many pubs yet to visit. But the next time, there would certainly be people who'd learned about ELF after this meeting and would eager to show up at the next one, both supporters and non-supporters. The next meeting would be uglier, there was no doubt about it, and they'd be ready for it.

Hermione, Seamus and Dean finally relaxed as soon as Gumboil left the Three Broomsticks, and it wasn't until that moment that they felt how hungry they were. They ordered the special of the day, Dragon Beef.

"Ridiculous name, really," Hermione stated. "Dragon is Dragon is beef is cow."

"Everyone knows it's not actual Dragon. It's the fact that it's served while it's burnin', flambée in Firewhiskey. Put a fire-freezin' charm on the steak and you can keep it burnin' while ya eat it. Me mam always did that when I was growin' up," Seamus said. "Once me da got over the fact that she was a witch, he rather enjoyed it too."

Soon after the three burning Dragon Beefs were served, Hermione saw a familiar face enter the pub. "Fiona! Over here!" Hermione waved to get her attention.

"Why, Hermione, this is a surprise," Fiona said and noticed Seamus and another wizard she didn't know in Hermione's company.

"I'm here with my two fellow Gryffs. We were all in the same year. This is Dean Thomas and this is Seamus Finnegan. Would you care to join us?"

Fiona didn't have to think for long. She had been to Hogsmeade simply to clear her head with a walk, but in the chilly evening, it seemed like a good idea to warm herself for a while in The Three Broomsticks. Now that idea seemed even better.

"Mr Thomas, Fiona Francine Prewett, Healer Apprentice at Hogwarts," she greeted Dean.

"Dean Thomas, struggling artist," Dean grinned.

"Oh so you're the one who made those lovely banners the Gryffindors use during Quidditch games," Fiona exclaimed.

Dean's face heated, although his dark skin hid his blush. "They're still using them?"

"Oh yes! They're very protective of them, too," she assured him.

Fiona turned to Seamus. "Mistuh Finnegan, Ah believe we've met briefly," she said, noticing her nerve-induced Virginia lilt surfacing.

"Yes, indeed we have, Miss Prewett," Seamus said and rose to seat her, thrilled to finally be able to get properly-acquainted with the witch that had haunted his thoughts and dreams ever since he first met her on the platform. "I heard ya took good care o' Miss Spinnet after that nasty attack. I'll bet you're a good Healer."

"Her injuries weren't that bad, really. Well, you heard the report the other day," Fiona said blushing from Seamus' compliment.

"Well, Seamus might need your expertise sooner or later. He attracts the Sectumsempra curse like a bee to honey," Dean grinned.

_I know exactly how I'd treat that. _Fiona gave Mokey a thought, imagining herself practicing her Canticamagus skills to heal a very injured, very helpless, very sexy Seamus Finnegan. Fiona ordered mulled mead and a Dragon Beef dinner. The four had a truly pleasant dinner, but the evening passed quickly. It was a very happy Seamus who headed upstairs for his room that night. On the road back to Hogwarts, Fiona hummed a romantic tune Granny Tyree had taught her when she was a little girl.

_O Shenandoah, I long to hear you—away, you rollin' river;_

_O Shenandoah, I long to hear you—away, I'm bound away_

'_Cross the wide Missouri._

'_Tis seven long years I've been a rover—away, you rollin' river;_

_When I return, I'll be your lover—away, I'm bound away_

'_Cross the wide Missouri._

_O Shenandoah, I'm bound to leave you—away, you rollin' river;_

_O Shenandoah, I won't deceive you—away, I'm bound away_

'_Cross the wide Missouri._

_Authors' Note: Fiona's song is a traditional American folk standard called, "O Shenandoah"._


	23. Chapter 23 Healing, Home & Hearth

**Chapter 23 – Healing, Home, and Hearth**

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, had never felt so utterly frustrated in his life. He'd been poring over feet-thick piles of parchments whereon the laws and traditions regulating Wizengamot elections had been written several centuries before. If only one regulation was neglected, the whole election could be declared invalid. He was about to banish the lot to the fire when a knock came upon his inner-office door, so he flicked his wand to open it. This last parchment was confusing and he'd called for Percy to help him make some sense of it. Percy was good at sorting out regulations.

"You called for me, sir," his young assistant asked.

"Yes, Percy, I did. Please—make yourself at home," the Minister said, gesturing to a rather posh leather easy chair across from his desk. "Tea?"

"No, thank you, sir," Percy politely declined. "What can I do for you?"

"You can start by reading this document. I really don't know what to make of it," Kingsley said wearily, handing over the parchment.

Percy read it twice before looking thoughtfully at Kingsley and blew out a puff of air. "So in 1612, the Wizengamot decided to give women the right to vote, and a group was elected to draft the set of rules for it," Percy said.

"Yes, that much I got," Kingsley said, rubbing his temples. "Go on."

"The next year, the Wizengamot decided that to make a woman's vote valid, she'd need a form signed by her husband, or if she's not married, the Head of her family," Percy said thoughtfully. "Strange, Mum's never had to have Dad sign any form for her."

Kingsley looked at Percy expectantly because it was the next part the Minister didn't understand. "Keep reading."

"In 1614, it was decided to follow the group's recommendation..." Percy read the parchment again. "But something's missing. The task to produce the form should've been assigned to Wizengamot Administration Services, but it never was."

Kingsley had reached the same conclusion and that was the source of his current headache. "Where does that leave us," Kingsley asked. "Do we need to ask every witch in Britain to request that form?"

"What form," Percy asked.

"The one from 1614 to be signed by the husband or Head of family," Kingsley said.

"But sir, that form doesn't exist."

"But the right for witches of age to vote from 1612 requires it."

"You want me to send a letter to every witch in Britain telling them they must request a form that doesn't exist, otherwise they can't vote," Percy asked with a business-like tone.

"Blimey, Percy. That sounds perfectly barking," Kingsley chuckled.

"But it _is_ the law, sir," Percy countered.

Kingsley thought about it for a few moments, wondering how his predecessors had solved the dilemma. "Then we change the ruddy law. It makes no sense."

"Sir, we can't change the law until after the elections and the Wizengamot is opened," Percy informed him.

"Meaning we'll have to send the letter, only to receive loads of requests for a form that doesn't exist. And since the form doesn't exist, there's really no way of proving whether a woman has her husband's or Head's permission to vote in the first place."

"I believe you've got the measure of it, sir," Percy said.

"But in any case, their vote would be valid, correct," Kingsley asked.

"Yes, I think so, because of the law change from 1612," Percy reasoned. "But without sending out the request as stated 1614, the entire election might be declared invalid."

"Can you draft the required letter, Percy," Kingsley asked hopefully.

"Certainly, sir," Percy said cheerfully. "I can draft it this afternoon."

Kingsley thought the entire concept was mental. There was no way he could allow that letter to be sent—at least not while he sat as Minister for Magic. "Say Percy, the letter is formally sent from the Wizengamot Administration Services, is that right," Kingsley asked.

"That is correct, sir."

"Could you arrange for that letter to get lost on its way to the owlery, so it stays formally sent from the Wizengamot Administration Services, but never to reach a single witch in Britain?"

Percy eyed Kingsley for moment, considering his answer. "Parchments do get lost, sir, and in this case, it would probably be for the best." There was no way in Heaven, Hell, or Middle-earth he was going to send such a letter to the Burrow. He may not have seen eye-to-eye with his father in the past, but he did love the man and hoped to have him around for fifty or sixty more years.

"What in bloody hell were you thinking, boy," Frank Stiles shouted to the air while his wife, Anne, sobbed into her hands. They had just received a copy of the report and decree from the Hogwarts Board of Governors. "My son, a rapist!"

"Does the fact that that girl is a Pureblood mean anything to you, Frank," Anne cried. "You and your silly politics! Ryan—oh Merlin, what was he thinking?"

"I…we…this has nothing to do with ELF," Frank argued. "We're not animals, Anne! We just want things to be better for our children than we had! This is not going to sit well with Alastor at all!"

"Alastor? Alastor! Your son is _this close_," she said, displaying tiny with her thumb and forefinger, "to Azkaban and you're worried about Alastor Gumboil? Dear gods, Frank!" She covered her face and wailed as her heart broke for her son and his intended victim.

"I'm about to march up to that school and take him out," Frank snarled. "What he did was wrong, but I won't have that hag making a slave to Filch out of him!"

Anne raised her head in alarm. Hag? What hag? Certainly not Minerva McGonagall. As far as she was concerned, she was far better-suited to the headship than Albus Dumbledore ever was. She didn't miss a trick and had taken Severus Snape in hand many times when he terrorised her classmates while Dumbledore placated with soft words and eye twinkles. "Ryan is getting exactly what's coming to him and we ought to be grateful that he hasn't lost his wand and found himself in Azkaban! Do you not realise how serious this is? And kindly do not call Minerva McGonagall a hag. She's a fine educator and has always dealt fairly with her students."

"Serious! Anne, I know how serious this is," Frank argued. "But they're making too much of it. He didn't actually rape the girl—he just…"

"Oh for the love of Merlin, Frank! _He just beat her up_, is that what you were going to say," Anne fumed. "He and six other boys! Cowards, the lot of them! So help me Circe, Franklin Stiles, if you don't take that boy in hand when he comes home for the holidays, I will, and he'll be singing soprano for a very. long. time!"

"Potter's got something—"

"And thank Merlin he probably has! I wouldn't doubt he argued for this much leniency," Anne Stiles argued, verbally cutting her husband off at the knees. "Remember how he fought to keep the Prewett girl from the Kiss! Remember how he sacrificed his own safety by putting his life on the line to vanquish that animal that would have seen both of us enslaved if not murdered?"

Neither Stiles knew for sure if Harry had a role in Ryan's sentence, but they liked to think he did. After all, the man was a hero to them and families like theirs all over Britain, and if his arguments against the Dementors' Kiss were any indication, they should be thanking him for intervening. That he really had nothing at all to do with it never occurred to them.

Frank deflated and knelt before his wife. "Anne, I'm sorry, Love. You're right. This isn't Minerva's fault any more than Potter's. Ryan made some very bad choices and he's paying for it. I promise to have a very long chat with our son about his behaviour," he promised. "I just don't know what's gotten into him."

"He was always such a good boy, Frank. He never caused any trouble, he always made good marks—Frank, where did we go wrong? Was it the war?" Anne began to cry again, although she had very few tears left. She had no idea her son—her Ryan—could do something so awful and then try to take on an Auror when he was caught out. "He could have been killed when he attacked that Auror, Frank. My baby—oh dear gods, my baby!"

"All right, darling," Frank crooned, holding his wife close. "We'll work this out together, as a family. Part of the decree is that he and the others must attend anger management counselling. Perhaps we can get to the bottom of it that way, yeah? Meanwhile, we'll let him know that we're appalled at what he's done, but also that we love him and want only the best for him. Okay?"

Anne Stiles wiped her face and nodded into her husband's chest. "Yes. A family," she agreed.

They sat and held one another, each lost in their own thoughts about their son's sudden change in behaviour when the Floo opened and a voice called out from the green flames. "Stiles! Stiles, are you there?"

Frank released his wife and moved to kneel in front of the fire place. "Yeah, Gerry. I'm here. What can I do for you?"

"It's Gerald Jr," Stormer said. "There was trouble at the school."

"Yes, I know. We got letters too. I'm sorry, mate. It seems Ryan—"

"Don't you think they're making too much of this," the elder Stormer asked. "I mean—no harm done, right?"

"No harm done," Anne shouted from the background. "Dear gods, Gerry! Are you listening to yourself?"

"Oh, hello, Anne," Gerald said off-handedly.

"Annie, why don't you have a kip? You've had a rough day. I'll be up in a few minutes, all right," Frank said over his shoulder.

She shot him a dark look and rose from her chair to leave the room muttering about ruddy politics and how she'd like to hand that Alastor Gumboil a piece of her mind.

When she was gone, Frank turned back to the Floo. "All right, Gerry. She's gone."

"Look, Linda's in a right state over this. She wants to pull Gerald out of school," the man said.

"I don't think that's a good idea, mate," Frank disagreed. "If we pull them out, the others'll follow and we'll lose our eyes and ears at Hogwarts. We'll just have to tell the boys to tone it down a bit. Besides, if we pull them out, MJA will have them in a trice! Corwin and Farrell would go straight to Azkaban; _do not pass GO, do not collect 200 pounds!_"

"Good point, that," Stormer agreed. "Fine. I'll talk Linda down; you see to Anne. Alastor's sure to call a meeting of the board over this. We're going to have our bits in a sling for sure!"

"Yeah, well, we'll just tell Alastor that we're going to rein the boys in and that should placate him. If not, we'll let him rant," Frank said. "Either way, we need our boys to keep us informed."

"Right you are, Frankie," Stormer said. "I'll catch up with you later, then."

"Right—and don't call me _Frankie!_"

"Jessie, the Mind Healer's here to see ya," Fiona said softly, waking the girl from her nap. "Madame Pomfrey says you can go back to Gryffindor Tower if your Healer says it's all right."

"Onie, I'm scared," Jessica whimpered. "I…I…"

"You need to face your fear so you can fight it and beat it. You know you can't play Quidditch or even attend class like this. Not all boys want to hurt you, honey," Fiona told her. "Dennis loves you very much. Did you know he punched the wall outside this hospital wing and broke his hand?"

"He…he did? Is he okay? He's our Seeker. He—"

"He's almost good as new, dontchoo worry none. But his real hurt is in his heart," Fiona said. "He's been cryin' his heart out to Hagrid almost every night since…it happened." It was time to coax this girl out of her shell. This couldn't go on any further. Mind Healer or no, this was going to end now.

"C-can Dennis come to see me today? After class, I mean," Jessica asked. "And will you stay?"

"I'm sure he'd be glad ta see ya, Jessie," Fiona assured her. "And I'll stay if you want me to. Meanwhile, missy, you have an appointment with a Mind Healer. I hear she's very good and comes highly-recommended. Do you know what's gonna happen?"

"Happen? What do you mean," Jessica asked with obvious trepidation.

"When a Mind Healer works, they use what're called mind magicks. Have you ever heard of Occlumency or Legilimency?"

"Um…no. I mean I've heard of them, but I don't know anything about them," the girl said.

"Well, it's pretty simple stuff. Occlumency is used to block the mind, but Legilimency is used to sorta read the mind. The Healer's gonna use Legilimency while she talks with you."

"She's going to read my mind? But—"

Fiona took Jessica's shaking hands in her own and squeezed. "Now don't worry. She's not gonna look at anything that isn't about the attack or how you feel about it. She won't go rummagin' around lookin' at stuff she oughtn't."

"Are you sure? I mean, I don't want her to know everything about me and…well, you know." Jessica dropped her eyes to her lap.

"I promise, but if she does, you holler and I'll come runnin', okay? Now, you'll know when she's reading you 'cuz you'll feel a little tickle on your brain. That's just her reading your memory of the attack and your surface thoughts," Fiona assured the girl. "You'll see everything she does."

"Everything?"

"Everything. That's how you'll know if she's somewhere she shouldn't be." Fiona gave her a silly grin and patted her leg. She stood and waved her wand, straightening up Jessica's bed and freshening her pitcher of ice water.

"Can you stay," Jessica asked, grabbing Fiona's wrist with hopeful tears welling up in her dark eyes.

"Sorry, darlin'. I can't. Patient confidentiality and all, but if you want to talk about it after she leaves, I'll listen," Fiona promised. "But I promise I won't be far away."

"Thanks, Onie," Jessica sniffed. "I'm sorry I've been such a pain."

"Not a pain at all. You've just got to hold your head up and look your fear in the face, and tell it to vamoose," Fiona said with a smile.

Just then a light knock came upon the partition around Jessica's bed. "Can I come in?"

"Jessica Spinnet, this is Healer Barbara Hughes; Barbara, Jessica," Fiona said, keeping the mood informal.

"Hello, Jessica," the Healer said, holding out her hand.

"Hello, Healer Hughes," the girl replied, shaking the woman's hand. Jessica felt herself smile a little for the first time in nearly a week. She really wanted to get back to her life, but the terror of what Ryan Stiles and his gang did to her stood in the way. She hoped her Healer would be able to help her.

Barbara Hughes took note that her patient smiled a little bit. Having worked many phobia cases, she was prepared to guide this young witch through her dark ordeal and bring her out into the sunshine once again. "Just call me Barbara, all right?"

"I'll just be goin' then," Fiona said. "If you need anything, I'll be in the office with Miss Poppy fillin' out daily reports. The daily grind."

"Thanks, Fiona. Oh—Gus says hello," the Mind Healer replied. "Four more kids went home yesterday thanks to your _special medicine_."

Fiona blushed as only a redhead can blush. While she had made Gus promise not to broadcast her unusual talent, word still got around the hospital about the accelerated recoveries taking place on the paediatric ward, leading to a few catching on to the cause. "That's great news! Thanks. I'll just leave you to it now." Fiona stepped out of the enclosure and walked to the office.

An hour later, Barbara stepped into the office to confer with Fiona and Poppy and offer her assessment and prognosis. "She's not as bad off as I thought she would be. She's just a bit scared of boys right now, which is perfectly understandable. She mentioned her boyfriend—Dennis, is it?"

"That's correct," Poppy replied. "Miss Spinnet and Mr Creevey are very close."

"She wants to see him," Barbara said. "She says you and she talked about this before I arrived. Is that true?"

"Yes ma'am," Fiona answered professionally.

"I think it would be good for Mr Creevey to visit her this evening, since she wants him to, but not alone," Barbara continued.

"I told Jessie I'd be there if she needed me to be," Fiona said. "Is that okay, Miss Poppy?"

"Very well," Poppy replied. "Healer Hughes, is there anything else we need to know?"

"Not at this time," Barbara replied. "I think she should be ready to return to her dormitory after the evening meal on Friday. It'll be good for her to surround herself with friends."

"I agree," Poppy said. "Fiona, I'll let you inform Miss Spinnet, since she seems to trust you. I would also like you to oversee her progress."

"Will do, Miss Poppy," Fiona agreed. "Barbara, I'll be seein' ya at the hospital Saturday?"

"I'll be there," she replied, rising from her seat. "Have a good evening, ladies." Barbara Hughes left the hospital wing to Floo back to St Mungo's from the headmistress' office. Fiona and Poppy finished their daily reports and filed them just in time for lunch.

Dennis Creevey sat quietly at the Gryffindor table with his friends, mostly comprised of the Quidditch team. He'd been rather sullen since the attack and hadn't been too interested in food either, since his girlfriend wouldn't see him. He picked at his lunch, mostly just moving it around on his plate. His friends watched with heavy hearts as their friend and captain went to pieces before their eyes.

"Mate, you need to eat," Jimmy Peakes said, swallowing his bit of sandwich. "Tearing yourself up like this isn't going to help."

"Not hungry," he muttered, throwing his fork down. I…I just—why won't she see me? What have I done," Dennis asked, burying his face in his hands. He'd spent the better part of the last four days wracking his brain for a clue so he could somehow make it up to her.

"Dennis, you didn't do anything," Patricia said softly. "It's a normal reaction to what happened to her. You have to be patient and know that she loves you—she's just needs a little time."

"How much time, Pats? I can't take much more. I want to just take hold of that lot and—" Dennis slammed his still-healing fist down on the hard wooden table, wincing with the pain, but allowing it to fuel his anger at the same time.

"However long it takes," Demelza answered. "She's your girl, you love her, and you'll wait for her."

"You're right, you know," Dennis said with a half-snort. "I'll wait forever if she needs me to."

Just then a rather large owl flew into the Great Hall and landed in front of the grieving sixth-year Gryffindor. "What have you got there, Deeds," Dennis asked the bird. Deeds blinked his large eyes at the boy and held his leg out. "What would Miss Prewett want with me," he asked no one in particular as he untied the parchment from the owl's leg. He held out a bit of chicken, which the bird took and flew out of the Great Hall.

_Hey, Dennis, good news. Jessie wants you to come up and see her tonight after supper. Just you. She's ready now. I want you to know that she misses you and she feels pretty bad about the way she's treated you these past few days. She's really scared—not of you, personally—so she asked me to stay while you visit. I think around 7.30 would be a good time. See you tonight. F. P._

The blond Gryffindor had been distracted all afternoon as he anticipated spending some quality time with his girlfriend—or at least he hoped it would be quality time. He'd had all he could do to pay attention in Slughorn's Potions class and nearly spilled his cauldron full of _Pepper-up_ potion down the front of his robes. He had to pace himself through supper so he wouldn't choke as he shovelled food into his mouth faster than Ron Weasley. For the first time in days, he actually had an appetite.

"What time is it," Dennis asked nervously. Today, of all days, he'd forgotten his watch.

Everyone within earshot checked their watches if they had one. Almost in perfect unison, a dozen Gryffindors announced "quarter past seven," and burst into laughter.

Demelza turned to her friend and leaned into his ear. "Why don't you go and smarten up quick. You've got a little time."

"Yeah, maybe I should," Dennis agreed, thinking he could at least brush his teeth. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

Dennis jogged out of the Great Hall and took the stairs two at a time on his way back to Gryffindor Tower. He called out the password, _Jessie_, and climbed through the portrait-hole. He raced up to his dorm and grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste and all but flew into the loo. He brushed fast and furious, tossing the brush and tube onto his bed and grabbing his wand.

His heart raced as he tore down the stairs to the fourth floor, praying the staircases wouldn't take a mind to change. He was grateful that he didn't have to pass that now-infamous classroom to get to the hospital wing near the clock tower. Once he reached the landing, he stopped briefly to catch his breath, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees. _Deep, cleansing breaths, Creevey. Just relax and be calm…for her._

As soon as he settled himself, he straightened his robes and hair. "_Orchideus_," he murmured, conjuring a bouquet of fall flowers from the tip of his wand. "Right then. Here I go." He'd no sooner than arrived outside the hospital wing doors when Fiona stepped through to block his way.

"W-what's wrong," Dennis asked worriedly.

"Nothin's wrong, darlin'. I just wanna give ya some pointers before you go in, okay," she said pointedly.

"Sure. Okay," Dennis replied. "What do I have to do?"

"Just be yourself, but don't go puttin' your hands on her anywhere either. Let her make the first move," she told him.

"Let her make the first move. Right. Anything else," he asked nervously.

"No, that's it," Fiona said. "The flowers are a nice touch, too." Fiona winked at the eager lad and led him into the ward to Jessica's partition. "Jess, Dennis's here. Ya ready?"

"Y-yes. I think so," an uncharacteristic small voice came from behind the makeshift wall. "C-come in."

Dennis passed into the partition with the Apprentice Healer right behind him. "H-hi, Jessica," he said softly. "How are you?" _Smooth, Creevey_.

"I-I'm…okay, I guess," she replied shakily. "You?"

"Good. I'm…I'm good," he stammered. "Here, I brought these for you." He carefully brought the bouquet out from behind his back and showed them to her. He didn't want to make any sudden moves and frighten her.

"They're lovely, Dennis. Thank you," she said. "You remembered I like autumn flowers."

"Well, it _is_ autumn," he said with a smirk. _So far, so good_.

"It is, isn't it," she giggled. "Oh Dennis, I'm so sorry." A tear slowly made its way down her cheek. Dennis' first instinct was to reach forward and wipe it away, but he stopped himself when Fiona cleared her throat.

"How about I take these and put them in some water," she suggested, comfortable that the ice had at least cracked if not broken. She also wanted an excuse to let them talk without her hovering. Since she'd promised Jessica she'd stay while Dennis was there, so she didn't go far. In fact, as soon as she left the partition, she transfigured a glass into a vase. "_Auguamenti_," she said and flicked her wand, filling the new vase half-full of water. She took her time arranging the flowers before she sighed and returned to Dennis and Jessica.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Love," Dennis assured her. "This wasn't your fault."

"I've been horrible to you," she countered. "I shut you out—"

"Jessica, I understand. It hurt me, but I understand," Dennis said soothingly, still longing to take her in his arms and hold her. "I've spent a lot of time talking to Hagrid."

"So I've heard. Dennis, please don't go after them," she begged with frightened eyes. "They're not worth it."

"No, but you are," Dennis said, his expression darkening. "They hurt you, Jess, and we're not going to stand for it."

"We're not going to stand for it," she asked, taken aback. "Who's we?"

"The team and Pats," he replied. "We've got a plan to put a stop to this stuff."

"What kind of plan," she asked, forgetting her fear and leaning forward to look into his eyes. _Those eyes—those gorgeous blue eyes_. "Tell me."

"Pranks, Love. We're expecting a special delivery from Hogsmeade tomorrow night," he said conspiratorially. "George Weasley has some new products he wants us to test for him. Purely scientific, you understand."

From outside the partition, Fiona had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. It seemed that the two lovebirds didn't notice her absence at all. _Scientific? Oh please! Georgie, you're a sly devil, you are. This ought to be fun._ She quietly summoned a chair and sat down, still within earshot, but not hovering.

"You'll have to let me in on it, you know," she smirked. "I'm returning to Gryffindor Tower after supper tomorrow evening." Neither realised that Jessica had taken hold of Dennis' near hand.

"You are? Oh we've missed you," he said. "Everyone says hello, by the way."

"I'll let them say it tomorrow evening. Dennis, can I ask you something," she asked coyly.

"You know you can ask me anything, Love," he replied, his eyes travelling from her eyes to her lips and back again.

"W-will you…will you hold me? I want to try," she said.

_Yes!_

"Um…sure," he replied, trying to hide his relief that she was ready for him to touch her. After a few moments of awkward leaning and backing away, Dennis spoke. "Wait. You lean to your right and I'll lean to my right—then we'll meet somewhere in the middle-forward."

"All right," she giggled lightly. _Why is this such a big deal all of a sudden?_

In a trice, she was in his arms once again. He had to restrain himself from pulling her in too close. He was content to have gotten this far in so short a time. "Oh Dennis, I've missed this," she whispered into his ear and snuggled in closer. "Hold me." Then she began to cry.

"It's all right, Love. You're safe now. I'm here, Miss Fiona's here—we're all here for you. No one will ever hurt you again," he promised her. "Never, ever." Without thinking about it, he kissed her temple and let a few of his own tears fall for love of the dark beauty tucked in his loving embrace.

For her part, Fiona was tempted to step in, but decided against it. It was time for these two people to heal and they didn't need her barging in when it wasn't necessary. Fiona surmised that the messages borne by the songs she'd been singing to Jessica while she napped those past few days must have sunk in. This afternoon's selection was sad, but it conveyed Dennis' state of mind.

_Where the walker runs down to the Carson Valley Plain,_

_There lived a maiden, Darcy Farrow was her name._

_The daughter of old Dundee and a fair one was she:_

_The sweetest flow'r that bloomed o'er the range._

_Her voice was as sweet as the sugar-candy,_

_Her touch was as soft as a bed of goose down._

_Her eyes shone bright like the pretty lights_

_That shine in the night out of Yerrington town._

_She was courted by young Vandemere,_

_A fine lad was he as I am to hear;_

_He gave her silver rings and lacy things,_

_And she promised to wed before the snows came that year._

_But her pony did stumble; she did fall—_

_Her dyin' touched the hearts of us, one and all._

_Young Vandy, in his pain, put a bullet through his brain;_

_And we buried them together as the snows began to fall._

_They sing of Darcy Farrow where the Truckee runs through;_

_They sing of her beauty in Virginia City, too._

_At dusky sundown, to her name they drink a round,_

_And to young Vandy whose love was true._

All Fiona could hear from the other side of the partition was soft voices and muffled sobs, but no screams or shouts. She breathed a sigh of relief that they had managed to pull the girl back from the brink of despair with kindness, a few sleeping draughts, open ears, and a song or two. Jessica still had a way to go before she would completely heal, but she was on her way and she had a feeling that the young man who held her gently in his arms would be the catalyst.

Hermione waited for "The Lunch Bunch" at their usual table in the Ministry cafeteria. She was especially anxious today because of the ELF rally at the Three Broomsticks the night before. She'd been too tired to report when she got home to the Burrow, so she decided today would be perfect, since Selma would be having lunch with her son and daughter-in-law who were in London for the day. The only other person not in the know was Percy, but he'd know about ELF's activities soon enough.

She kept an eye on the door and another on the corner where Undersecretary Gumboil sat with a few of his cronies. His conversation looked quite animated—even a little angry. She couldn't help but wonder what he might be on about, but somehow she really didn't want to know. A chill ran down her spine and she shivered just as Harry, Ron, Arthur, and Percy walked in. She waved to them and they came straight to the table.

"Hey, baby," Ron said, leaning down to kiss her lips. "How's paradise?"

"Don't ask. The man's gone over the edge," she sighed. "Amos tore into one of the interns about a file not being in the right place, when it really was."

"Amos has been going downhill ever since—well, ever since," Arthur said sadly. "But then again, he always was a bit off."

"Father, Amos Diggory takes his work very seriously. It must be very difficult having to shepherd House-elves all over and deal with dragon mating regulations."

"Percy," Arthur warned. "We all know he's been under a lot of stress, but that's no excuse for berating an intern about something so trivial as a misfiled file that wasn't misfiled in the first place."

"He needs to get a grip, really," Ron said. "Cedric's gone. End of story."

"It's not that simple, son," Arthur said with a small crack in his voice. "I remember how hard it was on your mother and me when we lost Fred. We had the rest of you to lean on; now try to imagine how it must have been for him to lose his only son who was also his only child."

"Sorry, Dad," Ron said softly. "I guess…"

"It's all right, Ron," his father said. "Now, what's new today, children?"

Percy was tempted to tell his family about the odd discussion he'd had with the Minister earlier in the week concerning the upcoming elections, but chose to keep it to himself. He'd already "lost" the Female Election Registration letters and didn't want to even hint that such a thing existed.

"Well—" Hermione began. "There was the rally in Hogsmeade last night." Her eyes shifted from Ron to Harry and back to Ron again.

"Yes, how was that, Hermione," Arthur asked.

"Rally? What rally," Percy asked, eyeing his future sister-in-law.

"ELF rally, Perce," Ron answered. "Equality and Liberation Front. It's a political activist group."

"Hermione, since when are you an activist," Percy asked.

"Since she's—"

"Ron, don't," Harry said. "Percy, it's a matter of the utmost secrecy. Can we trust you to keep this to yourself?"

"Of course," he said warily. "Is the Minister—"

"No. We're keeping him out of it for the time-being," Harry said quietly. "If there's anything to report, then we will, but for now—you can't say anything to anyone. Got it?"

"You have my word, but—"

"All right. ELF is headed up by Alastor Gumboil. It's a group that promotes Muggleborn and Halfblood welfare," Hermione explained. "His base goals seem all right, but his tactics aren't."

"How so?"

"Percy, how much do you know about Muggle history," she asked. "Specifically, the years between 1933 and 1945."

"A fair bit. I believe there was a Muggle world war in there somewhere and Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, but that's about all I know for sure," he said, taking a sip of his tea. "What about it?"

Hermione, Ron, and Harry explained what ELF was about and why they were so concerned about it, and how it tied in with the Muggle world war.

"He's a high-ranking Ministry official," Percy hissed. "You're spying on a high-ranking Ministry official? You could be sacked!"

"Not spying, Percy—observing," Ron said. "Hermione, we need a _Muffliato_, I think."

Hermione waved her wand so they could explain everything to Percy and allow Hermione to give her report at the same time. Several minutes later, Ron finished. "This is why you have to keep your trap shut."

"I know nothing," Percy said, staring straight into his youngest brother's eyes. "This conversation never happened."

"Good man," their father said, clapping his middle son on the back and giving his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "Now, is everyone clear for the twenty-fifth? It's the day after the elections and a special day for the Weasleys this year."

"Yes," Hermione said. "I'm off at noon on Wednesday and all day Thursday, but I'll be making it up for the next two weeks."

"I've scheduled Ron, Seamus, and myself off that day," Harry offered. "Perce?"

"Oh, right. Yes. And I've extended the invitation to Kingsley as mother asked. He says he wouldn't miss it," Percy added. "I'm rather looking forward to this. It's an American holiday, right?"

"Yes, it is. Americans set aside the last Thursday of November as a day of remembrance and thanksgiving; hence, they call it Thanksgiving Day," Hermione explained. "It was Fiona's idea to do this this year."

"And we're going to have it at Ionúin Bhaile," Harry announced. "The house is finished!"

"Harry, why didn't you tell us," Arthur asked as the others gasped.

"We wanted it to be a surprise," Harry said. "We meet with the Phelps brothers at Gringotts before Ginny leaves for Montrose."

"Does Bill know yet," Ron asked. "I mean, you said you and Ginny wanted him there when you close."

"Yeah, he knows," Harry said. "I swore him to secrecy. Anyway, we're having an open house the minute she's back and you'll be able to see it all furnished and everything. Hermione, Bill wants you to get in touch with him as soon as you can so you can go over the wards and decide which ones you're going to cast."

"I still have your list," she replied. "We should be able to bundle a few of them in one spell, but it's going to take several hours to finish."

"Understood. So are any of you planning on coming to Montrose for the third game? I've bought an entire box for the family," Harry said with a grin.

"Harry, that's dreadfully expensive," Percy said, forgetting his brother-in-law was a very wealthy wizard. "But I won't look a gift-Gryffon in the mouth. I'm there!"

"I'm sure we'll all be there, son," Arthur said with pride. "Ginny's going to need all the support we can give her. I hear those Magpies lads play rough."

"They do, Dad," Ron added. "But they play fair, so I wouldn't worry too much. The Harpies may be all witches, but they're not withering vines—at least Ginny and Gwenog aren't."

"Trust me: none of them are," Harry said with his signature Harry-grin.

The group continued with their lunch, chatting about the new house and Ginny's road schedule up to the holidays. Before they knew it, it was time to return to work. Ron rose first and pulled out Hermione's chair for her. She stood and thanked him with a peck on the cheek, which he returned with a peck to her hand. His eyes wandered for the briefest of moments and came to rest on Alastor Gumboil; the man glared daggers back at him and Ron narrowed his eyes in return. _Keep your eyes off my bride, you fanatical bastard_.

On Friday evening, Dennis made his way to the hospital wing to bring Jessica back to Gryffindor Tower. When he arrived, he found his girlfriend sitting on her bed wearing the clothes Demelza had brought her at lunch time.

"Ready to go home," Dennis asked, offering her hand. "We've got a roaring fire going in the grate just for you."

"Sounds cosy," she replied intimately. "I can't wait to get back to our spot on The Sofa." She said _the sofa_ as if it were something epic—because it was. The story went that ever since the Golden Trio started at Hogwarts, they sat on or around that sofa and all but held court. That story was a bit exaggerated in that Harry, Ron, and Hermione never actually _held court_, but they did sit there most of the time.

"Shall we, then?"

"We shall."

Dennis and Jessica waved to Madame Pomfrey and left the ward. They walked hand-in-hand to the stairs without speaking a word, but their hands remained tightly clasped. When they arrived at the portrait hole, Dennis stopped so Jessica could catch her breath and prepare herself to be integrated back into the Gryffindor family again. "Ready?"

"It's now or never," Jessica breathed and nodded. "Let's do this."

"Jessie," Dennis said to the pink lady.

"Welcome home, dear," the portrait said. "Go on in."

Dennis held the door for Jessica so she could climb through. He followed immediately and closed it tightly.

"SURPRISE," a cacophony of voices shouted. A huge banner stretched across the room at the far end that read: _WELCOME HOME, JESSICA_ in letters charmed to change colour and shimmer in the dim light.

Jessica nearly jumped out of her skin, but was grateful that her Housemates didn't mob her. She guessed that Dennis had warned them against that. She leaned into him, a bit shaken. "Y-you didn't have to do this," she said shyly.

Dennis released her hand and put his arm around her waist. "No, we didn't, but we wanted to. We're glad to have our friend and Keeper back with us." He leaned into her ear and whispered, "And I'm glad to have my girl back and in my arms."

"Um…thanks…everyone. It's good to be home," Jessica said, tears of happiness welling in her eyes. "You're all the best!"

"Butterbeers all around," Peakes called, passing one to Jessica and then to Dennis.

"Do you need to find a corner away from the crowd, Love? Our spot on The Sofa is open," Dennis said just above a whisper.

"Yes, please," Jessica replied, releasing a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding. "It's…it's a bit much right now. I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Jess. They all understand you've had a rough go. Nobody's going to rush you," he assured her. "I had a talk with the team and the team had a talk with the House. Oh, and Hagrid would like us to come down to his hut when you're ready. He's been dead worried over you."

"Maybe next week, yeah," she said. "I need time to adjust."

"Of course. Like Hagrid said: whenever you're ready." Dennis raised his arm so she could snuggle in. Their friends drifted over with refills and soon, the Quidditch team were reunited around The Sofa with the newest-reigning Prince and Princess of Gryffindor Tower.

Ginny woke up dull and achy on the morning of the Harpies' third match against the Montrose Magpies. She understood in the first two matches why they were the most successful team in league history—they were skilled and played fairly, but hard. It physically hurt to oppose them.

Ginny literally felt like hunted prey in the first two matches. Clearly, they wanted to induce fear in the rookie Chaser. So far, the Harpies had lost the first game, with Ginny scoring only three goals, as she spent most of the match dodging Bludgers. She'd been struck once, requiring bruise remover and mending of three cracked ribs. The Magpies had scored three goals while Ginny healed.

In the second game, Gwenog changed tactics in a brilliant way. The Magpies employed the Bludger attacks on Ginny again, so that's when Gwenog used Ginny's ability to match the speed of a Seeker. She sent her off to switch positions with Geraldine long enough for her to join the Chasers. This confused the Magpies Chasers, who didn't cover Geraldine, allowing her to quickly score. When Ginny returned to her Chaser position, the Magpies had to play less-offensively, affording the Harpies to gain enough momentum to control the match until Geraldine finally caught the Snitch.

Ginny dragged herself out of bed feeling rather relaxed about the match, even though her neck and spine popped as she stretched. The Harpies had earned some respect among the tougher teams, so they had a fair chance to win this game and the series. Through her bond with her husband, she felt nothing but peace.

She and Harry had truly settled into their new life. Even with Ginny travelling with the team and having to live away from home a lot, she still had periods were she was at home for extended periods of time, giving them ample chance to charge their emotional and physical batteries. The ability to verbally communicate with one another and share everything through the bond really helped stave off the pining and homesickness.

Ginny sensed that Harry was still asleep. His relaxed state helped to keep her calm when she might otherwise feel agitated. She knew he'd been on the evening shift the night before, so he would probably sleep until after the flying session Gwenog had ordered after breakfast to loosen up their aching bodies. One more match here in Scotland and another in Puddlemere, and then there would be another week of rest and only light practice in Holyhead for a few hours every other day.

After a customary trip to the loo, Ginny headed for the mess hall to join her team for breakfast. Ginny slid in next to Gabriella, the one person on the team she spent most of her free time with outside training. There was a good professional relationship between them all, but Gab was the one she'd connected to on a personal level. This morning, she was reading _The Daily Prophet_, with a worried expression.

When Ginny appeared, she laid the paper down. "Good morning, Ginny! Looks like your dad and that gorgeous husband of yours have been busy these days," she said, pointing at the article on the front page.

Ginny poured a cup of tea and read to herself.

_**The Hexed Cauldron**_

_Over the past few days, we've learned about the group led by Undersecretary Alastor Gumboil called ELF and their meetings in pubs all over the country. Yesterday, they visited the Leaky Cauldron in London. ELF (Equality and Liberation Front) opposes Pureblood domination in our society and has suggested several changes in our laws to promote equality among our people (See page 13 for a full commentary by our expert on Wizarding law). ELF has done much to gain the attention of the Wizarding public, and last night's rally attracted both pros and antis to their cause, with many curious wizards and witches on hand to find out more. That's where the night went pear-shaped._

"_Mr Gumboil gave a rather impassioned speech, arguing his case before the crowd. There were a few who didn't share his views, leading to an argument that got out of hand when the first hex flew," reports Hannah Abbott Longbottom, an employee of the Leaky Cauldron._

_Reports indicate that Mr Gumboil had to be taken to St Mungo's to have his nose restored to its original shape. Most troubling, though, was the fact that a rough dozen witches and wizards also needed the services of St Mungo's, due to injuries sustained in the melee. Anti-ELF demonstrators threw Dungbombs at the members of Gumboil's group who readily responded with a variety of jinxes and hexes. Well-known Muggleborn witch, Hermione Granger, OMFC, cast an impressive shield charm in an attempt to part the aggressors, but lost it when she was struck by an Impedimenta spell that knocked the wind out of her. She sustained no injuries._

_Also present in the pub was off-duty Auror Seamus Finnegan, who must have alerted the Auror Office, because within minutes of the outbreak of hostilities, the Leaky Cauldron was swarmed by Aurors who, according to witnesses, put an end to the fighting by doing little more than showing up. Head Auror Harry Potter, OMFC and Assistant Head Ronald Weasley, OMFC took charge of the situation and after checking wands, fifteen brawlers were Portkeyed to the Ministry to cool off in a holding cell for the night._

_The rest of the evening passed pleasantly for those out and about in Diagon Alley, but Aurors were posted at key positions to ensure everyone's safety. With the upcoming Wizengamot __elections hotly contested, one thing is certain: tension is. Minister Shacklebolt urges everyone to be mindful of their persons and children in crowds or at gatherings._

_No wonder Harry's still sleeping, the dear man._ Ginny hoped the crowds attending today's match wouldn't cause problems. _A__nd I went to bed early, probably before this started. _She returned the paper to Gabriella and sighed, rubbing her temples.

"It seems the Aurors finally carry some respect," Gabriella commented.

Ginny smiled, proud of what Harry had accomplished in such a short time. "Yes, Harry's worked hard with them. They showed their skill and drive when they took Mafalda down last summer."

"It's amazing that they're so good, since most of them are so young," Gabriella observed with admiration in her voice.

"Harry trained us back in '95 to fight Voldemort and his core group of Death Eaters. After that, a load of brawlers in a pub isn't much of a challenge, except for minimizing injuries."

Gabriella looked at her friend and fellow Chaser with a new admiration. "Blimey Ginny, I forgot that you fought too. I mean, you're such a brilliant Chaser, and only 18 years old, and yet you were in the middle of the war at Hogwarts," she said.

One good thing about Gabriella was that she didn't make a big deal about Ginny being a war hero and holder of an Order of Merlin. Ginny had told her briefly about her part in the war during an adrenaline-fuelled midnight chat about her life and her life with Harry Potter when they got to know each other during the six-week training camp. However, Ginny kept her first-year possession by Voldemort and the hellish torture she endured in sixth-year entirely to herself.

"We did what we had to do," Ginny commented before smiling again. "Harry's coming to watch us today. He got a top box for our friends and family."

"We did great in the last match and we'll win today, Ginny. You'll see. The Magpies are good, but as long as we keep their lead under 150, they'll be so nervous that you and Geraldine will switch positions, that she'll catch the Snitch. I just know it."

"I can't wait to find out what tactics Gwen conjures up today," Ginny replied with a smirk.

The two Harpies finished breakfast and headed out to the pitch for a fly before practice—just for fun. No Quaffle, no Snitch, just flying for the pure joy of it. It was seven smiling Harpies that headed for the showers before lunch and a few hours' rest before the match.

Harry's nerves buzzed as he scanned the crowd at the Magpies Quidditch pitch. He heard people arguing as much about politics as the match. Harry's trained eye spotted the dark blue robes of the Law Enforcement Squad Officers providing security. Harry respected the Squads, but they wouldn't be able to handle a crowd this big on their own should a riot break out.

"Relax, Harry," Hermione said, noticing how tense he seemed.

"Thank you. I will," Harry said and looked at the family.

Molly's face conveyed the proud but anxious mother in her. Determined to enjoy the day, Arthur bought himself a Sugar Quill and happily nibbled away at it. Percy stood next to his father, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, eager for the match to start. George and Angelina caught up on all the Hogwarts gossip with Fiona. Charlie stood bouncing his giggling niece on his lap, which allowed Bill and Fleur to embrace each other in a warm hug in a rather chilly Scotland. Ron and Hermione stood next to Charlie, making faces at the baby, making her giggle even more.

The Harpies rocketed onto the pitch, followed by the Magpies, and the crowd erupted in cheers. The fourteen players had royally psyched up for this final match of the three-game series, and all had focused intently on winning the day. The pressure on the Magpies had grown exponentially since they'd lost the second match, and the Harpies were going to exploit it with everything they had.

The referee blew her whistle and released the Quaffle. Both teams employed an offensive strategy, which confused the Magpies who obviously had expected a more defensive game. The Harpies used their opponents' hesitation against them and quickly scored five unanswered goals. The Magpies keeper glared angrily at the Harpies Chasers and shouted a play to his team mates. The Magpies responded readily and with well-aimed Bludgers, they worked their way into the match.

An hour later, the score stood deadlocked at 130-130. The match was physically demanding, but still there was no sign on fatigue in either team. Ginny drew energy from Harry to stay focused and with spectacular flying, she scored four rapid-fire goals. After the fourth, the Magpies Keeper had had enough. "Crack the Pureblood bint's head with that Bludger," he screamed in anger and frustration over the roar of the crowd below. He'd allowed himself to be fooled by Ginny Potter for the fourth time in two minutes and he was going to ensure it didn't happen again.

Both teams heard the remark, as did several spectators closest to the Magpies goal, among them Harry and the Weasley family. The Magpies Beaters took their Keeper/Captain's order literally. The Bludgers swooped like hornets around Ginny, who used all her skill and speed to avoid them. Molly watched nervously as her daughter out-flew the vicious iron balls. With the Magpies Beaters focusing on Ginny, they forgot about Gabriella and Glenda, which gave them ample chance to score. Minutes later, the Harpies led the Magpies by nine goals.

Harry followed Ginny's every move with his eyes and his heart as she tried to predict the flight paths of the elusive Bludgers and avoid them. He could feel her thrill and focus, but there were surges of worry too, and that unsettled him. The Harpies fans cheered mightily for their skilled Chaser who had managed to garner so much attention from the Magpies Beaters, but also for the referee to stop the match for the foul, since they clearly and in violation of the rules targeted Ginny, personally. The referee fouled a Magpies Beater a few moments later for deliberately aiming his Bludger at Ginny's head. She'd barely avoided it with her signature barrel roll.

"Bloody hell she can fly that broom," Ron gasped in awe of his sister's amazing skill. By now the crowd had begun to stir.

"C'mon ref! That's no foul, that's Pureblood favouritism, that is," a black-and-white-clad Magpies fan yelled.

_Politics invading Quidditch. Damn!_ Harry shifted into full-on Auror alert mode.

The response from the Harpies section was to taunt the Magpies fans. "Sure ref, let them just try hitting her! They'll never touch her! She's too bloody fast for them," someone yelled back.

With the game paused for the foul, Harry felt how Ginny had relaxed for a moment, neither noticing the other Magpies Beater who whacked a Bludger straight at her. Harry opened up the bond fully and yelled a silent warning. Ginny set off at full speed in a tick and steered clear of the missile. The Harpies fans roared their outrage.

The referee blew a long blast on her whistle and signed for the Magpies Beater to approach her.

"What was that, McLean," she asked with a strict tone.

"A ruddy Bludger coming at me," the Beater claimed in order to excuse himself.

"That you just happened to aim at Harpies number 6," the referee asked suspiciously.

The Magpies Beater looked sheepishly at the referee and shrugged.

"Penalty shot to the Harpies! McLean, get off my pitch. You're finished for the day," the referee snarled.

At the verdict from the very-incensed referee, a roar erupted from the Magpies section. The same black-and-white-clad Magpies fan who'd yelled before put his wand to his throat, clearly using the Sonorus charm.

"Bloody Purebloods! McLean wouldn't have been sent off the pitch if he was a Pureblood," he shouted, taking a pause before he opened his mouth again. "Crush the Purebloods!"

At this, he drew his wand and began firing hexes at Ginny and the referee. Ginny shot off like dark green lightning on her Firebolt while she pulled her own wand to cast a shield charm around herself before slowing down but still minding the Bludgers. A large group from the crowd stormed the pitch, charging towards each other with wands pulled.

"Oh, no! This is just like Hogwarts," Fiona cried. "Harry! Ronnie, _do somethin'_!"

Harry switched into full-battle mode. If this didn't stop immediately, people would get hurt and this time it would be far worse than it had been at Hogwarts. "Accio, Firebolt," Harry shouted and flicked his wand at the second Magpies Beater. The man stared at Harry in shock at having been summoned from the pitch by the top Auror. "I'm Head Auror Potter, and I hereby commandeer this broom by the Auror Decree Number 47!"

He shoved the still-shocked Beater aside and mounted the broom, turning to his Second-in-Command. "Ron, take charge on the pitch. If we work fast, we can stop this from becoming a bloodbath," Harry barked before shooting off over the pitch.

Ron glanced at Hermione for a moment before Apparating to the centre of the pitch between the advancing crowds. "Ronald Weasley," Hermione began as he Disapparated from the top box. She spotted him, and with a sigh, she pulled her wand and Apparated next to him.

"'Mione," Ron growled. "What are you doing down here?"

"Someone has to watch your back," she said. "Besides, Arthur deputised me, remember?"

Ron looked at her as if he considered snogging the sense out of her. But reason took hold and he realised that a riot wasn't an ideal situation for a snog, especially when the combatants were screaming for blood. He nodded. "Follow my lead. Harry's above us. He or Dad will surely call for backup. We've got to stall them, so just shield us for now," he told her and Hermione nodded.

Ron put his wand against his neck in an attempt to command the crowd to disperse. "Spectators will stand down and return to your seats, now," Ron's voice boomed with such power and authority, that it sent a collective shudder through the advancing rioters, but they kept on charging.

From the stands, Molly looked on in fear as her youngest son and his fiancée stood alone in the centre of the pitch with well over one hundred people approaching them from both sides. She was too shocked to act. The Weasley brethren were also momentarily shocked as their Auror brother fearlessly faced off against such numbers.

Harry had already sent a Patronus to the Auror Office ordering a full mobilization to contain the riots, meanwhile improvising a plan to stall until the Aurors arrived.

"_Ginny, are you there?"_

"_Always."_

"_Follow me."_

"_To hell and back."_

Hermione's shield deflected a couple of hexes, but within moments, the onslaught would begin. Hermione had no idea how Ron could be so calm in such dire circumstances. There was no way the two of them could keep up shields against so many. Just then, Magpies Stadium shook to its foundation with a series of earth-shaking explosions. Harry and Ginny dove and fired off powerful Reducto curses into the ground between the crowds. The power of the blasts knocked those closest to them off their feet and the assault lost momentum.

"_Good work, Gin. Now we team up with Ron and Hermione, one shielding and the other stunning. Got it?"_

"_I'm with you, Harry."_

Harry executed a perfect Wronksi Feint and rolled off the broom to join Ron and Hermione on the ground. His broom shot at full speed into one of the attackers. Ginny joined them a moment later.

"What a Quidditch match, yeah," Ron greeted them with a grin. "I might become a Harpies fan after all. Never a dull moment!"

"Heads up, people," Harry said focusing on the task ahead.

The rioting crowd had now reached the centre of the pitch and the intensity and numbers of flying hexes increased with each surge. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione worked as one body, covering each other and stunning attackers. Harry and Ron had drilled in this kind of battlefield co-operation for hours and hours and it paid off. Harry's and Ginny's bond allowed her to fit seamlessly into Auror form and tactics. Hermione had fought alongside Harry and Ron for so long, that she instinctively knew how to read their facial expressions and body language. Very little was said as all four of them focused on quelling the riot.

From her elevated position in the top box, Molly lost sight of the quartet as they vanished into the midst of the riot. There was no telling how they were doing. "Arthur, we're going down there right now! We've got to help them," she shrieked.

Arthur's hand was going for his wand just as the rest of the Weasleys pulled theirs, but the pops of Apparation halted them. Seamus Finnegan appeared right next to them, crouched and ready for action.

"Seamus! Thank Merlin you're here," Molly sighed in relief seeing him and the full body of Aurors Apparate around the stadium "Ginny, Hermione, Harry and Ron are down there all alone, right in the middle of that mob!"

"We'll handle it, Molly," Seamus said shortly, not even noticing Fiona Prewett standing next to him. The Third-in-Command assessed the full-scale battle on the pitch and cast the Sonorus charm. "Aurors! The chief's is in the centre of that lot," his voice called over the pitch. "Stunners!"

At his command, red bolts of the stunning hex erupted in a blinding barrage where the Aurors shot of the spells in rapid succession. The first volley lasted for only a few seconds, and the effect was immediate. Dozens fell, knocked out by the hammer stroke of red that hit them. "Charge," Seamus ordered and Apparated onto the pitch.

The quartet in the centre noticed a sudden drop in the number and intensity of the hexes flying round them following the barrage. Harry's people had arrived and were already taking control. But then the reality of the ordeal hit Harry like a freight train. "Cross fire! All of you mind stray spells!" All four of them began casting stunners, catching rioters still standing in their cross-fire as the Aurors fired from the perimeter.

Molly watched breathlessly as the last few brawlers still standing dropped their wands and surrendered. The whole thing had lasted only a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity to her as her children stood against an angry mob. With the dust settled and the smoke cleared, the only ones left standing were her Golden Quartet in the centre, the Aurors, and a handful of brawlers. Molly clapped her hands to her breast and thanked Merlin for sparing their lives yet again.

The effect the Aurors who had stunned that many in mere seconds had on the hundreds of witnesses was shocking. The Quartet who voluntary had placed themselves in the very centre in an attempt to stop the riot was unbelievably brave, no one could deny. Those who'd witnessed it all from the stands stood in silence, still trying to comprehend what they had just seen. Fiona had eyes for only one man—a certain Irishman in maroon robes with the devil in his eyes. _If he'd only been there to stop this from happening at Hogwarts, there would have been no need for Jason to have protected those little ones like that._

The Aurors had accomplished in seconds what the collective staff of Hogwarts couldn't manage at all. Somewhere in the stands, a lone spectator began to applaud the efforts of their law-enforcement. It spread like a secret at Hogwarts, and soon the stadium exploded in cheers for the Aurors and their chief. Reporters from _The Daily Prophet_ and other Wizarding publications were already trying to put words to what they'd just seen, and the photographers looked like Christmas had come early. The pictures of Auror Weasley and Miss Granger facing the crowds alone, Chief Potter on the broom or the Golden Quartet standing as victors among the knocked-out brawlers would certainly make the front pages tomorrow and a healthy number of Galleons in their pockets.

Harry, still in battle mode, surveyed his wife and his best friends. "Are you all right," he asked as a jolt of pain from Ginny shot through the bond. "Gin?"

Ginny held her chest as her face paled by degree. "It's nothing," she said. "A Bludger slammed into my chest while we Reductoed the pitch."

"_I feel how much it hurts Ginny. You need to be checked out. There might be broken bones or internal bleeding. Fiona's here," _Harry told her through the bond.

"Fiona can take a look," Hermione suggested.

"All right, all right," Ginny agreed grudgingly. "Are the rest of you all right?"

They looked at each other and nodded. Harry was torn between handling the aftermath and tending to Ginny. Ron sensed Harry's dilemma and spoke out. "Take Ginny, mate. I'll handle this with Seamus," Ron offered. "And send Dad down here, will you?"

"You're sure," Harry asked, putting his arm around Ginny's waist.

"Positive. Go!"

Harry Apparated Ginny to the top box, where they were met by a frantic Molly and a concerned family. "Harry, Ginny," Molly cried and embraced them until Ginny squealed. "Are you all right, dear?"

"A Bludger hit me in the chest, Mum, it's nothing," Ginny claimed and turned to Fiona "But could you take a look, Onie?" Against her will, Ginny winced as it began to hurt to breathe.

Fiona nodded, still shocked. She cast diagnostic spells over Ginny's body. "You have a punctured lung and several cracked ribs," Fiona said. "It's nothin' serious, but I'm takin' you to the hospital wing right now."

Molly shook her head and hovered over her daughter. Ginny could lose an arm or leg to a hex and say it was nothing.

"I'll come along," Harry said and turned to Arthur. "Dad, Ron asked for your help on the pitch."

Fiona caught Harry's eyes. "The Three Broomsticks and Floo from there," she asked.

"Let's do it," Harry replied, positioning himself beside her and offering an arm; Fiona followed suit.

Ginny glared at them in annoyance. "I can walk, thank you. There's nothing wrong with my legs and it's just a ruddy lung! I have two, you know."

"Famous last words," Fiona snorted. "Grab on, Cousin Grouch!" With that they Disapparated with a _pop!_

Harry paced outside the double doors of the Hogwarts hospital wing. Poppy had sent him out when his pacing had driven her to distraction, affecting her ability to supervise Fiona's work with Ginny's injuries.

"_Mr Potter, she's been injured worse than this, believe me. Your incessant pacing and muttering is a distraction and it's just upsetting my patient. Out," Poppy ordered, pointing stiffly to the doors._

"_But—"_

"_Out!"_

"Harry! What're you doing out here," Ron called, rushing toward him. "Is Ginny all right?"

"Poppy tossed me out for pacing. Ginny's all right. They're patching her up right now," Harry replied. "Do you have a report for me?"

"Oh, yeah. Right. Well, we interviewed the Harpies and the Magpies and it appears that Murdoch—that's the Keeper, McLean, and Pelham—the Beaters—had hatched a plan to take Ginny out of the game," Ron said as his eyes darkened. "Harry, one of their Chasers, a bloke called Bertram, says he thinks Murdoch, McLean, and Pelham are ELF-supporters and might have been involved in that mess in London last night. He said they'd gone missing after practice yesterday."

"Gone missing? What did Bertram mean by that," Harry asked, trying to make sense of it.

"They weren't supposed to leave quarters at the stadium last night. Coach's orders, since the Harpies pounded them so badly the second game. They broke curfew, evidently," Ron said. "But I'll bet they're sorry they picked on our Ginny."

"Oh? Why's that," Harry asked, already proud of her and he didn't know what she had done to make three burly Quidditch players sorry they picked on a woman.

"Bat bogeys. Ginny nailed Murdoch with one of her super-powered Stunners and a top-notch Bat bogey hex. She got him good. They had to call in Bill to counter them so the man could breathe.

Harry laughed out loud. "That's bloody hysterical! That big lout knocked cold and covered with flying bogeys!" _Gods, I love that woman!_

"Bill lifted the Stunner first," Ron said with sadistic glee. "You should have seen the git screaming like a girl and slapping at his face. Bill had to hold his breath so he could do the counter-curse because he was laughing so hard, he couldn't concentrate!"

"It took a Curse-breaker to counter Ginny's hexes," Harry laughed some more. "Remind me not to fall from her good books, mate." The two Aurors laughed until they cried before they calmed down enough for Ron to give Harry the rest of his report.

Harry took a few deep breaths and continued the debriefing. "That tosspot in the stands didn't help the situation, either. Did we get him?"

"Yeah, we did. A couple of spectators pointed him out among the stunned as the bloke who shouted all that anti-Pureblood rhetoric that started the whole thing. He and about two dozen others are cooling their heels in holding cells with that lot from last night," Ron reported. "It's a bit crowded in there. Murdoch, McLean, and Pelham are suspended pending an internal investigation by the Magpies organisation itself."

"Any of our people hurt?"

"Just a few scratches, but nothing serious. Seamus really came through, didn't he," Ron asked Harry, who had resumed pacing.

"I had no doubts. Anything else?"

"That's it. Hermione's gone back to the Burrow with Mum and the family. Dad's just finishing up the paperwork with Seamus and then he'll be home too."

"Brilliant," Harry replied, still pacing.

"Harry," Fiona called softly. "Ginny wants ya. She's a bit groggy, though, 'cuz we gave her a mild sleepin' draught. She's gonna be fit as a fiddle in a couple days, but she needs rest."

"Thanks, Onie," Harry said, finally cracking a smile. "I'll just…I'll just go on in, then, shall I?"

"See you later, mate. I'm going to head home," Ron said. "I need to check on 'Mione."

"Give her a hug for me. I'm going to stay with Gin tonight," Harry told his friend. "After all, I do have my own bed here." The two men laughed and parted with a manly hug. "Thanks, mate. You and Hermione were brilliant."

"Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Ron." Harry watched as his ginger brother disappeared into the shadows. With a stretch, he turned and passed through the doors into the hospital ward to comfort his wife.

The following morning, Poppy gave Ginny a final examination, this time allowing Harry to stay, provided he refrained from pacing. He sat quietly while the matron gave Ginny a clean bill of health, releasing her to her husband's care.

When Harry and Ginny appeared at the Burrow, their family met them with hugs and for Molly, not a few tears. "Ginny, I was so worried. I'm beginning to think you should—"

"Mum, don't. Injuries are just part of the profession," Ginny argued before her mother launched into worry-trip. "I'm fine. I just need to rest for a few days, that's all."

"Then to bed with you," Molly ordered, eyeing her son-in-law with her patented don't-bother-to-argue look. "Harry, you take her up to your room and put her to bed. Use a sticking charm if you have to, but make sure she stays there!"

Ginny huffed in annoyance. "Mum, I'm not a baby!"

"You're my baby," her mother retorted. "Harry, move it!"

"You heard the lady, Gin," Harry said scooping her up in his arms. "Upstairs—and don't make me use a sticking charm."

"_I can tell you what I want to stick to, mister!" _Ginny shot a wave of pure lust through their bond and giggled as she felt his response.

"_You've got yourself a deal, my heart. Your command is my wish."_

"_I'm glad you see it my way. Now, hot stuff, take me upstairs and put me to bed like Mum said."_

"_Minx."_ Harry looked over his shoulder at Ron and winked. He then carried his wife up the rickety stairs to their room. Once inside, he set her down on her feet and waved his hand at the door, sealing the door and silencing the room.

"Now, Mr Potter. Are you going to put me to bed," Ginny purred, pressing against him and running her hands over his chest.

Gryffindor's lion roared in his chest and he crushed his lips to hers as she vanished every stitch of clothing they had on. He moaned into her mouth and picked her up again and carried her to the bed. "I do hope you know where you send our clothes, Love."

"Mm and why's that," she asked, flicking her tongue at his ear.

"Because that was my favourite shirt and my most-comfortable jeans," he replied, running his hands over her athletic form.

"What about the knickers," she asked, massaging his chest.

"What knickers," he grinned, and plundered her mouth with his tongue.

"Ohh, Harry," Ginny moaned and fell into paradise with the man she loved. "I love you."

"I love you too, baby. Now shut up and kiss me," he commanded with a growl.

Ginny caught up with the team at Puddlemere, where the Harpies out-flew and out-shot the veteran team. Once again, Oliver Wood congratulated her on a game well-played with a special hello for Harry. She now had an entire week before she had to report back to Holyhead, so she and Harry spent a couple of days preparing Ionúin Bhaile for the Open House celebration and Thanksgiving dinner.

She and Harry had a wonderful time furnishing their fairy-tale-style farmhouse whose outer walls stood just a little off, as all magical homes and buildings appeared. It had a warm and inviting air about it, which is what Harry wanted.

Bill and Hermione had spent most of the day before the party casting and weaving safety, privacy, and defensive wards around the house and property. By the time they finished, an army of dark wizards couldn't break through, but it left them both exhausted and in need of many hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Finally, the day of the party arrived and Ionúin Bhaile came alive with laughter, good food, and the love of family and friends. Just before Molly declared the feast ready, Seamus rose with his glass of Madame Rosmerta's best mulled mead. Ensuring that everyone's glasses were full, he offered an Irish blessing on the new home.

"_Bealtaine an teach a bheannaigh le bhfuil neart. Neart an ghrá, neart áthas, agus neart na leanaí. Fáilte bhaile, Harry agus Ginny!"_

"Damn, Finnegan! What did you just say," George asked before the man could continue.

"I'm gettin' there, Weasley," Seamus replied to a wave of laughter from the company.

"May this house be blessed with plenty. Plenty of love, plenty of joy, and plenty of children. Welcome home, Harry and Ginny! Sláinte!"

"Sláinte," they all repeated.

"Come and eat, everyone! Molly's outdone herself," Arthur called.

That night, Harry and Ginny climbed into their very own bed in their very own bedroom in their very own house and made love until they both fell into an exhausted, but very contented slumber.

_A/N: Fiona's song is "Darcy Farrow" by Steve Gillette and Tom Campbell as performed by John Denver._


	24. Chapter 24 The Weasleys First Thanksgivi

**Chapter 24 – The Weasleys' First Thanksgiving**

Late Tuesday morning, a rather large brown owl appeared at the Burrow carrying a thick packet of parchment. Molly opened the window just enough to allow the owl to swoop in, drop its burden on the kitchen table, and fly back out again without so much as a _hoot do you do_. Molly closed the window and turned the lock, realising immediately what was contained in the packet. _It must be the ballots_. She decided she would wait until Arthur, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny returned home that evening to open it.

Ginny had a scheduled press conference in London today with the Harpies concerning the disastrous third game in Montrose. Both teams had refused to meet with the press until the league released its report. It took nearly two weeks for the Ministry Department of Magical Games and Sports and the league to sort it all out. In the end, the Magpies organisation was held responsible for its errant players involved in the unnecessary roughness during that game. It was decided to keep that a separate issue from the rioting, which had been declared a civil case.

Murdoch, McLean, and Pelham, the starting defencemen for the Magpies, were handed five-game suspensions by the league to be enforced after the team-imposed three-game suspensions had been served, a move that would certainly damage the Magpies' chances at the playoffs this season. In comparison, their replacements were all rookies with more experience warming the bench than a broomstick. _Serves them right_.

There was no action taken against the Harpies, other than an official reprimand from the league to Ginny for putting herself in danger during the riot that had been capped off with a commendation for her dedication to fair play. _At least they recognised that she did the right thing, morally anyway_.

The Aurors who quelled the riot were commended by _The Daily Prophet_, _Quidditch Weekly_, _Witch Weekly_, and _The_ _Quibbler_ for their heroic efforts to stop further violence from erupting, with minimal injury to all involved. Seamus received a special award from the league for his quick work in assessing the situation and his outstanding leadership in a stressful situation. Those arrested in the melee were fined 200 Galleons for disorderly conduct, with the instigator who shouted epithets against Ginny's heritage receiving an additional fine of 100 Galleons and ten days in jail for inciting a riot.

_This family certainly does have much to be thankful for this year—a new son, a new daughter, a new niece (well, two actually), and another adopted son_. Molly hummed a cheery tune as she worked to prepare a few of the dishes for Thursday's dinner at Ionúin Bhaile—such an odd language, Gaelic. She wasn't keen on serving one of her massive dinners, especially this one because it's so special, somewhere other than at the Burrow, but she had to admit that Harry's and Ginny's beautiful new home had infinitely more space for such a large group.

When she took another glance at the packet on the table, she realised there were two ballots that would not appear in the Burrow's election packet. Harry's and Ginny's ballots were probably delivered to Harry at the Ministry since they didn't live at the Burrow anymore and no one would be home until later this evening. _No matter._ _They'll be here for supper tonight and Arthur can explain to them how to work the ballots, since it's the first time any of them will have ever cast a vote._ She almost allowed herself a weep session, but fought back the temptation. She'd promised herself she wouldn't allow the mother hen in her to fuss over the inevitable ever again.

Hermione sat in her cubicle in the outer offices of the Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, poring over the files she had extracted regarding cases involving displaced and sacked House-elves. Time and again, she found the same issues—mental/emotional and physical abuse with less-than-adequate consequences for the owners, sackings for the sake of sacking resulting in insanity and death for unfortunates who fell slave to cruel and ignorant owners. Rarely did she come across a case of intervention on behalf of a wronged Elf, and on the occasion she did, the Elf was simply re-located and the errant owner fined a single Galleon. Many House elves had been shuffled through so many homes, they couldn't bond with their owners and died at very young ages.

"Sounds like the state of foster care in the Muggle world," she muttered to herself. "Children shunted from rail to fence-post and treated like…like Harry."

"What was that, Miss Granger," the voice of Amos Diggory sounded behind her. She nearly leapt out of her chair with fright. "Something about Harry Potter?"

"Oh—it was nothing, sir. I was just muttering to myself about how the way we treat House elves reminds me of the child foster-care system in the Muggle—"

"They're House elves, Miss Granger, not children," he said slowly, as if she were unintelligent.  
"They hardly—"

"With all due respect, sir, House elves do have feelings and needs just as any other magical creature, including wizards and witches. Something has to be done before our carelessness wipes out an entire species." Hermione had to bite her lip to keep her tongue firmly in her mouth and her foot out of it. She thought of poor Dobby, whom the Malfoys had abused so severely, and poor Winky—wherever she was—whom Barty Crouch Sr had sacked unjustly, turning the poor creature into a drunk.

"Feelings? Surely you jest, Miss Granger," Diggory chuckled, taking a bite of crème biscuit that rested on his saucer.

"I'm quite serious, sir. These cases," she said, gesturing to the piles at her very neat workstation, "record years of data that scream abuse and injustice over more than 500 years! We must do something!"

"What we must do, Miss Granger, is see that dispossessed and freed House elves are moved to permanent homes. Nothing more. Now, I suggest you return these old files to the cabinet and focus on that," he said loftily. "And remember that you're on an extra hour tonight."

"Yes, sir," she said grudgingly, still keeping a façade of professionalism. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear Amos Diggory just channelled Severus Snape. _Hermione, dear, when you get home, you need to take a hot bath and relax…with Ron._ She moaned quietly at the thought of her fiancé's strong hands massaging the knots out of her neck and back, humming softly while he worked.

_Speaking of Ronald, he said he had an appointment tonight after supper again. That's twice last week and again tonight. What on earth is he up to?_ It wasn't that she thought he was cheating on her. He'd never do that, but it certainly was odd. She'd at first thought that he might be working late on cases, but Harry said that he hadn't assigned him to anything like that. That administrative stuff usually fell to Jock Thompson and Don Ross, two older Aurors who were more than happy to sit at a desk and work unsolved cases—or at least try to find an excuse to open them again. Sometimes they were joined by John Dawlish, who was fascinated by that kind of work, but still enjoyed the field.

Hermione glanced at her watch and noted that there was still about twenty minutes to go before lunch. Food sounded really good to her today, since this discussion with Amos Diggory called for copious amounts of fried food and chocolate. _Fish and chips and chocolate pudding with a side of Chocolate Frogs—scrumptious!_ Perhaps she'd finally find Agrippa for Ron. To kill the time, she decided to replace the files herself she'd already perused. Merlin knew the interns had enough filing to do without her adding to it.

That morning, the Munchkins and the Quidditch Team found themselves in deep conversation. They had received their second shipment of pranks to test for WWW. This time, among the new additions to the Skiving Snackboxes, lay odd little devices that looked suspiciously like a cross between a Dung Bomb and a Stun Bomb.

"Ape-arition Bombs," Joseph read on the package. "Wotchoo s'pose tha' is?"

"The name should be a clue," Emma said, turning one over in her hands "All you do is throw it and _you'll have more fun than a barrel of monkeys_."

"You don't think…" Erica began to ask, a smirk forming gleefully across her face.

"Think what, Rica," Patricia asked.

Dennis and Jessica looked up at the second-years in their group and raised their cynical sixth-year eyebrows. "What are you lot on about," Jessica asked, taking an Ape-arition Bomb from the box. "More fun than a barrel of monkeys?"

"No way," Demelza said, dawn breaking over her horizon. "Oh this is just too precious!"

"What's too precious," Patricia asked peevishly, becoming more and more frustrated with the rhetorical questions and unfinished ideas in the conversation.

"I wonder if one could transfigure a Poltergeist," Demelza said sneakily. "Don't you get it? Ape-arition Bombs? Instead of producing a horrible smell, I'll just bet you Galleons to Gobstones that these little beauties transfigure their victims into monkeys! Get it? _More fun than a barrel of monkeys?_"

"Are you serious? Mel, if you're right…" Dennis said slyly. "Oh, but could we have fun with those idiot Puffs!"

"Not to mention Filch," Peakes interjected. "I say we give them a go this Saturday. I hear they're going to be working in the greenhouses shovelling dragon dung into the garden boxes. Professor Sprout and Mr Longbottom are supposed to supervise Hogsmeade this time round.

"Perfect," Demelza said. "Listen…" The eight Gryffindors at Court leaned their heads together while Demelza spelled out her plan. Jimmy cast a privacy charm around them so as not to be overheard.

"Mel, that's brilliant! Two fronts! Harry and Ron would be proud, yeah," Jimmy crowed.

"Not to mention George Weasley," Emma said, leaning into Joseph.

"And the DA," Dennis cried.

"And the Marauders," Patricia added, raising her cup of pumpkin juice. "To the Marauders, the DA, and WWW! Long may their memory remain golden in our hearts!"

"The Marauders, DA, and WWW," the others cried, also raising their cups. "Long live Mischief and Mayhem!" They all drank deeply, excited about their first real caper in the war against school violence.

"Do you really have to go tonight," Hermione pouted to Ron that evening as he met her in her office. Since she had been forced to promise to work an hour extra for the past ten days, they had precious little time together, but these extra appointments were straining that time further.

"Sorry, Love, but it's important," he apologised. "I promise to make it up to you when this project is finished, yeah?"

"But Ron, I've had a horrible day. I told you at lunch—"

"I know, 'Mione. When I get home tonight, we'll have that soak and I'll give you the greatest massage in the history of the Wizarding world," he said, gazing into her cinnamon eyes.

"Oh…all right, but I'm going to hold you to it," she warned with a small smile. "Hot bath and full-body massage. No excuses."

"No excuses," he whispered, drawing her into a deep kiss. "Now let's get home. Mum's waiting supper and I have to be…at my appointment by eight o'clock." Ron and Hermione rode the lift down to the Atrium and all but ran to the Apparition area. With a perfectly synchronised spin down, they disappeared.

Arthur Weasley was a very happy wizard. He had a good job, a loving wife, and a successful family. Five years ago, he could never have imagined that his fortunes could have turned for _this_ better. He'd always been a generally optimistic man even though he struggled to raise his large family; it took a lot to bring a Weasley down. But tonight, there would be no thoughts of what used to be.

"Molly, that has got to be one of the finest meals you've ever served in thirty years of marital bliss," he declared, rubbing his slightly distended belly. "Have you been practising?"

"I have," she admitted. "Fiona sent me loads of recipes from her gran back in North Carolina—they're marvellous!"

"Agreed," Ron said, stuffing another corn muffin in his mouth. "These corn muffins are to die for!"

"Thank you, Ronnie, dear," his mother beamed. "I hoped you'd like them because we'll be having those and those lovely biscuits Fiona makes for Thanksgiving dinner." She wasn't the least bit worried about that feast, because Harry and Ginny had designed their kitchen to look and work exactly like her own at the Burrow, right down to the same type of stove.

"Mum," Ginny began. "We've got the turkey in the cool box to thaw, but what are we supposed to do with it when it's thawed?"

"Fiona's going to Floo in Wednesday night after her shift at St Mungo's, and then she and I are going to come over there and brine it," Molly told her. "I know—it sounds strange, but Fiona swears by it. She says it keeps it moist."

"Now there's an interesting concept," Harry chuckled. "Moist turkey. My aunt dried the things out every time she prepared them—at least that's been my somewhat-limited experience."

"Whatever do you mean," Molly asked, forgetting what Harry's life was like with the Dursleys.

"Well…I wasn't often included in those meals," Harry admitted, surprising himself that he actually felt comfortable talking about it. "But having to clean up after them had its advantages sometimes."

"_You okay, Love?"_

"_Yeah, I am. I guess I'm finally letting it go."_

"_That's my brave Auror."_

"It's true," Hermione added quickly. "My mother says that the white meat cooks faster than the dark, so the breast is usually dried out by the time the legs and thighs are done. But I can see how brining the bird would prevent that."

"But wouldn't it be all salty? I mean brine—that's salt," Ron argued.

"I won't go into the science right now, but—"

"It's more than just salt in the brining liquid," Molly said. "And speaking of salt, Hermione, what is _Kosher_ salt?"

"Kosher salt is a course-grind salt that's been inspected and blessed by a Jewish Rabbi," Hermione explained. "To _keep Kosher_ in Judaism is to adhere to a strict dietary law given by Moses some 5,000 years ago. _Kosher_ means clean. Most table salt contains added iodine, which can give it a bitter edge, but Kosher salt doesn't. That's part of what makes it Kosher."

"So you don't use as much of it," Ginny asked, truly interested in this American Muggle tradition of Thanksgiving, but in Muggle religion as well.

"Right, because the crystals are many times the size of regular table salt," Hermione answered, pointing to the salt shaker on the table.

"So what goes into the brine besides salt, Mum," Ron asked, truly intrigued. Anything that could make an already-good thing better interested him.

"Brown sugar, a few whole spices, vegetable stock, a little apple cider vinegar—just a touch—and ice," she said, checking the parchment that contained the brine recipe. That reminds me: Arthur, I need you to see if you can borrow one of those big pickle buckets the Ministry cafeteria has. We'll need the biggest one they can find."

"Certainly," her husband promised. "I'm sure we'll be able to come up with something serviceable. If we have to expand or transfigure one, we'll do that too."

"This has all been very interesting," Ron announced, checking his watch. "But I need to be off for my appointment. I should be home by ten, Love." Ron leaned over and kissed Hermione's cheek.

"Send your Patronus so I can draw that bath," Hermione whispered sultrily into his ear. She smiled evilly as he visibly shuddered and had to close his eyes to compose himself.

"I will," he said, rising from the table. "Harry, I expect I'll see you in the morning?"

"Yeah. Sure," Harry said, wondering himself what this special project was that Ron was working on two nights per week. But if Hermione wasn't fussed about it, he wouldn't be either. Still, it seemed awfully suspicious.

"_Gin, do you—"  
_

"_Not a clue, but he is acting rather oddly, isn't he?"_

"Listen, Harry, did you receive your ballots today," Arthur asked. "Elections are tomorrow, you know."

"Yeah. An owl dropped the packet on my desk this morning," he replied. "There's a ballot for me and for Ginny."

"Since this is the first time you'll be participating in—what is it the Muggles call it," Arthur began, scratching his head.

"The democratic process," Hermione offered. "Performing your civic duty."

"Yes, that's the thing," Arthur grinned joyfully. "Thank you, Hermione. Yes, the democratic process."

"Don't we fill it out and take it somewhere," Harry asked looking around at those remaining around the table.

"Take it somewhere," Molly asked aghast. "Why would you take it anywhere? No, dear. Let Arthur explain." Harry, Ginny, and Hermione nodded and turned their attention to the patriarch of the family.

"It's all very simple, really," Arthur said. "Each person receives a ballot with the names of wizards—and sometimes witches—who wish to win a seat on the Wizengamot. Each voter is allowed to vote for two candidates. Are you with me so far?" The young people nodded again.

"Good. I had no doubts, of course, but thought I'd ask anyway," Arthur said jovially. "Now, if you take out your ballots, you'll see the names there. All you have to do is tap the name twice with your wand and say _Eligo_. The name glows gold and your vote registers with the Elections Board. When you've finished, your ballot will burst into flames and burn to ash."

"That sounds simple," Harry observed. "In the Muggle world, voters are registered to vote according to where they live. On Election Day, they go to their polling place—that's where they cast their vote—and either fill out a ballot manually, or pull levers to vote electronically, or some other way, depending on the area."

"So that's why you asked where to take them," Ginny observed. "Sounds like a lot of bother to me."

"To some people's way of thinking, it is, so they don't vote at all," Harry told her.

"Yet these same people are the first to complain about their civic leaders," Hermione interjected. "Fiona told me that the Americans say that if you don't vote, don't bitch."

"So essentially, they're saying that if you don't do your civic duty, you give up your moral right to complain about what your representatives in government do or don't do," Harry finished.

"Harry, when did you become so civic-minded," Hermione asked with a sardonic grin.

"Since I became an Auror, Hermione. As much as I hate politics, I'm surrounded by them. I need to be involved now that I have to sit on the Wizengamot as well as carry out my duties as a law-enforcement official," he replied. "Besides, I really did pay attention at Muggle Primary school."

The five of them chatted around the scrubbed oak table until Harry began to yawn widely. Ginny noticed her husband's fatigue and decided it was time to Floo home. "Mum, Dad, I think I need to take the long arm of the law home and put him to bed. With the elections tomorrow, he's going to need to be on his game if there's trouble somewhere."

Hermione's mind went back to the ELF rallies that had taken place over the past few weeks, the one having turned rather nasty. The closer Election Day came, the more intense Gumboil's speeches became. Tomorrow could turn ugly and she knew that all DMLE personnel would be on duty from seven o'clock in the morning until eight o'clock in the evening. _I'll be the one giving the massage tomorrow night, that's for sure. Thursday will be a welcome day off for all of us._

"Good night, all," Ginny called, hauling her husband out of his chair. "Come on, Super Trooper. Beddie-bye."

"'Night," Harry said, as Ginny dragged him to the Floo. She grabbed a large handful of powder and pulled Harry into the fireplace with her.

"Ionúin Bhaile," she called, and they disappeared, spinning into a blaze of green flame.

Thursday morning, Harry and Ginny rose and showered together. Harry cooked a quick breakfast of eggs, bacon, and crumpets. Molly and Fiona were due to arrive within the hour and begin preparing the turkey for roasting, among other things.

"This has got to be the biggest turkey I've ever seen," Harry grunted, lifting it out of the brining liquid and setting it in the sink to rinse as Fiona instructed. "It must weigh upwards of ten kilos!"

"I just hope it'll be enough, what with our brothers, the chow hounds, in attendance," Ginny laughed. "And tell me, Chief Potter, have you ever heard of a handy little charm called _Wingardium Leviosa_? I mean, you lifted that monstrosity out of the bucket by hand when you could've just levitated it into the sink."

"I guess when it comes to the kitchen, I shift into Muggle-mode," Harry chuckled. "I never learned to cook using magic. It's a concept I really can't quite get my head around. I've been cooking the conventional way since I was five years old."

"Five! I wasn't allowed past the kitchen table, let alone the stove, until I was eight," Ginny exclaimed. "How—"

"Foot stool," Harry answered. "Aunt Petunia made me stand on a foot stool so I could reach the burners."

"Oh Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dredge all that up," Ginny said, hugging him from behind.

"It's okay, Gin. It was a part of my life and hiding from it won't change it," he said sagely. "I really hated it, though, because they didn't appreciate it. It was a chore for me. Now, though, I rather enjoy cooking for the family—especially you, Love." Harry turned and kissed her forehead. "Now…we need to thoroughly rinse our friend here, pat him dry, and levitate him into that pan over there."

"Where did you find this," Ginny asked, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the shiny new stainless-steel roasting pan, complete with cover and removable rack.

"I did a little shopping in Muggle London over lunch the other day. I knew we'd need something long, wide, and deep enough to cook the bird in, so I bought that," Harry said. "Nice, isn't it?"

"It must've been frightfully expensive, Love," Ginny guessed. Even though she knew they were wealthy enough for a dozen lifetimes, she was still basically a child of poverty. She had to rein her husband in while they shopped for furniture and household items for Ionúin Bhaile.

"_Harry James Potter, are we wizards or not," Ginny said snarkily. "What are we going to do with that…that _thing?_"_

"_That _thing_ is a freezer, Gin. It keeps meat and other foods fresh until we're ready to use them," Harry explained._

"_Freezing charms," Ginny reminded him. "Mum's been using them for years, remember? And who was it that charmed that old cabinet Dad refinished to act as a cool-box? Harry, we don't need all these appliances. Besides, the wards won't allow them to work properly."_

"_If only we could use Muggle electronics, we could have a telly," Harry said with a mock pout. "I wonder if anyone's ever really tried in a private home. I mean, I understand why they don't work at Hogwarts because there's so much magic flying about at any given time, plus there's all the residual magic from centuries of mass-casting. Remember how the air in the Room of Requirement used to crackle after meetings?"_

"_Yes, my love, I do. But Harry, we can go to the en—cinema," Ginny argued. "We love that, don't we?"_

"_Of course we do," Harry agreed. "But I'd still like to find out if there's a way to have a telly and VCR or DVD player. That way, we can purchase our favourites and watch them whenever we want."_

"_Well…all right, but we don't buy them until we know they'll work, okay?"_

_Harry grinned like a little boy with a new toy. "I'll get with Bill on that, then. Maybe Dad might have an idea or two, yeah?"_

"_Maybe. Come on—we've got lots to buy yet," Ginny urged, pulling Harry away from the electronics department at Harrods. "We need towels, sheets, bedding, dishes, pots and pans—the list goes on and it's going to cost a king's ransom."_

"_The king decrees that the queen must spend to her heart's delight to make her castle a veritable palace," Harry whispered, kissing her on the nose. "Lead on, your majesty."_

"_As you wish, my liege."_

"Hello! Anyone up yet," Fiona's voice called through the Floo.

"Yeah, come on through, Onie," Ginny called. "We're just wrestling the turkey into the pan."

"Wrestlin'? What for," Fiona asked and flicked her wand. "_Wingardium Leviosa_." The turkey rose from the sink and floated over to the pan and settled in, making a squishing sound as it settled into the bottom.

"Where's Mum," Ginny asked, pulling out the vegetables to prepare.

"Just cleanin' up after breakfast. She made what she called a _full-on English breakfast_," Fiona reported. "Who ever thought o' pork 'n' beans for breakfast?"

"Don't you eat beans on toast in America," Ginny asked as if the concept was as alien as little green men from Mars.

"Pork 'n' beans is a lunch or supper thing. We do the standard stuff—hotcakes, grits, eggs, bacon—stuff like that."

"What's grits," Ginny asked. "Sounds rather unpleasant." She imagined trying to eat sand.

"Grits is a hot cereal kind of like porridge, but not oats. It's made from ground hominy, a specially-treated corn," Fiona explained. "It's pretty good if it's cooked right, otherwise it's like eatin' wet sand. Ya put sugar and milk over 'em or maple syrup. Warms you up and sticks t'yer ribs!"

"Like Cream of Wheat® then," Harry said, setting the potatoes to peel themselves.

"Sort of. It's about the same consistency, but coarser. That's why they're called _grits_."

"Good morning, Potters," Molly called through the flames. "I'll be there in a tick. I'm just packing up the dishes we've already done."

"Okay, Mum. We're just about to put the turkey in the oven," Harry replied. "Come on through when you're ready."

"Aunt Molly, are you sure you don't need help with all that," Fiona asked. "I could come back through and give you a hand."

"No, I'm fine, dear. You just make sure they fix that turkey correctly," Molly replied. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

Fiona supervised Harry's and Ginny's work, directing them to stuff the cavity with the fresh herbs she brought from Hogwarts' greenhouses. She'd become good friends with Neville, who shared a mutual interest in natural healing with herbs instead of potions. He was all too glad to allow her to harvest anything she needed.

Molly insisted upon inviting the Longbottoms to this very special meal since Neville had taken such good care of Ginny during the war and that he and Hannah were such good friends to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. In fact, she'd also invited Kingsley, Hagrid, and Minerva McGongall to the feast, but since school came first, Minerva and Hagrid had to decline. Professor Sprout was happy to allow Neville to attend, since one day wouldn't make any difference in the greenhouses.

Molly had also invited Seamus, who accepted, and Angelina, who politely declined in order to help Verity at the joke shop. _I must remind George to take them a care package_. At that thought, she found herself wondering if there'd be any food left to send, considering this was a Weasley gathering.

By the time the guests began to arrive, each carrying a special dish to contribute to the feast, mouthwatering aromas filled the Potter home. The women threw their men out of the kitchen, including Harry, and took over preparation of the meal. Molly, Augusta, and Hannah worked on four different types of pies while Fiona and Ginny, mixed up and rolled out the baking-powder biscuits, leaving Fleur and Hermione to whip up the corn muffins Ron had grown so instantly fond of.

Meanwhile, the men gathered in the lounge, snacking on crackers and cheese and sipping Butterbeer. Seamus brought a couple of cases of Guinness Stout®, Ireland's most-famous brew, to be consumed after dinner while they gathered around the brand-new wireless Arthur and Molly had given Harry and Ginny for a housewarming gift. Wimbourne was set to fly against Tutshill and by all accounts, it promised to be an exciting match.

"Wimbourne might give the Harpies a run this year," Kingsley asserted. "They've been rather one-dimensional in the past, but they've really stepped up their game."

"Yeah, Tutshill's looking better too, though," Ron added. He was still a faithful Chudley Cannons fan, even though they had been demoted to the minors by the league. "But I don't see them making the playoffs. Wimbourne has a wild-card chance, but that's as far as I think it'll go. Puddlemere, Holyhead, Montrose—if their reserves are any good—Kenmare, Ballycastle, and The Pride have the best chances."

"Do you care to lay Galleons on that, little brother," George asked with a twinkle in his eyes. "I've got fifty that say it's the Harpies and Puddlemere in the finals."

"You're on," Ron agreed. "I've got the Harpies and the Kestrals. United tends to choke late in the season. Anyone else care to get in on the action?"

"Yeah, all right," Kingsley agreed. "But I say it's going to be the Kestrals and the Magpies. I think they'll recover."

"No, it's got to be the Harpies and the Falcons," Charlie interjected.

"You're barking," Bill laughed. "Falmouth? They're not rated this season. My money's on the Harpies and Puddlemere." He reached over and high-fived his younger brother. "But if we win, little bro, we split. Deal?"

"Deal," George replied. "So…that leaves Dad, Percy, Harry, Seamus, and Neville. You lot game?"

Harry listened to the banter, weighing each participant's arguments. He truly believed the Harpies could make the final, but he was torn between Puddlemere and Kenmare as their opponents. Since George and Bill had teamed up for the Harpies and Puddlemere, he decided to go with Ron for the Harpies and the Kestrals. "I'm in. Harpies and Kestrals, with an additional twenty Galleons on Holyhead to take the cup!"

"I'll take a piece of that," Ron announced, high-fiving his best mate. "Any of you tossers—sorry Dad—care to take Harry and me up on that little side bet?"

"I'll take it," Seamus called. "Harpies and Kestrals, but my gold's on the Kestrals. No offence, to Ginny o' course."

"You're on, Irish," Ron said while George kept track of all the bets in a little book he'd carried around with him since his Hogwarts days.

"Just don't tell Ginny," Harry smirked. "You might find yourself with a face full of very slimy bats." The men all laughed as Harry summoned another round of Butterbeers.

"I'm afraid I must concur with Kingsley," Percy said. "No offence to our baby sister, but when it comes down to it, experience will out. Kestrals and Magpies, with Kestrals to win it."

"Good man, Percy," Kingsley boomed, slapping Percy on the back. "I knew I kept you around for a reason."

"I'll be very happy to take your money, sir," Harry chuckled offering his hand to Percy, who huffed and then grinned, reaching to take his brother-in-law's hand.

"We'll see, Potter. We'll see." The others let out an ominous _Oooooh_. This was going to be fun. They'd spend all season taking the mickey out of each other. _This is how it's supposed to be._

"Neville," George asked, waiting to make the Longbottom scion's book.

"Uh…well, I don't follow Quidditch much, except for when Ginny plays, so I suppose my money would have to be on the Harpies to win against Puddlemere," Neville replied. "I mean, Hannah pays more attention to Quidditch than I do and that's because she has to, what with working at the Leaky and all."

"Glad to have you aboard, Neville," Bill boomed from across the room. "We'll show 'em!" Neville blushed. He'd never been part of such a fraternity before and he found that he rather enjoyed it. Once again, his friendship with Harry Potter was paying off in spades.

"That leaves Dad," Charlie said. "You in, old man?"

"Old man, is it," Arthur smirked. "Old man? Impudent pup." Arthur rarely engaged in high-stakes wagering. Oh he'd indulged in the Quidditch pool at the Ministry, but there was a five-Galleon limit on that. His boys and their friends were talking fifty or more and he felt that perhaps he should sit this one out and offer to hold the stakes instead.

"Tell you what, boys," he began. "I'll decline, but hold the stakes. That'll keep you lot honest and you know you can trust me. I am, after all, Head of DMLE!"

"Gentlemen, can we trust Weasley here to hold our gold," Kingsley asked, ever the statesman.

"Implicitly," Harry said immediately. "I agree." Harry's declaration of trust was seconded by the others.

"Then let's have it," Arthur said. "Georgie, I'll need your book."

George felt a bit dubious about handing his book over to his father, so drew his wand and tapped the page containing the information pertinent to this wager. "_Geminio_," he muttered, copying the page and handing it to his father.

Arthur read each name and the number of Galleons each man wagered, some in for fifty, some for seventy. Each handed over their gold, which Arthur placed in a heavy bag he transfigured from a clean handkerchief. He began to wonder if he shouldn't put Hermione in charge of it, but thought better of it. He wanted grandchildren from his youngest son.

"A pleasure doing business with you, boys," Arthur said, banishing the stakes to the safe-box in his office at the Ministry.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, the women questioned Hermione and Molly about the wedding and how plans were coming along.

"Well, we're less than a month out and everything's right on schedule. We'll be making final payments on our robes and gowns, attendants' gifts, and finalising the menu in a couple of weeks. Arthur, Bill, and Percy are going to meet with my parents so they can visit their church and take a few photographs.

"And 'er dress, eet is so beautiful," Fleur added. "Ze Celtic knotwork on ze trim is gorgeous."

"Harry wants to contribute as her brother, so we're going to let her pick out any veil and tiara she wants and any pair of slippers she wants," Ginny said. "No arguments, Hermione. Harry's heart is set on this."

"I know, but he's given me carte blanche," she said. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that."

"Oh don't be silly, child," Augusta Longbottom admonished her. "Enjoy it! You only marry once and if your wealthy brother wants to spend a small fortune to make it a dream-come-true, let him! Trust me, my dear—I knew Harry's grandparents very well. My Frank and James were good friends, and I can promise you that there's no way you're going to break his bank, especially with the Black fortune gracing his vaults as well."

"Zat's right, 'Ermione," Fleur agreed. "Enzhoy eet. 'Arry and Geeny love you very much and zey want to do zis for you."

"I…oh, how can I argue with that," Hermione giggled. "Fine, Ginny. You and Harry win…this time."

"Fiona's going to sing," Molly said. "How're the songs coming along, dear?"

"Fine, fine. I already knew 'em, so I'll I had to do was figure out the chord progressions and decide on a pickin' pattern," she said. What she didn't tell them was that she had planned to purchase a brand-new guitar for the occasion. Mokey was precious to her, but he was just too beat-up for a wedding. She'd seen one in a music shop in Hogsmeade, so she'd been making payments on it ever since. She had only two more to go and then it would be hers.

"So as your Matron-of-Honour," Ginny began. "It's up to me to plan your Hen night. I'll need a guest list."

"Gin, you know who we're friends with. Just go with that," Hermione said. "I don't want to be too involved because I'd like to be surprised."

"Or horrified," Hannah added. "But I have to admit, Hermione, you did a wonderful job on Ginny's Hen night. I had a wonderful time!"

"Does 'Arry 'ave any ideas for Ron's Stag night," Fleur asked.

"It's going to involve food, that's all I know," Ginny replied, wiping down her work area.

"Would anyone like a Butterbeer?"

"That sounds lovely, dear," Molly replied.

"I'd like some tea, if you don't mind," Augusta requested.

"Butterbeer for me," Hannah called, "and Fleur and Fiona, too!"

"I'll join Mrs Longbottom in a spot of tea, thanks," Hermione said.

Ginny flicked her wand at the kettle to set it to boil while she summoned five Butterbeers from the cool-box.

They were clearing away when they heard laughter from the lounge. "I wonder what that lot's up to," Molly said. "They'd better not be betting on that match this evening!"

"Oh Mum, let them be! They're men and that's what men do," Ginny scolded. "Besides, it's not like they're betting their life's savings. It's probably no more than a few Galleons." Had she been paying attention, she would have known otherwise.

"But gambling, Ginny! You mean to tell me you allow Harry to—"

"Harry's a grown man and can make his own decisions. Besides, his entire life has been one big gamble. Why not enjoy it now?" Ginny and Harry promised one another long ago that they would not attempt to control one another. They had their bond and that was enough. They could confer at any time about anything.

"_Having fun, Love?"_

"_I am. How about you and the girls?"_

"_We're actually having a great time. All the dishes are prepared; we just have to pop them into the oven when it's time."_

"_The turkey smells amazing. I suspect our cousin is a genius!"_

"_I suspect you're right. Mum's sure impressed. Do you need anything out there?"_

"_No, we're good—well, maybe some more snacks. Ron—"_

"_Yeah, I know. My brother the bottomless pit. I'll send some more out. I love you, Harry."_

"_I love you too, Gin."_

Two hours later, the witches called their wizards to the massive dining room table Harry had commissioned just for Ionúin Bhaile. It groaned under the weight of the dishes and platters of food spread over it. Arthur deferred to Harry as master of Ionúin Bhaile to sit at the head of the table and preside over the meal as he, himself, had done for thirty years as master of the Burrow.

"Um…welcome," Harry began nervously. "This is a very special day for me and Ginny. Aside from our open house last week, this is our first major dinner party. What we're doing here today is taking a day out to count our blessings and spend quality time with our loved ones, and that includes our friends. Fiona, would you please explain what Thanksgiving is about?"

Fiona rose and talked about the Thanksgiving traditions she grew up with. "Now y'all just join hands around the table and we'll just take a few minutes ta think on all our blessin's and about the folks who've gone on." They all joined hands and focused on how their lives had been enriched over the past year and about those who, though present in spirit, were not in the flesh. After a few moments, Fiona raised her glass. "Happy Thanksgiving. Sláinte!"

Harry waved his wand and muttered "Diffindo." The turkey carved itself perfectly while the side dishes travelled around the table, replenishing themselves as needed. There were piles of mashed potatoes, pitchers of gravy, a scrumptious sweet potato casserole with crushed pecans and brown sugar on top, a huge bowl of cranberry compote made with cranberries ordered from the bogs of Massachusetts, USA, and flavoured with orange juice, a creamy green-bean casserole in a terracotta dish, Granny Tyree's famous corn casserole with bits of onion and red bell pepper, biscuits, corn muffins, fresh butter, and pumpkin juice. The turkey, as promised, was moist and flavourful without tasting salty.

Molly and Fiona shared a triumphant smile. The Weasleys first Thanksgiving was a finger- licking success. Everyone at the table stuffed themselves miserable, with belts loosened and satisfied groans all around. "So is anyone ready for pie," Fiona asked, knowing the answer. "We've got pumpkin, apple, pecan, and mince with crème fraiche and coffee or tea. Any takers?"

"That sounds wonderful," Ron groaned. "But can we have it later on? I'm stuffed!"

"What? Did my bottomless pit of a brother just decline pudding," Ginny asked, holding her own belly. "This is history in the making!"

"I never thought it was possible," Hermione interjected with mock awe. "This is truly a banner day."

"King, should we declare twenty-fifth November a national holiday," Harry said with a belch. "We can call it Stuffed Ronnie Day!"

"Shut it, you," Ron growled. "The food was so good, I couldn't help myself."

"Oh I don't know," George snickered. "From where I'm sitting, it was quite evident you could help yourself just fine, Ronnikins…to seconds, thirds, fourths, and fifths, for Merlin's sake. I had to stop at seconds."

"Git," Ron muttered.

"The match is due to start in a couple of hours. What do you say, men? Think we can clean this up in time to tune in," Bill asked, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. "Our lovely witches have outdone themselves and it's the least we can do to express our undying gratitude."

"That's a fine idea, son," Arthur agreed. "Ronnie, do you think you can draw up a plan of attack and marshal us along on our mission?"

"Sure, Dad. Come on, Harry. Let's reconnoitre!" Harry nodded and followed Ron to the kitchen where he showed the ginger tactician where everything was stored. "Right, then. Send the women to the lounge and we'll have our war council."

Harry and Ron returned to the dining room and bade their comrades escort the women to the lounge to relax. Seamus rose and pulled Fiona's chair out. "May I escort you to the lounge, Miss Prewett?"

"Why thank you Mistah Finnegan. Ah would be most-gratified," she replied, wincing internally at her changing accent. _He's just a man, Fiona. Get a grip_.

"Miss Prewett," he began again.

"Please, call me Fiona," she interjected. "Miss Prewett's just…stuffy."

"Only if you call me Seamus," he smiled. She noticed how his eyes twinkled and how prominent his dimples became when he smiled. Granny always said that dimples and twinkling eyes were the sure sign of a sincere man.

"All right…Seamus." Fiona had to look away or she might drown in those twinkling, clear blue eyes.

"Fiona," he began again, his cheeks turning pink and his hands beginning to sweat.

"Yes, Seamus," she replied, neither of them aware that the others were watching. They'd arrived in the lounge a few minutes before, but she still held on to his arm.

He cleared his throat to try to speak his mind to her. He'd never been so nervous in front of any girl or woman. "Fiona…er…well, would ya consider steppin' out on a date with me sometime?"

Fiona blushed scarlet. "Um…I…I think I'd like that," she replied. "Sometime."

The two stood there for a few more moments before they realised all conversation had stopped they had become the centre of attention. Fiona quickly released Seamus' arm and he kissed her hand as she settled into a spot on the sofa.

"I'll be in touch, Fiona," he said and turned toward the dining room. "All right, you lot! Are we gonna do this or ya plannin' on standin' around with yer gobs hangin' open like a load o' stunned Cave Trolls?"

It took Ron and Harry about twenty minutes to come up with a game plan and then deploy the troops. Surprisingly enough, they proved to be a competent clean-up squad and in no time at all, the turkey carcass had been stripped and the sides placed in containers whose size Arthur adjusted as needed.

The wizards high-fived one another and left the kitchen. Harry hung back and pulled his third-in-command aside. "Seamus, could I have a word?"

"Sure, Harry. What can I do for ya," the Irishman replied amicably.

"I noticed you and Fiona talking. Actually we all noticed. We couldn't miss it," Harry intoned. "Would you mind my asking what you were talking about?" He couldn't help but worry about his wife's cousin. He'd warned her that Seamus was a bit of a ladies' man and he wanted to make sure Seamus understood that.

"Just small talk. I asked her out on a date sometime," Seamus replied innocently. "She's a lovely girl."

"Yes, she is, Seamus. She's also a bit on the rebound and vulnerable," Harry warned her. "She knows about your—"

"Harry, I know what yer thinkin', all right? No—I do—and under past circumstances, ye'd be right. But there's somethin' different about Fiona. Somethin' special. Harry, I like her and I want to get to know her," Seamus said in an almost pleading voice.

"Seamus, what happened between you and Lavender? You seemed so good together," Harry observed. "Now it's like you can't stand to be in the same room together."

"Harry, Lavender and I got together on a lark. She was hurt and needed a helpin' hand, ya know? I wanted to help 'er. We moved in together to share expenses and so she wouldn't be alone while she healed," Seamus explained. "I thought I loved her, but when I met Fiona that day on the platform, something clicked and I knew I was leadin' Lavender on. I couldn't do it anymore, Harry. She's too good for that."

"And Fiona isn't?"

"I didn't mean that. I've got feelin's for Fiona I don't understand. I mean, I hardly know 'er. But that day on the platform, I felt drawn to 'er—I'm not just sayin' that," Seamus assured his chief. "For a moment, I thought I might have an idea about how you felt about Ginny and how Ron felt about Hermione when you two realised you were in love."

"Love? Seamus, you barely know her. You said it yourself," Harry argued. Then he remembered how he knew he was in love with Ginny. He barely knew her when he charged into the Chamber of Secrets to rescue her, praying she wasn't dead. He didn't know it then, but he fell in love with her as she lay on the stone floor, so cold…still.

"Harry, I'm not askin' her ta marry, me," Seamus snorted. "I just asked her if she'd go on a date with me sometime, that's all. I assure ya, Chief, me intentions are honourable. I'd never—"

"You'd better not," Harry growled. "Just take it slow with her, okay? She's still new in England and she's just suffered a nasty setback."

"Harry, I know about the git," Seamus said quietly. "When I returned to the castle the evening of the meeting with McGonagall, I was on me way upstairs when I heard voices. One of 'em was Fiona's, but I didn't recognise the other until she said his name. I thought she was gonna hex that Watson sod."

"I don't want to know," Harry said. "Just treat her as you'd want your cousin to be treated, all right?"

"Harry, ye've got me word. I'll be on me best behaviour, all right?"

"OI! ARE YOU TWO GOING TO STAY OUT THERE ALL NIGHT," Ron called from the lounge. "THE MATCH IS ABOUT TO START!"

"COMING! Shall we shoulder some porter then, me lad," Harry asked with a grotesque brogue.

"Forget it, Potter. You're too British to be Irish," Seamus laughed. "But yeah, let's carry these crates o' nectar to the masses." The two men, having reached an understanding, cast chilling charms over the bottles, shouldered a case each, and marched to the lounge to join the party around the wireless.

The Wizengamot chamber was full of people awaiting the official opening ceremony. The seats were still empty and Ron and Ginny, who were there to support Hermione and Harry, feared a lengthy procedure, since the Ministry had to make a production of just about everything. Arthur and Molly joined them later, while Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and George sat a few rows behind them in the gallery.

"Blimey," Ron gasped. "I forgot to check my snacks."

"What," Ginny whispered.

"My snacks. I have a pocket in my robes where I always keep snacks. You know—a few Chocolate Frogs in hopes of ever getting that Agrippa, a few Jelly Slugs for glucose levels, and 'Mione insists I carry a few Toothflossing Stringmints for a fresh breath in case of unscheduled snogging. I guess growing up with dentists for parents had some influence on her." Ron explained to his sister. "Now is not the time to get grumpy due to lack of glucose."

Ginny shot her brother a puzzled look. "Glue-close? What's that," she asked.

"Some Mugglish thingy... and something Hermione claims causes me to be grumpy when it drops too low," Ron explained. "She says it's also called blood sugar, which I told 'Mione I thought sounded like some really cool sort of Vampire-themed sweet. She actually giggled."

Ron and Ginny left off their conversation when their parents shushed them just as their brother, Percy, apparently acting as some kind of spokesperson, called the chamber to order. "Honoured members of the Wizengamot, fellow wizards and witches of Britain, welcome," he said with a pompous tone that really seemed well-suited to the occasion. "This is an historic opening of the Wizengamot, since there is no Chief Warlock to officiate following the death of Albus Dumbledore in 1997."

Percy paused as a murmur passed through the assembly. "Therefore, the opening will be conducted by our Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. I serve today as Usher, overseeing the proceedings. Our recorder shall be Miss Audrey Martin, Secretary to the Head of Wizengamot Administration Services."

Ron had never seen the secretary before, but his father had. "Blimey, what a work title! _Secretary for the Head of Wizengamot Administration Services,_" Ron whispered.

"That _has_ to impress at least Percy," Harry replied.

"She's relatively new to the Ministry. A very nice young lady," Arthur said. "Very efficient and rather well-liked, so I'm told."

"Shh," Molly hissed. "Listen!"

Percy continued to present the agenda for the day before Kingsley stood and took the floor. "I declare the Wizengamot open," Kingsley declared officially. "We shall begin by investing our new seats, inherited first."

Kingsley started the arduous task of presenting the representatives of the inherited seats, beginning with _Abbott_. An elderly man Ron assumed was a relative of Hannah Abbott, now Mrs Neville Longbottom, claimed and took the Abbott seat.

Before long, Kingsley studied his docket and raised his head to announce the new holder of the Black seat. "It is indeed my pleasure to announce that a seat that long has stood empty shall once again be occupied. Representing the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black by appointment of the Lord-Baron Black, please welcome baroness Black."

Most of the people present looked confused, not knowing that Harry had inherited the Headship of the House of Black. Those who did know turned their eyes to Ginny, expecting her rise and claim the seat, assuming she was said baroness. There was a low chatter in the hall as Hermione approached the dais to be sworn in and take up the mantle as Representative of House Black to the Wizengamot.

Alastor Gumboil found himself torn between two emotions. A Muggleborn in an inherited seat this soon with ELF still in its infancy fulfilled only his wildest imagination, but Hermione having been bestowed Pureblood titles disconcerted him. He was, like many others, very curious to learn how Hermione Granger could possibly be baroness Black, and who had taken leadership as Lord Black after Sirius' death.

"Miss Granger," Kingsley asked, astonished to see her claiming the Black seat.

"I believe it's baroness Black today, Minister," Hermione replied politely but confidently.

At this one of the Purebloods couldn't stay silent any longer. "What are you playing at, Granger? We all know you're a Muggleborn. You have no place in that seat!" The voice belonged to Gregory Goyle, representative of House Goyle and heir-apparent to the fortune, since his father was currently a long-term resident of Azkaban.

"Order," Kingsley's voice boomed and the hall was silent. "I have a document here, signed by Lord-Baron Black, appointing his sister-by-blood-bond to represent the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black on the Wizengamot."

"But Lord Black was killed over four years ago! Granger wasn't of age then," Goyle argued, displaying brain functions Harry and his friends thought were way beyond him.

"And at that time, Sirius Black was a convicted criminal," a woman next to Goyle added.

Kingsley cast a steely glare at the woman. "Mrs Crabbe, this parchment is dated October of this year." Kingsley turned to Hermione "Baroness Black, would you care to tell us how you became the sister of Lord-Baron Black?"

Hermione looked at Harry who nodded. "I certainly will," Hermione replied. "Honoured members of the Wizengamot, fellow witches and wizards of Britain, I have for several years considered Lord-Baron Black my brother. He inherited the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black from his godfather, Sirius Black. Lord-Baron Black is more commonly known as... Harry James Potter."

There was a murmur in the chamber, but Hermione raised her hands and all fell silent again.

"It is true that Sirius Black was a convicted murderer at the time of his death. _Convicted_, however, is an inaccurate description, as he was never granted a fair trial following arrest for crimes he did not commit. Furthermore, he became godfather to Harry in 1980, well before he was arrested for the crimes that kept him locked in Azkaban for twelve years. Lastly, I can provide evidence that Sirius was not guilty of the crimes he was accused of—the murders of Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles on the first of November 1981. I can provide a list of people I know who met Peter Pettigrew, some on several occasions, between his having resurfaced in 1994 and 1998 when he died by his own hand at Malfoy Manor."

The chamber lay deathly silent as the people inside processed this revelation. A few old members of the Wizengamot nodded their approval, well-aware of the fact that Sirius Black had in fact been sent to Azkaban without a trial, Alastor Gumboil among them. He'd been on the team headed by Cornelius Fudge the night that they had apprehended the man. Pureblood families who'd supported Voldemort chose to keep their mouths shut, since many of them were well-aware that Peter Pettigrew was alive and relatively well as late as the spring of 1998.

Ron beamed with pride for his fiancée. For the first time in centuries, a Weasley—or soon-to-be Weasley—would sit on the Wizengamot. It was a source of great pride for his family, even though the seat wasn't theirs. Still, it was a start, if not for the House of Weasley, then for a new era in the governance of Wizarding Britain.

The elder Weasleys shed tears of pride and joy for their son—and soon-to-be daughter-in-law. _Lily, our Harry has done us proud today. There's hope for our world, yet! You and James must be so proud of him!_

As the investiture ceremony continued, Ron noticed that there were more women and young wizards and witches present and taking their seats than he ever expected. Gregory Goyle and Draco Malfoy were new representatives for their Houses, though Mrs Crabbe sat in that seat, since her husband was currently incarcerated and their son had been killed in the war. Augusta Longbottom still held the Longbottom seat as did Xeno Lovegood his family seat.

Finally, Kingsley reached 'P' on the docket, and raised his voice to address the chamber. "Again it is my pleasure and privilege to welcome back a family whose seat has been empty for many years—the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, represented by Lord-Baron Harry James Potter-Black!"

Reluctantly Harry rose, feeling like a sheep to the slaughter as he was sworn in and accepted the plum robes and cap of office, hideous as they were. As he climbed the dais to his seat, he imagined he looked like Severus Snape in Augusta Longbottom's dress. To his relief, there were no overt reactions to his taking his rightful place on the Wizengamot.

Harry proudly, if not dubiously, claimed his seat as the others had done with little or no fanfare or commentary—unlike Hermione, whose claim raised a slight ruckus, which they'd expected. He smiled to himself because he had a hand in placing the first Muggleborn in history on an inherited seat, and a witch to boot.

Following the last of the heirs' investitures, the elected members were presented and sworn in. Having witnessed the grandeur and solemnity of the ceremony, they all felt a special pride in their achievement and promised themselves to do their level best to bring fairness to their community.

Once all the new Wizengamot members had taken their seats, the assembly stood and applauded. For the first time in many years, a full quorum of fifty-two sat together on the panel. When the noise finally died down, Percy took the floor once again. "There is only one official order of business today, a matter requiring a full Wizengamot session. You, the Wizengamot, are charged with electing from among you a Chief Warlock, replacing the venerable Albus Dumbledore." Percy declared and sat down.

Kingsley took the podium once again, took a deep cleansing breath, and addressed the assembly.

"The floor is now open for nominations."

"How about the new Dumbledore," someone immediately called.

Kingsley had already expected and feared this nomination, fully-aware of Harry's aversion to politics and having no desire whatsoever to serve in that capacity. In preparation, he came up with a plan to keep his friend and Head Auror off the hook. "The new representative for the House of Dumbledore is Aberforth Dumbledore," Kingsley said authoritatively "Are there any others?"

"I was referring to Harry Potter," the one who'd made the suggestion said—Alastor Gumboil.

Ron looked at Ginny and his parents, very confused. "Why would he want Harry to become Chief Warlock?"

"Because Harry is young and inexperienced in Wizarding politics and completely uninterested," Arthur whispered.

"The symbolic value in electing _The Saviour_ and _New Dumbledore_ Chief Warlock would be great, but in reality, Harry would be far less-annoying because he'd be unlikely to interfere with Wizengamot proceedings, unlike Professor Dumbledore, who constantly impeded them," Ginny added.

Ron looked at his sister. "You sound like Hermione," he commented.

"Well, Harry and I do talk about the whole hero-worship thing quite a bit, because it's part of our life and has to be dealt with. Ron, this wasn't unexpected, even though we both hoped he wouldn't be nominated. But we prepared him to decline should his name come up. Just watch."

Harry stood and asked to speak. "Members of the Wizengamot, I am humbled that you would consider me for such a prestigious honour; however, I am far too inexperienced to accept, in good conscience, such a nomination. I must decline," Harry said. "However, the House of Potter nominates the Honourable Madame Amelia Bones of the House of Bones." He bowed slightly to his nominee in a manner befitting the lord of a noble house and sat down. He stole a glance at Ginny and winked conspiratorially.

"I accept," the former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and current Hogwarts professor of Transfiguration replied.

"Ginny, dear, did you teach him that," Molly asked.

"Yes," Ginny replied. "He needed to decline politely, but in a way that would convey his resolve and desire to do the right thing. We figured if he acted the part, he'd be taken seriously when something really important came up in later sessions that he might feel the need to debate."

"Quite impressive," Arthur replied. "That bow was the capper, I must say. Well done, daughter."

"Thanks, Daddy, but it _is_ Harry we're talking about," she grinned. "What's not to be impressed about?"

The Weasleys were drawn from their private commentary by Gregory Goyle, who asked to speak. "The House of Goyle nominates Virgil Greengrass of the House of Greengrass." Greengrass was the Head of an influential, but notoriously neutral Pureblood family and father to Daphne and Astoria.

"That makes sense," Ron said to Ginny. "Draco knows he can't be Chief Warlock personally, so he's asked Goyle to suggest his soon-to-be father-in-law."

"I accept," Greengrass replied, nodding to Goyle and young Malfoy.

"Are there any other nominations from the floor at this time," Kingsley asked, again surveying the Wizengamot. Hearing none, he addressed them once again.

The younger brother of the late Albus Dumbledore and proprietor of The Hog's Head pub in Hogsmeade rose to address his nomination "I have no ruddy time ter be Chief Warlock what wi' me pub an' all. Thank yer, King, fer nominatin' me, but I'm better wi' goats than people. I hereby decline in favour o' Madame Bones."

"Good with goats he says," Ginny snickered quietly enough that only Ron could hear. "If that's the case, he'd make a brilliant Chief Warlock. The Wizengamot is full of old goats."

"Good one, Gin," Ron snorted. "We've got to tell Harry and Hermione! They'll love it!"

"Hush, Ronald," Molly admonished him again. "Ginny, stop inciting your brother."

"Sorry, Mum," Ron answered, still snickering. "But you have to admit it was funny."

"Thanks, big brother," Ginny giggled almost silently.

Since there appeared to be no further nominations, Kingsley called the question between Virgil Greengrass and Amelia Bones.

"All in favour of electing Amelia Bones to the office of Chief Warlock," Kingsley called. He was answered with a resounding "Aye" with more than two-thirds of the Wizengamot showing hands. Most of them had been supporters of Albus Dumbledore, the Order of the Phoenix, and of Harry Potter during the war. Kingsley paused while Percy counted the hands. When he finished, he nodded to the Minister.

"All in favour of electing Virgil Greengrass to the office of Chief Warlock," Kingsley called again.

A collective "Aye" rose among former Death Eater families and Pureblood supremacists, but it was a much-weaker response. Kingsley paused again so Percy could count hands. Although it was obvious that Virgil Greengrass didn't have near the support Amelia Bones had, the votes had to be tallied and officially recorded before Madame Bones could be declared the winner.

After a few tense moments, Percy handed a parchment to Kingsley, who rose and cleared his throat. "By a vote of 36-16, I hereby declare Madame Amelia Susan Bones elected to the office of Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Congratulations, Madame Bones," Kingsley declared. The chamber erupted in applause and cheers for their new Chief Warlock who just happened to be a witch—another ground breaking first in Wizengamot history. With a crack of his gavel, Kingsley again congratulated the new members of the Wizengamot and its leader, closing the session for the day.

Cameras flashed and quills scratched furiously as journalists from magical publications all over the world hurried to make their deadlines. The entire Weasley family waited outside the chamber while Harry and Hermione posed with the new assembly for several photographs, and as individuals for the new Ministry directory. After over an hour, Harry and Hermione emerged from the room to hugs and congratulations.

"Fiona couldn't be here because she's at St Mungo's today, but she wanted me to extend her best wishes to both of you," George said.

"Thanks, George," Harry said, shaking his hand. "Now where is that beautiful creature I married?" His eyes darted around the room.

"_I'm in the loo, Harry."_

"_Oh, well that explains it, then."_

"_I'll be out in a minute."_

"_Take your time, Love. We've got all night to celebrate."_

"_Oh you can count on that. Here I come."_

A few moments later, she slipped through the families and found Harry waiting near the chamber door for her. She stepped into his arms and kissed him deeply. "You were wonderful. Mum and Dad were certainly impressed with you and I don't doubt you made a fine impression on the entire chamber."

"It's all down to you, Gin. I wouldn't have had the first clue how to handle myself if you hadn't taken matters in hand like you did," he admitted, holding her closely. Just then, a camera flashed, momentarily blinding them.

"Mr and Mrs Potter, I'm Kelly Franklin, _New England Wizarding Post_. Could I trouble you to answer a couple of questions," a polite witch asked, quill and notepad in hand.

_I wonder if she knows Doug?_ "I suppose so," Harry replied, knowing this was going to happen sooner or later. "But please make it brief. Our family has planned a celebration and we don't want to keep them waiting."

"I understand. First of all, let me congratulate you on your coup," she said with a smile.

"Coup? What do you mean," Harry asked, becoming annoyed.

"Why your fraternal adoption of Hermione Granger in order to place her on the Wizengamot. Very shrewd, Mr Potter," she replied.

"Oh…right. Well—we just wanted to be sure that someone competent and fair claimed the seat for House Black, and my sister is just the witch for the job. She's bright and conscientious, something that had been heretofore lacking in our government," Harry said pointedly. "That's not to say that our colleagues are incompetent, but new blood is always a good thing, don't you agree?"

"Why Miss Granger and not your wife," the reporter asked slyly, casting a glance in Ginny's direction.

"Because he knew I'd hex him into the next century if he even considered it," Ginny laughed. "I'm a Quidditch player, not a stateswoman, and certainly not a diplomat."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Harry agreed, kissing her hand.

"What are your plans now that you're ensconced in magical Britain's legislative process? Do you have an agenda," the journalist asked, her quill poised to write more.

"Well, my first priority is magical law-enforcement, and as far as that goes, I do have a long-term agenda for improvements in training and tactics for my team of Aurors," Harry answered thoughtfully. "But as for the Wizengamot, it's going to be a take-it-as-it-comes sort of thing for me. I'll support legislation I find worthy and any I don't, I'll oppose."

"Would you describe yourself as proactive, Mr Potter?"

"Harry is all action and very little talk," Ginny answered for her husband. "My husband weighs all the options before he makes his opinions known. But he will not be manipulated and anyone who knows him knows that."

"Yes, I gathered that. Mrs Potter, what do you see for yourself and your husband in the next five years," Miss Franklin asked. "As we say in the States, you seem to be rather _squared-away_ for a couple so young."

"Well, Harry and I have known what we wanted out of life since we were children," Ginny said, squeezing her husband's hand. "We've worked very hard to be where we are now. Eventually we'd like to raise a family. We just built a new home, so we're well on our way toward that, but really we just want to be Harry and Ginny Potter and finally enjoy the peace Harry sacrificed so much for."

"Thank you so much, Mr and Mrs Potter. Again, congratulations on your new office and best of luck to you and the Harpies," Miss Franklin said, shaking their hands. "Confidentially, American Quidditch isn't as good as European Quidditch. I must confess I'm a Holyhead Harpies fan—woman-to-woman, you understand."

The American journalist turned and disappeared further into the crowded room. Harry leaned down and whispered into Ginny's ear. "Shall we grab and family and make a break for it?"

"I don't know about grabbing the family, but I'm all for making a break for it," she grinned wickedly.

"Minx," Harry chuckled. "But all in good time, my pretty. Come on, let's all get out of here."

Molly had insisted upon giving the party at the Burrow. Once again, the Weasleys gathered as a family with their dearest friends to celebrate Harry's and Hermione's investiture. Unfortunately, the Grangers could not attend the ceremony as they were Muggles, but were on hand to celebrate their daughter's success anyway.

Richard and Helen were thrilled that Harry thought enough of Hermione to entrust her with such an important position in his family. Hermione had to explain to her parents that although she was _a_ baroness in the House of Black, Ginny was _the _Baroness Potter-Black.

Fiona left St Mungo's to return to Hogwarts a few hours early claiming a headache, but in reality, she was just tired. Seamus was on duty at the Ministry and wouldn't arrive at the castle until after eight o'clock, not that fact had any bearing on anything.

When she arrived in Hogsmeade, she decided to do a little window shopping to get a few ideas for Christmas gifts. She stopped into the Three Broomsticks, but it was crowded with Hogwarts students. She was about to leave when she heard a shout of greeting. Peering over the crowd, she spotted Jessica Spinnet and Dennis Creevey sipping Butterbeers with Demelza Robbins and Jimmy Peakes. They were waving her toward them enthusiastically, so she decided to join them long enough to warm up and treat herself to warm mulled mead.

"How was your dinner, Onie," Jessica asked. "Was Mr Finnegan there?"

"It was a big success," Fiona replied, taking a sip of mead. "And how did you know Seam—Auror Finnegan was going to be there?"

"We didn't," Demelza giggled.

Fiona blushed. "You are one sneaky little Gryffindor, Miss Robbins."

"We saw you at dinner last Tuesday night. You couldn't keep your eyes off him," Jessica cried.

"Y'all have over-active imaginations," Fiona countered, taking another sip of mead.

"Sure we do—and you're hair is as black as Harry Potter's," Jessica snickered. "Come on, Onie. Give it up. It's obvious you like him."

"And he _is_ awfully cute," Demelza added.

"Oi, and what am I, Robbins," Jimmy asked in mock outrage.

"A Beater, a wizard, a Gryffindor…" Dennis said snarkily. "A git, a prat."

"Stuff it, ponce," Jimmy snapped back.

"All right, boys," Fiona said, breaking up the banter before it got out of hand. "I thoughtcha were harassin' me about Auror Finnegan."

"We know his name is _Seamus_, Fiona," Demelza teased, dragging the Irishman's name out for emphasis. "He taught DADA sometimes last year. All the DA Auror class had to do it, even Chief Potter."

"Is that so? So he's good with his wand," Fiona asked, not catching her own double-entendre until the four teenagers burst into laughter, spraying Butterbeer all over the table. "Oh mercy." She blushed furiously and prayed no one overheard.

"Yes, he's really good at duelling," Dennis coughed, still choking on his Butterbeer. "He and Auror Bones took the buggers down that—"

"Yes, I know," Fiona cut across the blond boy. "So what are y'all up to today?"

The four Gryffindors stole sly glances at one another, knowing what was probably going on at that very moment. "Y'all're up to somethin', aintcha?"

"Now what makes you say that," Dennis replied. "Why would we be up to something? We're just sitting here sucking Butterbeer and then we're going to do a bit of Christmas shopping."

"Don't gimme that codswallop, mister," Fiona snarled good-naturedly. _Codswallop_. She picked up the term from Hagrid and she really liked to use it. "Whatever it is y'all're doin', nobody better get hurt."

When the teens didn't answer, she knew she'd struck a chord. They were up to something and she was sure it involved a prank. After all, George's Hogsmeade shop was just up the high street from the Three Broomsticks. She finished her mead and rose to leave. "I'll see y'all at the castle. I'm beat."

"See you at supper, Onie," Jessica said.

"Yeah, see you," Jimmy added.

"Mr Finnegan should be back by then," Demelza giggled.

"Shut it, Mel. Give it a rest," Dennis said.

Fiona stepped out of the pub into the brisk November air. At this time of year in northern Scotland, it wasn't unusual for a light snow to cast a powdered-sugar dusting over fallen leaves on the ground. With a shiver, she pulled her cloak around herself, cast a warming charm, and made her way to Hogwarts castle. She wasn't in a big hurry, since there was nothing to hurry for. She was looking forward to a nap in her warm bed. She had no doubts the Elves would sense her intentions and have a welcoming fire blazing in the grate.

She didn't remember passing through the gates onto the grounds, but before she knew it, she was on the path just a few yards from Hagrid's hut. She watched as the half-Giant puttered around the remnants of the pumpkin patch, pulling out the shrivelled and dried vines while Fang dragged them around and romped like a puppy. She called and waved to him and Fang bounded over for a scratch. "Hey, boy! How's Fang today? Are you bein' a good boy an' helpin' ol' Hagrid?"

Fang barked his response, spraying drool all over her cloak, his tail wagging like a clock's pendulum gone wild. Fiona picked up a stick that had blown off one of the many trees that dotted the grounds and hurled it back toward the pumpkin patch. "Go get it, boy! Go on!" Fang barked again and then turned and ran full-tilt to pick up the stick in his sodden jowls and carry it to Hagrid. _That is one goofy animal_.

Finally, Fiona reached the towering iron-and-oak doors, which slowly swung open with a loud creak to admit her inside. The moment she topped the grand staircase, she came face-to-face with complete and utter bedlam. "I knew they were up to somethin'," she muttered. "So much for your nap, O-Nee-Tsah, my girl."


	25. Chapter 25 Gumboil's Folly

**Chapter 25 – Gumboil's Folly**

From the staff table, Professor McGonagall surveyed the Great Hall, noticing that it appeared to be another ordinary Saturday morning, except for the excited chatter among the students that usually accompanied a Hogsmeade visit. The Breakfast Club, consisting of herself, Hagrid, Mr Longbottom, Miss Prewett, Madame Pomfrey, Professor Sinistra and Professor Vector met one Healer Apprentice short, since she had taken the weekend to visit her family. However, Professor McGonagall's experienced eyes did notice that the Gryffindor Quidditch team, along with Patricia Templeton, seemed just a little bit more eager than usual. Odd, since second-years weren't allowed to leave the castle grounds.

Having taught at Hogwarts for nearly forty years and having held the office of Deputy Headmistress for nearly thirty years, she could almost smell mischief. After all, she had served as Head of Gryffindor House over the Marauders and the Weasley twins. If she hadn't missed her guess, her Gryffindors had some kind of prank in the works. The huddled conversation, the conspiratorial facial expressions, and the guarded body language spoke volumes to her. She'd seen this too many times to not know what was what. She suspected the targets of the alleged prank were most-likely the errant Hufflepuffs, and quite honestly, she thought it would serve them right, although she could never admit it aloud.

Interestingly, it seemed as though several of the staff were eager to join Professor Sprout in contributing to the boys' detentions. Professor McGonagall was certain that Hagrid had ordered some extraordinarily repulsive-smelling dragon dung for the boys to shovel over the plants in the greenhouses. Perhaps it had something to do with those exotic species of plants from South America that Miss Lovegood donated to the school. In a staff meeting a few days earlier, Professor Slughorn mentioned that he had discovered several crates of outdated, quite disgusting, and most unintentionally-fermented potions he'd found that had been left from Severus Snape's time as Potions Master. He appealed to Argus Filch to help to remove them; however, outdated potions could become unstable, so the work would have to be done by hand.

The headmistress had to admit that Filch had been happier these past several days than anyone had ever seen him, mumbling about various tasks he planned for his "assistants." With a rare glee not seen on Professor McGonagall's face since the time she'd shown Peeves how to unscrew the chandelier during Umbridge's short administration, she decided _i__nnocent until proven guilty_ and assumed her Gryffindors were simply in a good mood, and excited about the upcoming holidays.

The Gryffs conferred under a Muffliato charm Patricia cast to make sure they couldn't be overheard. As per usual on a Saturday, the tables were not as densely-packed with students as they were on the weekdays. Some had risen early for Quidditch practice, activities with any of the school clubs, or to catch up on their homework in the library before joining the others in Hogsmeade. But mostly, the students chose to have a bit of a lie-in, and came down for breakfast in just enough time to eat their fill before the food banished itself to the kitchens.

"So we're all set for today's operation," Dennis asked. "Everyone knows what to do and when, yeah?"

"Ape-aration," Emma snickered.

Dennis sighed. "...for today's _ape_-aration," he repeated with a huff.

"We are," Jessica replied confidently. "I know that Mr Longbottom and Professor Sprout drew patrol duty in Hogsmeade, so the greenhouses should be clear. I think I heard them talking about meeting Luna Lovegood later on. Something about storing South American plants for the winter in the greenhouses here at Hogwarts."

"That means they'll be gone for the day, talkin' 'erbology," Joseph commented. "They won't be aware o' nuffin' else."

"That leaves Filch and Mrs Norris to oversee the detention," Demelza said, resisting the urge to rub her palms together like a criminal.

"Yes, but he won't be too close to his _assistants_. I heard from Hagrid that he was proud to have got Hebridean Black dung instead of the Common Welsh Green," Dennis revealed. "He claims it is a better fertilizer, but it smells ten times worse." The others pulled a disgusted face and then burst into titters of laughter.

"Yes, that's true," Patricia said in her usual Hermione-ish manner, opening her jar of Marmite her mother had sent with Murray. "The Hebridean Black eats seaweed to aid its digestion system; however, it makes the dung smell heavily of rotting and half-digested seaweed."

"Ew. We're trying to eat breakfast here, Pats," Erica snorted. "And I think I finally learned what that Marmite is made from."

"Marmite is..." Patricia began.

"... not the issue right now," Dennis interrupted. "So, JPs, you'll create a diversion for Filch and Mrs Norris?"

The two Beaters nodded. "We have the perfect plan," Peakes said, producing a vial of a pale pink solution. "This blushing treasure is essentially an aphrodisiac to the Venomous Tentacula. One little drop of this on Filch and his cat and they'll be very busy for a while."

"Aphrodisiac? Does the Tentacula produce hormones," Patricia asked.

"They breed, don't they," Peakes argued.

"But they use pollen, right," Patricia claimed. "I mean—they're plants! Of course there is conjugation among some higher species, but I don't think—"

"C'mon Templeton, the potion works like mormons whether the Tentacula actually produce them or not. Thank you, Jimmy. We get the idea," Jessica assured him, rolling her eyes at their resident swot.

Patricia almost choked on her tea and burst into laughter. "_Hormones_, Jessica, _hormones_. Mormons are Muggles of a particular Christian religious sect."

An amused grin stole across Dennis' face while Jessica had to fight back a few tears of gratitude that her friends were prepared to risk detention for her sake. Dennis turned his attention once again to Patricia. "You're sure you can Disillusion yourself? That's seventh-year magic, you know," he warned her. "Are you sure you can do it well enough to plant the Ape-aration bombs in the dung?"

"She can, Dennis. Trust me," Emma said on her friend's behalf. "She got a few pointers from Hermione in a letter and she's practising in our dorm ever since."

Dennis, Jessica, Jimmy and Demelza gazed in awe at the talented second year. "Blimey. I can't Disillusion myself," Jimmy confessed.

"There's no need, since you're so transparent anyway," Demelza snickered, giving Jimmy a warm look to impose that she was having him on.

Emma, Erica and Patricia shared a glance all asking each other the same question: _Are Jimmy and Demelza...?_

"Right. And then Jessica sets off the bombs," Dennis concluded. "The rest of you lot are on guard duty, ready to cast _Silencio_ around the greenhouses if needed."

A more detailed study of the Ape-aration bombs revealed an experimental remote triggering spell. To avoid detection one could plant the bomb and detonate it from a safe distance, or so George claimed. The plan was to let Jessica blow the Transfiguration bomb from Hogsmeade on Jimmy's signal.

Dennis glanced at the clock. "All right. Jess, Mel, and I are going to head out with the others. You lot meet up outside the greenhouses and co-ordinate your attack. Remember—you can't be seen, got it?"

They all nodded in agreement and finished their breakfast. Patricia headed for the library, Emma and Joseph headed for, according to Erica, a broom closet, so Erica decided to join Patricia. Dennis, Jessica, Jimmy and Demelza returned to Gryffindor Tower where they co-ordinated their own part, including what Jimmy's signal would be.

At around 10:45, the two sixth- and one seventh-year Gryffs sneaked out, with Dennis, Jessica, and Demelza proceeding straight into Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks, while Jimmy doubled back through the trees toward the greenhouses. Most of the other students were in Hogsmeade by now, and most the staff not in Hogsmeade, rested in their living quarters for elevensies or simply to enjoy the unusual quiet at the castle occurring only during Hogsmeade weekends or the summer holiday.

At 11:00, Joseph, Patricia, Erica, and Emma spread out to cover one side each of the greenhouses. Erica encountered instant trouble by running into Hagrid. Although Hagrid personally probably would join the pranksters he was a professor, so they couldn't allow him to discover their plan.

"How do yer do, Erica?" Hagrid asked with his usual jovial demeanour.

Erica had to think fast. She needed to draw Hagrid away from the greenhouses. "I'm fine thank you, Professor." Erica said quickly. "Actually, I was looking for you."

"Oh," Hagrid asked. "What can I do fer yer, then?"

"You see, we have an infestation of doxies in our dorm and I'd need some Doxycide. I was told to see you for that," she lied.

Actually Patricia had anticipated that they might need a viable excuse for lurking around the greenhouses on a Saturday, so she caught a few Doxies, put them in a full body-bind curse, and placed them in the curtains of their four-posters. They were easy enough to collect afterwards, or remove altogether with the Doxycide.

"Yer in luck, Erica," Hagrid declared. "Professor Slughorn delivered a batch o' freshly-brewed Doxycide las' week, 'e did. I knew them buggers'd move in ter the castle now it's gettin'cold. C'mon ter me hut, and I'll give yer some. Yer good enough wi' Magical Creatures ter handle a few Doxies, I reckon."

Reluctantly, Erica followed Hagrid to his hut, but she noticed Emma moving in to cover her side from the corner. _That was too close for comfort_.

Meanwhile the JPs prepared to sneak in and drop the Tentacula-aphrodisiac on Filch and Mrs Norris. Patricia was ready to Disillusion herself to do her part, and once she had planted the bombs, she would slip out again and head for the castle and back to the library. She had to giggle to herself; Dennis worked this prank like he captained the Quidditch team, coordinating each part with the next.

"Go," she nodded to Joseph and Jimmy, who sneaked into the greenhouse. Jimmy approached Mrs Norris and threw a Confundus at her, quickly dropped the potion on her neck and left for Hogsmeade. Joseph waited under cover nearby. The effect of the potion was amazing. The Venomous Tentaculae around Mrs Norris went wild. A screech from a terrified cat as two Tentaculae tried to grab her attracted Filch's attention. This was the opportunity Joseph hoped for and that Dennis assured him would come.

"Ruddy plants. Leave my cat alone," he growled. He bent down to detach the plant from Mrs Norris, allowing the Cockney second-year to crawl over the tables and put a drop on Filch's head and retreat unseen. The Tentaculae, alerted to a new scent, turned their attention on Filch too, who was screaming in terror. A bit further off, the seven disgruntled 'Puffs stopped shovelling dung to find out why Filch and that demonic cat of his were making so much noise. The pranksters were almost overcome by the horrid smell from where they were, but they were able to hold their ground and their stomachs.

"All right, Pats, go," Joseph urged her. "Your way's clear."

Patricia cast the Disillusionment charm, leaving herself virtually invisible except for a slight disturbance in the air when she moved. As she stole quickly toward the Puffs, and the smell of the dung got stronger. _I should have asked Hermione about the Bubblehead charm_.

The Hufflepuffs decided that the barking-mad Caretaker's fight with the Tentaculae was excuse enough to preclude them from shovelling any more dung. This reaction was exactly what Patricia had hoped for. She planted the bombs in the dung and crept out again, but in doing so, she tripped over a shovel and knocked it over, making some noise. Patricia froze as one of the 'Puffs looked her way, but since she was still Disillusioned and unmoving, he didn't see her. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he shrugged and turned his attention back to Filch with a somewhat satisfied smirk.

Fighting off the marauding plants, Filch retreated to the Tentacula-free end of the greenhouse toward the Puffs and held a hissing Mrs Norris against his heaving chest. "Barmy, daft, plants. Now I'm stuck with you lot in this end o' the bleedin' greenhouse…and it stinks," he wheezed, scowling at his charges. "Wadda ye lookin' at, ya sods? Back ta work with ya!"

The Munchkins, less Erica, tore off back to the castle laughing hysterically. Once inside, they leaned against the great oak doors and fell all over one another while they howled, trying to catch their breath. They were just about to climb the grand staircase when something caught Joseph's eye. "Bloody hell! Cover," he hissed. "Peeves!"

Peeves the Poltergeist cackled with sadistic glee as he somersaulted in mid-air down the grand staircase. He'd overheard the Fat Friar telling the Grey Lady that his arch-enemy, Filch, and the naughty 'Puffs would be working hard in the greenhouses. For him, it was the perfect opportunity to create havoc and drive that nasty old mop-pusher to distraction. Peeves had just appeared upside down at the top of the stairs, facing away from the Entrance Hall, when Joseph spied him and led the girls out of the Poltergeist's determined path to destruction.

The three of them ducked into the Great Hall, where their professors, classmates, and mostly first-years sat waiting for lunch to appear. Breathing heavily, they slid into their customary seats at the Gryffindor table to catch their breath and calm down. A few minutes later, platters of various types of sandwiches, tureens of hot beef stew, pitchers of pumpkin juice, and bowls laden with fresh fruit appeared in front of them. The sight of the food made them acutely aware of their hunger and with joyful hearts, they tucked in.

"You know, this keeps getting better and better," Erica whispered, dipping her cheese sandwich into her stew. "Peeves came along just in time to take the blame for us!"

"Oh come on, Em. The headmistress will never believe this is Peeves' doing. He's simply not capable of pulling off something this complex," Patricia asserted. "He can't think that abstractly—if he thinks at all."

"Oh I don't know," Joseph countered. "If Filch believes Peeves did it, tha's all tha's important, innit? I mean think about it: The ol' sod'll go runnin' to McGonagall about 'ow Peeves 'as made another mess, and since Filch's always complainin' about 'im, McGonagall's likely t'believe it."

Emma smiled brightly, grabbed Joseph's face, and kissed him squarely on the mouth. "You're brilliant, did you know that?"

Joseph's face turned pink, then, rose, then scarlet for having been kissed in front of a full third of the student body and just about all the staff. He was grateful to find that no one noticed, since they were all too engrossed in their food and conversation to be interested in what three second-year Gryffindors were doing. "Thanks, Em." Without another word, the three of them returned to their meals. Patricia took a bite of sandwich, a thoughtful expression on her face. _Joseph, I hope you're right_. "Say, where's Erica," Patricia asked, suddenly panicked.

"No worries, Pats," Emma said, swallowing a bit of sandwich. "She ran into Hagrid so she had to put your Doxy plan into action. She'll be along."

"Oh, all right," Patricia replied, returning to her stew. "I hope she's a good liar."

"The best," Emma replied. "She's good, really. Besides, you made sure she had the Doxies to prove it."

"Oh yes. I did, didn't I," Patricia said with obvious relief, allowing her heart to re-seat itself in its proper place between her lungs and behind her rib cage.

Jimmy Peakes ran most of the way to Hogsmeade, stopping once to rest before covering the last several dozen metres at a sprint. A few shops away from the Three Broomsticks, he stopped and ducked into an alley to catch his breath. He wanted to make sure that he allowed Patricia ample time to plant the bombs and escape with the others. He checked his watch. _11:35. They're sure to be back in the castle by now. It's almost lunch time_.

Collecting himself and straightening his hair and clothes, Jimmy strode to the pub and opened the door. The Three Broomsticks was abuzz with the chatter of visiting Hogwarts students, while the enticing aroma of warm Butterbeer filled the otherwise dry and dusty air. He looked around for his friends and found them at a corner table at the back of the room. He noticed that Dennis had positioned himself in such as way as to be able to watch the door, so it was easy for him to catch his captain's eye. When Dennis appeared to wave him over, Jimmy gave him a thumbs-up, which was the signal for Jessica to cast her spell.

As he approached, Jessica drew her wand from her robes underneath the table and flicked it in the general direction of the greenhouses at Hogwarts some two kilometres away. "_Detonare_," she muttered. Smirking evilly, she quickly stowed her wand, picked up her freshly-poured mug of warm Butterbeer, and raised it to her friends. With matching nods and expressions, they followed suit and the four of them drank deeply to their deviousness. They had no sooner than set their mugs back down on the table when Healer Apprentice Fiona Prewett stepped through the door.

Once the Puffs had resumed their shovelling under the watchful eye of Filch and Mrs Norris, the Tentacula had settled down as the aphrodisiac wore off. The boys had just found a rhythm when dragon dung, stinking of half-digested seaweed, erupted from the boxes covering anything and anyone in the blast zone. Apart from the seven Puffs, Filch, and Mrs Norris, a high-pitched squeal came from the front of the greenhouse where Peeves had just bounced in.

Filch roared with outrage as he realised what he was covered with. "Peeves," he howled. "I'll get you for..."

Before he could utter another word, he and the seven Hufflepuff miscreants turned into a snarling baboon and a small troupe of chimpanzees. Mrs Norris had also been in the blast radius, but clearly the Ape-aration bombs were designed only for human-to-ape Transfiguration. The effect on Mrs Norris seemed to be a weird-looking hybrid between cat and a rhesus monkey. Peeves shrieked in horror, but once he realised that nothing had happened to him, he grinned mischievously at the baboon that squatted where Filch had been standing just a moment ago. Peeves, unable to resist the temptation to further infuriate the caretaker, improvised a taunting ditty.

_Filchy is a monkey, Norris is funky!_

_Hufflepuffs are dung!_

_What a wonderful song I've sung!_

Peeves started swooping around the greenhouse, repeating the song over and over again. Angry chattering erupted from the group of apes who set off after the petulant poltergeist. Mrs Norris let out a very peculiar meowing and joined the chase. The sweat from the pursuing apes activated the aphrodisiac once again, causing the Tentaculae to go bonkers again, reaching out with their botanical tentacles, hoping to ensnare the objects of their affection.

Erica Prewett, armed with a can of Doxycide, bade a thankful good afternoon to Hagrid as she exited his hut. As she passed the greenhouses, she heard what sounded like screaming and shouting coming from within Greenhouse No. 6. _They've done it!_

Erica squealed with delight and picked up her pace toward the castle, envisioning eight chimpanzees screaming with rage and terror, trying to avoid the Venomous Tentaculae and escape their glass prison. Once inside, she peeked into the Great Hall to see if her friends had arrived there safely for lunch. Having spied them at their customary places at the table, she made her way to them with a relieved expression on her freckled face. "How did it go," she asked, stowing the can of poison under that table at her feet and then cleaning her hands with a quick _Tergeo_.

"Brilliant," Joseph said with a wide smile in his face. "I jus' wish we could've stayed to watch, but it was too risky."

"What took you so long," her sister asked.

"I ran into Hagrid, so I had to put Patricia's plan into action. I just wasn't counting on a washbasin sized cuppa, rock cakes and a full lesson on the safe use of Doxycide," she said with a huff. "He wouldn't let me leave until he was sure I understood how to use the stuff."

"Oh, so you passed the greenhouses, then," Joseph asked.

"Yeah," Erica replied, ladling some stew into her bowl. "Why?" She knew why they asked, but she decided that since she couldn't participate, she was going to have one on her sister and their friends.

"Spill, Prewett," Patricia said. "What did you see or hear?"

Erica grinned and her eyes lit up with conspiratorial fire. "I heard lots of screaming and howling and banging about."

Emma looked at her sister seriously. "You should have gone back and alerted Hagrid to the situation."

"I didn't think of that," Erica said, a little crest-fallen. "But it worked and nobody got caught!"

The four of them discussed the prank and how successful it apparently had been when there was a loud crash, a scuffle, and howls and screams from the Entrance Hall. A horrible smell wafted through the doors to the Great Hall putting everyone off their feed.

"Oh bugger," Joseph said, looking past the others at their table to the open door. "We're in deep dragon-dung. They weren't supposed to get into the castle!"

"Oh no! Okay, Erica, you take your Doxy stuff and slip up to our common room. Use the shortcuts Ginny showed us," Patricia said, taking command with a thumb and forefinger over her nose. "You two follow the monkey parade and try to head them off from the dungeons. If they get down there, we may never see them again. I'm going for help."

"Right," they all agreed, and made a show of joining the hurried procession of students curious as to what was going on. When they finally got to the Entrance Hall staircase, they about lost their lunch from the stench. Bits of fertiliser lay all over the stone floors and up the stairs. Erica disappeared behind a tapestry that led to a hidden passage to the seventh floor while Joseph and Emma fought their way through the crowd to chase the chimpanzees away from the stairs leading to the dungeons.

Patricia turned and opened the front doors to the castle. She was about to step out to run to Hagrid's hut when she spied Fiona coming toward her up the carriage path. "Bugger," she snarled and closed the doors again, sprinting up the stairs, now slippery with dung, to help Emma and Joseph with their victims. She was halfway through the corridor, when she found herself in the path of the chimpanzees, pursued by an irate baboon, a creature she couldn't identify, a hysterically-cackling Peeves, and Emma and Joseph, wand drawn and sweat pouring down their faces.

"IN HERE," Patricia shouted, pushing the door to an empty classroom open. The three of them began to chase the apes through the corridor back and forth, hoping to herd them into the room and contain the smell inside with the rampaging chimps and baboon. They didn't notice that Fiona had entered the castle and topped the stairs just in time to catch them trying to round up the rampaging primates.

Shaking her head at the knowledge that there would be no nap for her, she raised her wand and shouted at the scrambling Gryffindors. "Stunners on three!" The three second-years stopped in their tracks, knowing they were busted. "ONE! TWO! THREE!"

"STUPEFY," four voices shouted, red beams of light shooting from their wands like laser beams. "SUPEFY," they shouted again. In moments, the apes and the hybrid fell to the floor unconscious.

"Now, Ah don't want any explanations raht now," Fiona snarled. "I know y'all 'n' that bunch in Hogsmeade're behind this. You bettah just thank yoah lucky stahs that I cain't prove it, what with Peeves chasin' y'all around, cacklin' like a fool! Now I suggest you three take yoahselves on up to Gryffindoah Towah 'n' stay theah! Do Ah make mahself cleah?"

"Y-yes ma'am, Miss Prewett, ma'am," Joseph stuttered.

"Good. Mistah Pointah, you ah responsible foah these young witches and you will escoaht them safety to yoah common room. Now, git," Fiona shouted. The children had no sooner than made their exit when Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, Bones, Hagrid, and Slughorn appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Miss Prewett," the headmistress crowed. "What has happened here?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Miss Minerva. I left St Mungo's early with a headache to come back to Hogwarts for a nap when I found these…monkeys…runnin' wild through the corridor with Peeves hot on their trail," Fiona explained. "I managed to stun 'em, but I'll need some help gittin' 'em to the hospital wing. I've got a sneakin' suspicion that these ain't ordinary apes."

Professor Flitwick tottered over to the unconscious chimps and waved his wand over them. "Oh ho! This is a good bit of magic, this is," he exclaimed, bouncing on his tiny feet. "I haven't seen transfiguration work like this since Fred and George Weasley graced these halls!"

"Filius, what on earth are you on about," Minerva asked, seriously annoyed. "The last time you went on about _a good bit of magic_, the Weasley twins had produced a swamp on the fifth floor!"

"This is definitely the work of some advanced transfiguration spell, but for the life of me, I can't be sure what it is exactly. Amelia, could you shine some light on this, perhaps," the diminutive professor asked, deferring to the Transfiguration professor.

Professor Bones was about to speak when the Apprentice Healer broke into the discussion. "How 'bout we git these…people…to the hospital wing first? Miss Poppy'll have our heads if we don't."

"Quite right, Fiona," McGonagall agreed. "Hagrid, you take the baboon and the…whatever that is…and we'll levitate the rest." Hagrid grunted his assent and picked up the baboon.

Fiona laid the whatever-it-was on the baboon's chest and levitated one of the chimps, followed by the others, each levitating one or two chimps. _I am going to congratulate my cousin on an absolutely hilarious prank and then I am going to KILL HIM!_

"Friends, welcome. We've done it! We have another one of our own on the Wizengamot—our own historian, Hermione Granger," Gumboil announced triumphantly. Since the rallies in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, ELF's membership increased ten-fold. After the elections, at least twenty more signed up and now the organisation found itself renting out the entire back room of the Three Broomsticks.

Those in attendance, approximately seventy-five strong, stood and gave Hermione a standing ovation. She pasted on a toothy grin and stood to accept their congratulations and accolades, but inside, her stomach turned. She hoped that since the elections and Investiture were past, meetings and rallies would calm down. But no, tonight was yet another planning meeting and she cringed when she found out where the rally was rumoured to take place.

"We're on a roll," Gumboil continued once the din died down. "Tonight is a banner night, for we're here to plan another rally to invite more of our downtrodden brethren into the fold. Our next rally shall take place in…Belfast, Ireland!"

Seamus' stomach dropped and he nearly lost the pint of Butterbeer he'd just drunk. _He's mad!_ "Hermione is he serious?"

"I'm afraid so," Hermione replied heavily. "I heard talk around the Ministry, but I hoped that's all it was. Seamus, this can't be! It's—"

"Ruddy madness," Dean finished for her.

"Oi! President Gumboil," Seamus called, waving his hand in the air.

"The floor recognises Auror Seamus Finnegan, our Sergeant-at-Arms," Gumboil said, recognizing the Irishman.

"Sir, have ya thought this through? Ya can't stage a rally in Belfast! It's suicide," Seamus cried.

"And why is that, Seamus," Gumboil asked loftily.

"Ye're a Halfblood! Ya know what's goin' on up there! It's dangerous! Ye're wantin' ta lead a load o' Brits—no offence—inta Northern Ireland. It's a ruddy war-zone! The lads'll kill ya as quick as look at ya," he shouted, slamming his fist into the table and making Hermione and Dean jump. Seamus' face glowed red as beet-root while his heart pounded like a jack-hammer.

"Are you telling me, Seamus, that you have ties to a certain violent Muggle para-military force," Gumboil asked slyly. "Tell me, Auror. Do you count yourself among the _lads?_"

"No, I don't count meself among 'em," Seamus snarled. "But I promise ya that if you lead a load o' Brits inta Belfast for a political rally, ye're askin' ta be shot, blown up, or cursed ta ashes! I'm tellin' ya, man, it's madness! It's suicide!"

Before Gumboil could retort, voices began to rise in protest. "Woss 'e talkin' about then? Woss all this about bein' shot, blown up, or cursed?"

"The Irish Republican Army," Seamus replied before Gumboil could speak. "The IRA! They want home-rule and they don't want a load o' English _strangers_ in their land oppressin' 'em anymore!"

"Perhaps we ought to listen to the Mick, Alastor! He should know what he's bloody-well talking about," a man called.

"Ach, a lot o' Muggle nonsense," another man called. "Shot! What's a gun agin a trrusty wand?"

"I'm tellin' ya—them IRA lads'll blow a hole in ya the size of a Bludger before ya c'n even draw yer ruddy wand," Seamus warned again. "They're dead serious up there! There's killin's at least twice a month!"

"Friends, please. Calm yourselves," Gumboil said. "I am aware of the troubles in Northern Ireland, but the Good Friday Agreement of 1998 has precluded—"

"Just keep tellin' yerself that," Seamus huffed. "D'ya seriously believe they all just laid down their guns and wands and walked away from their cause over some sheet o' parchment? Alastor, I'm beggin' ya. Don't do this!"

Gumboil stared at Seamus as though he'd grown a second head. He appeared to give Seamus' words some thought before he spoke again. "All right, Seamus. If ya think it's that dangerous, we'll not meet in Belfast."

Hermione, Dean, and Seamus breathed a sigh of relief. It's not that they were against a rally in Ireland, just not _Northern_ Ireland, and certainly not Belfast. "Thank ya, sir," Seamus said, wiping his face with a napkin.

Good on ya, mate," Dean leaned over and whispered. "That would have been the ultimate in stupid!"

"Shh," Hermione hissed. "Listen. I doubt this is the end of it."

"Since our resident Auror warns us that Belfast isn't safe, I propose we hold our rally in…oh…Antrim?" Gumboil, surveyed the crowd, who all appeared in accordance, except Seamus.

"Antrim? Bloody hell, man! It's still Northern Ireland and there's trouble there too," he cried.

Although he, himself, was from around Cork in the south, he still believed Ireland should be reunited as a sovereign nation as almost all good Irish did.

There was more buzzing in the hall as Gumboil allowed his people to discuss the possibilities. Seamus said no more, knowing he'd be wasting his breath. His stomach turned over and he pushed his mug of Butterbeer away.

"Seamus," Hermione began. "Is that true?"

"Well, there's been no bad warrin' in thirty years, but they're still skirmishin'—just to keep each other honest, ya understand. There's a grapevine, Hermione, and if the lads in Belfast get word o' this—" he replied, thoroughly frustrated. "Look, I may be a wizard and me mam a witch, but me Muggle da's a Northman from Derry. Enough said?"

"Is your dad…you know," Dean asked barely above a whisper.

"I don't think so, but he knows people," Seamus intimated. "He doesn't talk about it and we don't ask."

"Fair enough," she said. "Oh, Harry and Ron are going to go spare when they hear about this!" Hermione buried her face in her hands and stifled a loud groan. She could hear it all now—the four of them telling her she can't join ELF in Ireland. _Like I'd want to_.

"I got no doubts, Hermione—that's why you won't be there," he told her, his blue eyes piercing into her brown ones.

_Damn, you're good, Granger_. "Seamus, you can't go up there alone," she hissed. "Harry'll never allow it, you know that!"

"He won't be alone, Hermione," Dean interjected. "I'm going up there with him, unless cooler heads prevail."

"All in favour of Antrim," Gumboil's voice cut through their whispered conversation.

"AYE," the hall replied with a shout.

"Opposed?"

"Nay," only a handful, including Hermione, Seamus, and Dean, called in reply.

"Very good! Antrim it is! Arnie, please secure us a pub in Antrim," Gumboil called joyfully. "You all know what to do, so until we meet next Saturday, good evening! Rosmerta, set 'em up, as the Yanks would say!"

"Let's get out of here," Dean said, gathering up his satchel. "We need to get with Harry and Ron straightaway."

"Aye, mate. This is goin' ta go ta hell! I can feel it," Seamus muttered. "It's bloody madness—suicide! Somebody's goin' ta get hurt—if not killed outright. Come on, Hermione. We'll see ya safe ta the Burrow."

Hermione nodded and allowed Seamus and Dean to escort her from the pub. Once they were outside and several metres away out of earshot, she conjured her otter Patronus and sent an urgent message to Harry to meet them at the Burrow for debriefing. Arthur would need to hear this too. "Well…_lads_…shall we?" The three of them spun down and Disapparated with a soft _pop!_

Hermione stepped through the Floo at the Burrow, followed by Seamus and Dean. "Hello? Anyone home," she called.

Ron appeared at the foot of the stairs, out of breath but relieved that his fiancée and their friends had arrived safely. He strode over to Hermione and picked her up off her feet, embracing her tightly. "Are you all right, Love," he murmured against her lips. "Your Patronus sounded urgent."

"We're fine, Ron," she answered. "But the news isn't good." Hermione shifted her eyes toward Seamus for confirmation.

"She's right, mate. It's not good. Gumboil—" Seamus' words were cut off when a whoosh sounded from the Floo and Harry stepped through.

"So what's the good word, Irish," he asked, staring right into the man's ashen countenance.

"There's nothin' good about it, Harry," Seamus replied. "I think we should all just sit down an' we'll tell ya."

Molly and Arthur appeared from the kitchen with tea and oatmeal-currant biscuits. "Why the long faces," she asked, setting the tea-service on a side table. "Arthur, dear, could you?"

"Of course, my beauty," the Weasley patriarch replied. As Molly poured out, Arthur distributed the cups of tea and a couple of biscuits. "So, Seamus, Dean, what have you got for us tonight?"

Dean cast his eyes to Mrs Weasley and then to Harry and Arthur as if to ask if they should be speaking in front of her. Harry immediately understood and assured Dean, "it's all right, mate. Mum knows all about this mission. We trust her with our lives."

"Yes, quite right, Harry," Arthur confirmed. "No worries, Deputy Thomas."

"Yes, sir," Dean replied. "Seamus, you going to tell or is Hermione?"

"I think Seamus should explain," Hermione said. "He has a better understanding of the implications of this…folly…than we have."

"It's not good. Gumboil wants a rally in Ireland. At first, he wanted to stage it in Belfast, but I shouted him down and talked him out of it," Seamus reported.

"Is he mad," Harry asked aghast. "Belfast? It's a Muggle war-zone!"

"That's why Seamus talked him out of it," Hermione interjected.

"I don't understand," Ron said, swallowing a sip of tea. "Why's Belfast a war-zone? We're not at war anymore."

"Ronald, the Muggles in Ireland have been fighting the English for centuries over home-rule and their basic freedoms. I'm afraid our Muggle government has a piece of their country and won't let it go," Hermione told him.

"Aye, and they don't appreciate it," Seamus added. "Have ya never heard of the IRA?"

"The IRA," Arthur repeated. "Ah, yes! The Irish Republican Army, isn't it?"

"The same, sir," Seamus confirmed. "It's not all Muggles in it. There's loads o' Muggleborn wizards that joined through the years as well."

"Wouldn't Gumboil know this, though," Ron asked, still not quite understanding.

"Oh he knew it, Ron. But he was so sure that the Good Friday Agreement was so sound that nothin'd happen. I set 'im straight on that," Seamus said gravely. "But that's only the half of it. The bloody fool decided I was right, but then moved it to Antrim!"

"And Antrim's almost as bad," Dean said. "They're not going to like this at all."

"But if they stay out of the Muggle districts—" Molly began, hoping to shed a little hope on the situation.

"Molly, it doesn't matter. They've got a grapevine among the lads. Once it gets out that a bloody Tommy-bastard's spewin' political tripe at 'em, they'll be on 'im like Wyverns on a Hippogriff carcass!"

"Oh dear," Molly exclaimed breathlessly. "That's suicide!"

"That it is, Molly, but try as I might, I couldn't talk him down. He's determined to stage this thing in Antrim somewhere. We'll know by Friday, I'm sure," Seamus said.

"Hermione's not going," Ron declared, pulling her closer to him. "Sorry, Love. It's no slur on your abilities—Merlin knows you're a powerful witch, but I just can't let you walk into that. You'll be a prime target."

"It's all right, my love," she assured him. "I had no plans to attend."

"That's right, mate," Dean said. "Seamus and I already decided we'd go together so Hermione could stay clear in case of trouble. Maybe a good excuse would be that she's busy with the wedding and has to sit this one out."

"Good idea, son," Arthur replied. "Harry?"

"Right. As soon as you find out where and at what time, let us know. Ron and I should be able to organise the strike teams and be on alert should you find yourselves in a fight. Ron?"

"Sounds like a plan. All we have to do is a little shuffling and we'll have it," the redheaded Auror confirmed. "I'll get on that right away Monday morning. Harry, maybe we should have a meeting with the teams."

"Yeah, but I don't want to tell them too much—just that we've heard rumours of a possible disturbance that may or may not take place in Antrim," he said. "We don't need any mention of ELF or Gumboil. Understood?"

The others nodded in agreement. "Is there anything else," the Head of DMLE asked. Hearing nothing more, he adjourned the debriefing.

Madame Pomfrey, Matron of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for over forty years, shook her head in frustration over the unconscious baboon lying in one of her beds. "Is this Argus," she asked.

"I think so, Miss Poppy," Fiona said. "I figure the seven chimps are our Hufflepuffs in detention, the odd-looking critter over there has got to be Mrs Norris because it has some cat-like features, so the baboon can only be Mr Filch. Nobody's seen hide or hair of any of 'em since before lunch."

"I've tried every spell I can think of to counter a transfiguration spell, but nothing has worked," she said with a worried countenance. "Amelia, can you think of anything?"

"Poppy, I'm sure I can't. You've done every spell I would've done," the former head of magical law-enforcement and current Transfiguration professor replied. "Horace?"

"I've got a couple of revealing potions, but I dare say they wouldn't reverse anything," he replied, equally perplexed. "I'm afraid we may just have to wait it out."

"I agree," Flitwick said. "We've tried everything."

"Very well, then," McGonagall sighed. "We wait it out. Poppy, sedate them and then remove the stunning spells. They're going to have serious headaches when they wake up as it is. Let's not add to it."

"Of course," the matron replied. "Fiona—"

"Yes, ma'am. I know where they are," she said, and walked over to the potions cabinet to retrieve the heavy sleeping draughts that would keep the apes asleep for the better part of twelve hours. Fiona hoped it would be long enough for the spell to break. The other professors left the ward to return to their quarters.

One by one, Fiona and Madame Pomfrey moved between their patients, administering the sleeping draught and lifting the stunning spells. The apes visibly relaxed as the potion took effect and the spells were lifted. "Now we wait," Madame Pomfrey said. "Fiona, dear, you look exhausted. Why don't you go to your room and lie down for a bit. I'll call if I need you."

"You sure, Miss Poppy? I can—"

"No, you look awful. Now go on and get some rest. Who knows what this lot's going to be like when they come to," she insisted.

"Oh, all right," Fiona said, caving in. "But at the first sign o' change…"

"…I'll let you know. No go, young woman, before I give you detention!" Poppy put a protective arm around her trainee and steered her toward the Floo. "Go on through. _Now_."

"Yes ma'am," Fiona said with a smile. She tossed a small handful of Floo Powder into the flames and called, "Fiona's room," and disappeared into the green flames.

A few hours later, Fiona woke to the sound of the matron's voice calling to her through the Floo. "Fiona! Fiona, they've transformed. You were right—it's Argus, his cat, and the Hufflepuff miscreants."

Groggily, Fiona rose and knelt before the Floo where the matron's head floated among the flames. "Do ya need me to come down," she asked, hoping Poppy would let her rest some more.

"No, dear. I just wanted to let you know they were human and feline again. They're still fast asleep and won't wake until the early morning," she assured her apprentice.

"All right, then," Fiona replied. "Just call me if ya need me. I'll be here. If I don't hear ya, Deeds will."

"Supper's in a couple of hours. You should eat," Poppy said with concern. "You're still looking rather peaky. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm fine, just tired. See you in the Great Hall?"

"I'll be there. Rest well, dear," the matron said before she disappeared. Fiona dragged herself back to her bed and fell into a restful nap.

The following Tuesday afternoon, Ron and Harry received a memo from Hermione stating that she'd received word from Gumboil about the time and place for Saturday's rally. "So they're really going to do this, then?"

"It sure looks like it. We need to call the teams in for a meeting tonight," Harry said resolutely.

"Uh…Harry? I…uh…"

"What is it, Ron," Harry asked his blushing partner.

"I…uh…I have an appointment tonight. C-could we do this tomorrow night," Ron asked tentatively. "It'll give us all a chance to set our schedules without having to rush."

"Ron, what are these appointments about," Harry asked, a bit exasperated. "You've got Hermione in a right state, you know."

"I can't tell you, mate, but I promise that it's nothing bad or for Hermione to worry about. You know I'd never—"

"I know, mate, but she's really worried. You've gone off two nights per week for the past couple of weeks and she's probably thinking just that," Harry advised. "You'd better talk to her."

"Harry," Ron began, knowing he had to choose his words carefully. "If I do, I'll wind up giving the whole thing away. It's kind of a surprise for Hermione, all right?"

"Can I tell her that?"

"Yeah, I guess so, but I won't tell you what it is because she has a way of talking things out of you and so does my sister. They're menaces, those two," Ron said.

"Fair enough. We'll meet with the teams during the swing shift tomorrow night then," Harry agreed. "Patronuses or owls?"

"Owls, I suppose," Ron sighed. "Let's get to it, then."

The two top Aurors set to creating and duplicating memos to be taken by courier to the owlery for delivery.

"All we need to do now is formulate a plan," Harry said. "Any ideas?"

The following evening, the entire Auror division met in the training room. Harry looked at his fellow Aurors and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry to bring you in like this on such short notice, but we've got a potential disaster on our hands."

"No worries, Chief," Andrew "Jock" Thompson replied. "We'rre herre tae do oor parrt."

"So, what's the emergency? Is Ron's food supply running low," Cho snickered. "Do we need to requisition supplies from the populace?"

"That would indeed have been a grand disaster, Chang, taking the full Auror force to handle, alternatively your uncle," Harry smirked.

"Gits," Ron huffed.

"And proud," Boot said triumphantly.

"C'mon you lot—let the Chief speak," Dawlish said with Ross nodding beside him.

Despite their appreciation for the friendly tone the DA Aurors brought to the force, the old hands were more-used to a stricter tone and stiffer structure.

"So…potential disaster," Susan asserted in an attempt to bring the meeting back to the point.

"Nine of us suggests three teams," Tony Goldstein added.

"I'll let Ron explain our plan in a bit," Harry said. "But first the background. It's come to our attention that Undersecretary Gumboil's group, ELF, are staging another pub rally, this time in Antrim in Northern Ireland." Harry paused for a moment for reaction.

"That's a disaster waiting to happen," Tony said.

"Yes." Harry agreed and continued to explain why a British political rally in a pub in Northern Ireland was worthy of the attention of nine top Aurors. "So by mere chance, Finnegan happens to be in said pub."

"What a lucky coincidence," Cho said.

"Hopefully the man gets a nice evening, Apparates home to Hogsmeade, and we get to spend an uneventful evening together in these hallowed halls," Harry explained. "But, if not, Seamus will alert us and we'll Portkey in. Ron, if you please."

Harry sat down and Ron waved his wand at a blackboard where the plans for the pub appeared.

"If there's trouble, we storm the place. We'll enter at three points—one team through the main entrance, one though the kitchen and the third one through the street-side window. Since we'll be inside a pub, there are already anti-Apparation wards in place, so no need for extra wards. If we go in, we go in hard. If stunners aren't enough, use any offensive means necessary, but do your best to minimize injuries."

Ron nodded to Harry and then sat. Harry stepped to the fore once again. "Questions," he asked. Hearing none, he began to assign the teams and their leaders. "Report to this office at three o'clock Saturday afternoon. If we have to go in, Bones and Dawlish, you'll be with me at the rear; Thompson and Ross, you'll be with Ron at the front; Boot and Goldstein, you'll be with Chang at the side. Shift Aurors, you'll be on stand-by, ready for anything. See you all Saturday. Dismissed."

That evening, Fiona left the paediatric ward at St Mungo's to return to Hogwarts. She still fumed about the prank that nearly destroyed Greenhouse No. 6, orchestrated and equipped by her less-than-reverent cousin, George Weasley. She considered making a stop by the shop on the way back to the school to congratulate him and then give him a piece of her mind immediately afterwards.

Apparating onto the square, she made her way down the high street past the Three Broomsticks to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Since it wasn't quite five o'clock, the door was still unlocked. When she stepped in, a Muggle siren screamed to the shop that there was a visitor.

George jogged up between the aisles from his office to find his beloved cousin, standing there with her hands over her ears. He waved his wand and the noise died away. "Onie, Love! What a surprise!" He stepped up to her with his arms wide open. "What brings you to our humble establishment on this fine November afternoon?"

Fiona hugged him even though she wanted to slug him. "Oh, I just finished at St Mungo's and thought I'd stop in for a little chat," she replied cheerily. "Are ya alone today?"

"Alas, yes, dear cousin. Verity's home with her mum. She's got a little touch of the Doxy fever. Nasty buggers they are when they bite," George told her. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Oh, no thanks," Fiona replied. "Will Verity's momma be all right?"

"Sure, sure. They were just a bit slow to get her the anti-venom, so she's feeling a bit under the weather," George assured her. "She'll be fine."

"Well, let me know if I can help," Fiona said. "Doxy bites are pretty ugly. Anyway, I wanted to stop by to tell you that that prank the Gryffindors pulled on Argus Filch and those rotten Hufflepuff boys had to be the funniest damned thing I ever did see!"

"They got Filch," George said, his blue eyes dancing with glee.

"And his little cat too," Fiona snickered. "The boys turned into chimpanzees, but Filch turned into a baboon! That cat…we don't know what she was, other than she turned into some kind of cat-monkey hybrid! Dragon dung everywhere!"

The two cousins stood there, shaking with laughter, all but falling on the floor in a heap as their knees began to give up. "So it worked! That's brilliant! I've got half a dozen cases ready for the shelves. We're there any side-effects?"

"Well, other than mild headaches and a three-hour time, none," Fiona assured him. "You might want to consider toning it down a bit time-wise. We had to stun 'em to get 'em to the hospital wing and then knock 'em out so they could sleep it off."

George rubbed the back of his neck. "Three hours, you say? Damn. It was only supposed to last ninety minutes at the most. Oh well…back to the drawing board."

"George, there's something else I need to tell you," Fiona said, letting her ire fill her again.

"What's that," he asked, still grinning widely.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKIN' TURNIN' THEM KIDS LOOSE WITH SOMETHIN' LIKE THAT? THEY COULD-A BEEN HURT," Fiona shouted, smacking her cousin on the back of his red head, not unlike her Aunt Molly.

George winced, not expecting such an outburst. "But Fiona, it wasn't all me and I made sure no one could get hurt. None of my products are meant to do any permanent damage. Fred and I always made sure no one could be hurt because that's not funny!"

"Whattaya mean it wa'n't all you? Who else could-a been in this," Fiona asked, he sky-blue eyes still flashing.

"Ron and Harry," he said. "Harry sent Ron to see me the day you had your meeting in McGonagall's office about Alicia's sister. They wanted something the kids could use to defend themselves without having to draw wands. The Ape-arition thing was a field test to see if they worked."

"Oh they worked all right," Fiona huffed. "Only too well. George, you gotta use better judgement when you're dealin' with kids. How many of them things do they have?"

"A case, but I can recall them. I'll even have Ron and Harry come out and pick them up," George said, hoping to stave off another outburst.

"I think you should, Georgie," Fiona advised calmly. "The effects last too long for those to be considered safe yet. But I did get to see the remnants of your Portable Swamp on the fifth floor."

"That's still there? I thought Flitwick would have banished that ages ago," George marvelled. "It's really still there?"

"Yeah, an' it's got a cute little rope around it, too," she giggled. "It's a shrine to the two of you, you know."

George had to laugh at the memory of the day he and Fred escaped Hogwarts and the clutches of Dolores Umbridge. "Yeah, that was fun. Listen, I'll send Ronnikins around to pick up the rest of those bombs, okay? Maybe I'll have something a little less…primal…for them to work with, yeah?"

"You do that, George, honey, and you'll make my job a whole lot easier," she said. "Now, I need to get back to the castle because they're gonna be servin' supper pretty soon and I'm starved."

George took his cousin into another hug and kissed her forehead. "See you later, yeah?"

"Yeah. Say hey to Miss Verity and Angie when ya see 'em," Fiona called as she stepped through the door and back into the street. She drew her cloak around her and Apparated to the Hogwarts gates, since it was just too cold to walk.

Seamus _Irish_ Finnegan had never dreaded standing on his home-turf before, but this time he did. He and Dean arrived outside Antrim town with a group of ELF members heading for the Wizarding pub, An Draíocht Chláirseach, which translated meant _The Magic Harp_. The moment they entered the pub, Seamus' feelings of trepidation were all but confirmed. A group of rough-looking wizards stared at the newcomers with cold suspicion in their eyes.

"Evenin' lads," Gumboil said, trying to sound jovial.

"Bloody Brits," one bloke huffed and turned his attention back to his Mulled Ale. Mulled Ale was a speciality of Wizarding Ireland. Places like the Leaky and the Broomsticks served it, but in Ireland, every pub served its own recipe, each as unique as the pub itself. The ale was usually local and other ingredients kept a closely-guarded secret, as well as the magic imbued in the barrels. Seamus was eager to try this establishment's recipe, so he stepped up to the barman and with a nod to Dean, he placed his order.

"Two pints o' Mulled Ale fer me n' me mate," he asked politely, reaching into his robes for his money pouch.

The barman nodded curtly and drew two mugs of the steaming hot beverage from the special tap. "The finest Mulled Ale in Éire... or at least Ulster, me lad. Enjoy."

"Ulster," Seamus asked.

"Aye," the barman replied, placing his right hand over his heart. "County Antrim's lovely, but she can't produce a decent pint of ale to save her arse…in _my_ humble opinion."

Seamus laughed and flipped a few Sickles to the barman and found seats for himself and Dean, to get a good overview of the pub, particularly, the door.

"Dean, me friend, this," he said and pointed at the mug, "is the good stuff." Seamus took a long draught and swallowed it, a look of pure bliss on his face. It was obviously a good batch and he enjoyed it immensely.

Dean sipped from his mug and found it just all right. "There's Firewhiskey in this, yeah," he asked Seamus.

"Most likely, so don't down it all in one go," Seamus grinned. "We need to keep our eyes open and our wands ready. Gumboil hasn't changed his mind about this madness and it's going to go pear-shaped for sure."

Seamus and Dean wore their wands on their arms in the standard-issue Auror wrist holsters that allowed a trained Auror to fire three or four spells before the average wizard or witch could pull his or her own wand from their robes.

"If it all goes to hell, help will be here in a matter of minutes, right," Dean asked, referring to the teams on standby back at the Ministry.

Seamus nodded guardedly. A lot could happen in just a few minutes, but he was certain that any brawling would be quelled rather quickly, because it was Potter's, Weasley's, and Chang's teams that would be first in. Besides, they didn't have Hermione to worry about, since she had already owled Gumboil that she couldn't attend due to all the work she had to do for the wedding. _Smart bit of planning there, Thomas._

Gumboil had positioned himself in the centre of the pub. "My friends..." he started.

"... aren't on this green isle, Stranger," a wizard immediately interrupted.

Dean looked at Seamus in alarm. "Encouraging start," he muttered.

"It'll get better, trust me," Seamus replied out of the side of his mouth. "I've got a bad feelin' about this, mate. Look sharp and hope the man's smart enough to skip tossin' his impressive Ministry title about today."

They looked back at Gumboil, hoping he'd exhibit a bit of restraint. "My name is Alastor Gumboil, Undersecretary of Magical Law Enforcement," the man introduced himself, eliciting a painful moan from Seamus, while the pub patrons hardly looked impressed. "I'm here on behalf of an organization called ELF, the Equality and Liberation Front."

"Liberation from what? Everyone wants to be liberated from somethin'—dandruff, Mondays, the barkin' once-sexy wife, taxes, hangovers, the barmy neighbour singin' _Maloney Wants A Drink_ off-key every mornin' in the loo, owl droppin's in public areas, Brits in general, Tommies in particular, Leprechaun curses, ingrown toenails, Gnomes, Floo malfunctions, the Dark Arts, Dragons, Professor Binns' classes, and don't forget annoyin' people at the pub…what in the name of Lugh's hound is it you want to liberate us from, Undersecretary Bumble?"

Mr Gumboil stood there, temporarily petrified. "Pureblood... supremacy..." he said, without a hint of his usual self-confidence.

"Pureblood supremacy, what an excellent cause to liberate us from," the man replied. "Please go ahead and liberate...and let us have our ale in peace and quiet. There are no Purebloods in this pub to liberate us from."

Seamus looked at the articulate man and then at Gumboil, fighting to stifle a snicker. After all, he was an Irishman himself and certainly appreciated the patron's sarcastic humour. "Please realise that this is wrong and just walk away," he thought out loud.

Gumboil seemed to think about how to proceed as his usual approach had failed. "Are you happy with the way Wizarding Britain is working today, Mr…" he asked.

_Wizarding _Britain_... why not 'our Wizarding Community', he's really asking for it. _Seamus groaned inside. Although Wizarding Britain included Ireland, unlike the Muggle countries, and most Irish magical people were perfectly fine with that arrangement, this was not the place where those people gathered. And who knew how many Pureblood supremacists might be present after word got around that ELF would be in this particular establishment today. The tension inside was like a Phoenix ready to burst into flames as more and more wizards began to fill the barroom. The question was how many would rise from the ashes once the burning was over.

One of the Irishmen got up from his chair and walked calmly to the barman. "Please put me mug on a heatin' charm. I have to rid us of an annoyance," he growled and turned to Gumboil.

"Mr Undertaker of Magical Dirt," he said politely. "Me lads and I are trying to enjoy a simple pint of Draíocht's finest after a hard day's work. Would ya be so kind as ta keep yer ruddy mouth shut before I feel obligated, on behalf of me esteemed fellow _Paddies_, as I believe you'd call us, to shut it for ya." He retrieved his ale, now steaming hot, and returned to his place at his table.

For the first time, Gumboil appeared seriously off-balance. He was used to taking and maintaining control of any debate, but here in this pub, he'd met his equal. Seamus watched him, hoping he would yield, stand down, enjoy a Mulled Ale, and go home. "That was the polite warnin'," Seamus told Dean. "The next warnin'll be Gumboil tossed out on his magical arse."

"And that would get the others from ELF to protest," Dean reckoned.

"... and that would be unhealthy," Seamus concluded. "The combined efforts o' St Patrick, St Andrew, and St George couldn't stop 'em then."

Dean shot his companion a rather surprised look. "Did you just list three major saints?"

"What? I'm a good Catholic boy," Seamus smirked. "For a confirmed Druid." The two of them snickered into their ale until Gumboil decided to change tactics again.

"My apologies," he addressed the pub. "A round of Mulled Ale on me."

Gumboil boldly seated himself next to the bloke who'd told him off and by the looks of it, they started talking. Seamus and Dean couldn't hear anything from where they sat, so Seamus decided he would introduce his friend to a taste of Irish cuisine and waved at a barmaid. "Miss, we'd like two orders o' Colcannon, please, with white parsley sauce if ya have it." The maid took their order and sashayed off to the kitchen.

"Seamus, do you think we're out of the woods, then? Did Gumboil give up," Dean asked hopefully.

"Let's hope so, mate. The round of ale certainly did wonders. He's talking to that bloke right now, but let's eat and keep an eye on 'em just ta be safe." The food soon arrived and Seamus dug in.

"What _is_ this," Dean asked.

"It's called Colcannon—Irish comfort food. It's boiled bacon, cabbage, 'n' mash. Try it. It's great. I grew up on it," Seamus said, dropping a huge dollop of fresh butter on it.

While they were eating, the debate over at Gumboil's end suddenly heated up. He was most-certainly running over all of his ELF propaganda by now. Seamus didn't mind that he couldn't hear it, since he'd had a steady diet of that drivel for a couple of months now.

Halfway through the meal, the Irishman got up and began to shout. "Gumboil, even for a Stranger, you have got ta be the thickest prick I've ever met. Get outta here before I toss ya out on yer right British arse!"

All activity stopped in the pub and the Irishman's friend approached him. "Patick, lad, wha'd he say?"

"He claims that since the Irish were less affected by the recent war it's fair, as an act o' solidarity, for our less-affected island ta pay higher taxes to rebuild England," the one called Patrick declared sarcastically.

_Has the man lost his mind completely?_ Seamus and Dean sat there, ready for anything.

"Now... friends..." Gumboil said. "What I said was that apart from a progressive tax where those who can afford it pay more taxes, it should also be possible to transfer funds from one region currently more prosperous to another one in need."

"Which means stealin' Irish Galleons ta pay fer the British war," Patrick's friend stated. "So despite yer fancy words, you're nothin' but another in a long line o' _thieves_."

Seamus and Dean bristled against the hostility in the pub.

"I guess this..." Patrick took the half-empty mug of ale "...was paid for by_ diverted funds_ then..."

The Irishman spat in Gumboil's face and poured the remaining half-pint over Gumboil's head. Seamus and Dean had their wands in their hands immediately and scanned the room for any impending spells to be cast. The first of many flew the next moment. Magnus Waldheimer threw an _Expelliarmus_ at Patrick's mug and blasted it out of his grip. Seamus knew a dangerous donnybrook had begun and immediately sent his fox Patronus to alert the Auror Office.

"Dean, it's you and me against... them until help comes," Seamus said with a nod to the collective group in the pub. He pressed the end of his wand to his throat and addressed the pub with his magically-amplified voice. "No silly wand wavin' and we'll all go home in one piece tonight."

Seamus powerful voice seemed to induce hesitation for a small moment.

"He's with the Brits, the ruddy southern turncoat! Blast 'em, lads," someone yelled, and in the next moment the pub flashed with colourful lights from the many hexes that filled the air.

In their joint office, Harry and Ron were reliving old memories playing Exploding Snap when Seamus' Patronus appeared. "Get here with the three teams _now_," it said before disappearing.

Harry and Ron leapt immediately from their seats, their game forgotten, and sprinted out of the office into the corridor. Harry flicked his wand to set off the internal alarm, alerting the teams to gather in the briefing room. In less than a minute, the teams were gathered and gearing up—Harry with Susan Bones and John Dawlish, Ron with Jock Thompson and Don Ross, and Cho with Terry Boot and Tony Goldstein.

"Seamus and Dean are in trouble. We go by Portkey and we'll land about a minute from the pub. There's a Muggle neighbourhood nearby, so we couldn't get any closer. Move out," Harry barked, while Ron distributed the Portkeys.

There were indeed Irish Pureblood supremacists among the crowd. They and ELF members all tried to position themselves strategically in case of trouble. That meant that the first volley of hexes was a very effective cross-fire striking several people and dropping them to the floor.

"Dean, nothing fancy! Self-defence until backup arrives. They're throwin' Reductos," Seamus ordered his friend. "And they mean business!"

Seamus knew Dean could hold his own in a fight, since he'd been trained with the original DA, but his training wasn't exactly Auror-class, so any attempted heroics in an enclosed spaced with deadly curses flying about was not recommended. Seamus attention was soon focused on a man approaching him with his wand drawn.

"Bloody damned quizzlin'," he hissed. "Reducto!"

Seamus cast a shield charm and diverted the blasting spell back at the surprised man. Despite losing most of its destructive force having being rebounded, it still threw the man forcefully backwards. "I'm no ruddy traitor, ya murderin' bastard," Seamus snarled. "Dean! Back-to-back, mate," Seamus barked. Carefully and watchfully, they moved out from their corner table and covered one other with shields and impediment charms.

Seamus noticed Gumboil, the Dearborn brothers, and Waldheimer holding off a heavily-concentrated attack at the centre of the pub. Apart from the Irish fighting against ELF in particular, the Pureblood supremacists added to the melee by attacking both the Irish Muggleborn and Half-blood nationalists as well as ELF members. Seamus and Dean were both dueling hard and any thoughts about anything other than defence were tossed to the wind. _Harry, Ron, Cho... any time you like..._

In the corner of his eye Dean saw the barman getting up on the bar with a very high-powered and very Muggle shotgun in his hands. "Seamus... barman... shotgun..." Dean said between his defensive spells.

"Shotgun!" Seamus asked at the same time as he noticed Patrick advancing on Gumboil's back. "Shit!" As if in slow motion, Seamus watched in horror as Patrick raised his wand. He quickly threw a Reducto at the floor to clear the path and lunged forward. He didn't like Gumboil, but if an Irishman cursed him in the back and killed him there'd be trouble. Too late to disarm Patrick, Seamus threw himself in the path of the curse, a purplish-black curse he recognised any day of the week. As he felt the _Sectumsempra_ rip gashes into his torso, for some reason he grinned at the irony that he'd sought out the very curse that usually sought him out. There was no pain…yet.

"Seamus!" Dean yelled as his friend took the horrible curse to his chest and crashed to the floor bleeding out. "No, bloody heroics..." Dean turned to the barman who quickly fired three rounds in Gumboil's direction. Someone in the group fell to the floor.

"_Impedimenta!_" Dean's spell threw the barman backwards, shattering the massive mirror and several bottles of liquor before he disappeared unconscious behind the bar. A loud crash caught Dean's attention. A rather heavy chandelier that had been struck by a stray curse fell to the floor disturbingly close to where Dean had last had seen Seamus fall. "Seamus!" There was no way his injured friend could hear him over the din in the pub.

Heroics aside, Dean decided to make his way towards the place where he was sure Seamus lay. Just then, Dean thought the Almighty himself blew the pub door off its hinges. There stood the imposing and very-frightening form of Assistant Chief Auror "Red" Ron Weasley, who stepped menacingly into the pub, dodging a stunner, trying to make sense of the chaos.

"Aurors! Surrender your wands immediately," Harry's voice boomed through the room without any apparent effect. After a few seconds, Harry fired blazing red sparks from his wand, signalling the others to attack.

Ron's group attacked from the main entrance, while Harry had taken the back door and attacked from the kitchen. Cho blasted through a side window allowing the Aurors to mount a pincer attack. The Aurors repeated the volley of Stunners they used to quell the Montrose riots, but in this pub, with all the shields up, it had little effect.

_Damn!_ "Take them out by any means necessary," Harry barked, understanding to his own chagrin that breaking up this fight would require more powerful spells than _Stupefy_.

Ron moved in with Thompson and Ross, one shielding, one firing Reductos to blast shields apart, and the third firing stunners at a rapid pace as soon as there was an opening. After successfully taking down several combatants, the Aurors had to switch to one-on-one duels, because of fallen bodies, debris, and overturned furniture making coordinated team work too dangerous.

"Weasley, over here," Dean cried as he dodged curses around the fallen chandelier.

"Thomas, hang on, mate," Ron shouted back, quickly moving to manoeuvre him into the line of Aurors. The fight lasted less than another minute as the Aurors took control of the situation.

Dean tore at his hair, devastated. "I can't find Seamus. He's over here somewhere. The bloody loon threw himself in front of a curse and the next moment the bleeding chandelier fell."

Dean and Ron ignited their wands and immediately found Seamus covered in blood underneath the chandelier. Dean pushed away a broken chair and knelt down next to him. "You'd better not be dead, damn you... or I'll kill you myself," Dean said, holding back a sob. He and Seamus Finnegan had been best mates since their first year at Hogwarts and to lose him now would break Dean Thomas for good and all.

Seamus moved his head, gazed up at his friend, and tried to smile while Ron worked to levitate the chandelier off him. Harry approached them and took in the scene.

"Ron," he asked.

"Seamus is hurt, Harry. Caught a curse in his chest and then this bloody thing fell on him," Dean said.

Harry quickly looked at Seamus. "You've lost some blood. I'll put you in a body bind, in case there's internal damage, and have you out of here and at Hogwarts in a tick," Harry promised.

Seamus nodded slowly. "That... sounds... fine...sir," he said weakly.

"How are the teams," Ron asked Harry, setting the smashed light fixture on the floor next to a broken table.

"Not too bad. Chang broke ribs again, Dawlish got his hair burnt off by some dodgy curse—he looks rather funny, actually. Bones... broke a bone... her leg," Harry reported and drew a deep breath "Among the others, there are three dead."

The Aurors quickly triaged the wounded and sent to seriously injured to Healers down in Belfast and in Antrim proper. Boot and Goldstein took names and initial statements from and about everyone involved for upcoming interviews to hear all sides and learn just exactly what happened. _Priori incantatem_ charms performed on captured wands revealed only a few spells that warranted immediate arrest, with five wizards escorted to lock-up by Jock Thompson and Don Ross, including Patrick.

Ernie Dearborn sat on the floor in shock next to the limp body of his brother, Eldon. What used to be Eldon's face was a soggy mess of flesh and blood with bits of bone sticking out. One of the gun shots or possibly a Reducto had struck him square in the face. He was dead before he hit the floor. Alastor Gumboil escaped the battle with only a bruise on his left cheek.

Ernie turned red and puffy eyes to the leader of ELF with anger and hurt radiating from them. "Next time, Alastor... will you believe Seamus? He tried to tell you, and now my brother is dead."

Dean heard him. "And I watched as Seamus threw himself in harm's way to save you, Mr Undersecretary," Dean spat. "I hope you won't have to have his life on your conscience as well."

Harry intervened before the soft words of regret became angry ones of confrontation. He sent Ron and Dean to escort Seamus to Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey was highly-skilled at treating the Sectumsempra curse, and St Mungo's would have a busy night as it was already, what with four injured Aurors to contend with.

Harry surveyed the demolished pub and shook his head. _This didn't have to happen. Why didn't they listen?_ He took a few deep breaths and then opened the bond to report to Ginny.

"_I won't be home for a while, Gin. Seamus was right. It's a war-zone."_

"_I understand, Love. Just take care of your people and I'll be here when you get home." _Ginny sent Harry a wave of her love to give him strength as Gumboil approached him.

"Head Auror Potter? I take it you arrested the lot here?"

"Should that include you, Mr Undersecretary," Harry replied coldly.

"Of course not, Auror Potter. I…we were attacked without warning," Gumboil replied.

Harry didn't believe that for a moment. "I'll need a statement from you as to what happened here tonight," Harry demanded as some of the revived Irishmen were sent home with direct warnings to stay there. None of them offered any argument.

"Of course, but are you letting them go? I order you to arrest them," Gumboil protested.

"Mr Undersecretary, you may hold higher rank at the Ministry, but in the field, you have no jurisdiction over me or my people. As a former Hit wizard, you ought to be aware of that. I know you've been attacked and we'll get to the bottom of this, but for now, I'd suggest you clear out."

Gumboil nodded, but his annoyance was evident by the look on his face. He hated to admit it, but Harry was right. The commanding law-enforcement officer in the field outranked even the Minister himself. This rule had been enacted to avoid the complications that could result from high ranking Ministry officials, in many cases without proper knowledge and training, interfering with Auror, Hit wizard or MLE Squad operations. With another stiff nod Gumboil left the pub.


	26. Chapter 26 Blessed Curses

**Chapter 26 – Blessed Curses**

"Stay with us, mate," Dean coached as Seamus drifted in and out of consciousness. "We're almost there!" He and Ron had Apparated to the Hogwarts gates from the demolished pub in Antrim.

Ron sent his Patronus to Hagrid, begging him to come quickly and open the gates. "Hagrid's coming, see? Hang on!"

"Fi…ona," Seamus moaned as his head lolled around on his shoulders. "Sleep now."

"No, Seamus. Don't go to sleep! Stay with me," Dean cried, tears filling his dark brown eyes. "Fiona's coming too!" Dean looked up at Ron with a questioning gaze. "Who or what is Fiona?"

"My cousin," Ron replied. "He likes her."

Rubeus Hagrid moved as fast as a man his size could move, a ring of keys clutched in his dustbin lid-sized hand. "Woss 'appened to Seamus, Ron," the half-Giant asked, unlocking the great iron gates.

"Rally…" Ron huffed as he and Dean pulled Seamus through the gates. "Fight."

"'Ere now, lemme tak 'im," Hagrid said in his gravelly voice. "Yer two look like yer about ta pass out yersels." Hagrid lifted a still-bleeding Seamus into his massive arms and sped off toward the castle. "Tak' yer time. Ye've done yer bit."

Ron and Dean bent over with their hands on their knees, sucking great gulps of air into their lungs. Their backs ached from the fight and they had all they good do to remain upright. Ron shook his shaggy red head, his ponytail having long-since fallen from its leather thong. "Reckon we should head up, then?"

"Yeah," Dean panted, standing up with a groan to straighten his back. "Let's go." The only time Dean Thomas could remember being this scared was the night he and the Trio were picked up by Fenrir Greyback and a few of Voldemort's Snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor. That night, he feared for his own life, but tonight, he feared for his best mate's. _Please let him make it_.

For his part, Ron was grateful Hermione wasn't there. She had agreed that she should stay home with Ginny, admitting later on that she didn't really want to be there because she knew in her heart-of-hearts that something was going to happen and she'd have been a distraction for Seamus and Dean and ultimately, for him and Harry. _My beautiful Hermione might have been killed tonight_. When the full impact of what happened in that Antrim pub hit him, he stumbled and nearly fell to his knees.

"You all right, Ron," Dean asked with concern. "Should I call for help?"

"No," Ron replied, choking back a sob. "I was just thinking about Hermione and what…what might've happened if she had been with you."

"Wasn't going to happen, mate," Dean said, clapping the larger man on the back. "We told her at the meeting at the Broomsticks that she wasn't going to be there. She didn't argue."

"She didn't argue with me either," Ron replied as they pushed through the doors into the castle. "She was actually relieved when you and Seamus told her you weren't going to let her go."

"Like there was ever a question. That place was no place for witch like her," Dean chuckled. "She's far above a place like that."

"Thanks, Dean. I think so, too," Ron said sincerely, squeezing his companion's shoulder. "Let's get upstairs, yeah?"

Hagrid burst through the hospital wing doors, bellowing at the top of his voice. "Poppy! Fiona! Come quick! 'E's bleedin' out!"

Poppy Pomfrey rushed from her office with Fiona on her heels. "Hagrid, what's going on? Oh dear," she cried. "Fiona, blood replenishing potions, clean bandages, and the purple ointment. Quickly!"

"Yes ma'am!" Fiona raced to the cabinet as fast as she could, grabbing the items the matron asked for. "What can I do?"

"You can pour three vials of that BRP down his throat and then help me stop the bleeding," Poppy said breathlessly. "Stay with me, Mr Finnegan. You're going to be fine if I have anything to say about it!"

_Finnegan? Seamus?_ Fiona's mind began to race and her heart to pound. "Great Merlin and Maeve, what happened to you," she cried, watching his ashen face and trying to clean the wounds so Poppy could heal them. "Stay with us, Seamus. _Talk to me!_"

"Another vial, Fiona. Quickly," Poppy ordered between muttered spells.

"Fi…Fiona," Seamus moaned. "Is that…you…me darlin'…girl?"

Fiona couldn't help but smile, even though she knew he was out of his head due to the blood loss. "It's me," she said. "Come on, I need ya ta take this here potion to replace the blood ya lost." She raised his head gently and lifted another vial to his lips.

"Hagrid, please find Professors Flitwick and Slughorn. I'm going to need some help with these cuts and we're going to need more BRP and some heavy restoratives," Poppy ordered.

"Righ' away, Madame Pomfrey," Hagrid said. "Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas should be along soon. They're gonna need a kip."

"Fine, fine," Poppy said absently. "Go!"

Hagrid left the ward and shot through the doors. At first, he couldn't decide who to go to first, but then thought that potions might be more important, so he made his way to the stairs that led to the dungeons.

"Fiona, as soon as I close a wound, you need to slather that ointment over the incision, understand," the matron said. "It smells awful, but it does the job."

"Yes, ma'am. I worked with it a little at St Mungo's with Jason," Fiona said, still stealing glances at Seamus' face. "How ya doin', there, Auror?"

Seamus groaned and tried to smile. "Enjoyin'…the…scenery," he said weakly.

"Mr Finnegan, now is not the time to flirt," Poppy huffed, secretly pleased that he was at least joking a little bit. It was a good sign that he'd pull through. "However, it is time to do as you're told. Fiona, another vial!"

Fiona reached over to the side table and picked up another vial of the clear red liquid. "Bottoms up," she said brightly and lifted his head again so he could drink it. As soon as she was sure he'd swallowed it all, she laid his head back on the pillow.

"God-awful stuff," he moaned. "Ah!" He hissed in a breath when the nurse touched a particularly tender spot on his chest. The adrenaline had begun to leave his system and he was now fully aware of his injuries.

"I'm very sorry, Mr Finnegan, but this one's rather deep. And where did this bruise come from," she asked.

"A ruddy chandelier fell on him," Dean's voice replied from across the ward. "The bastards cut him to ribbons and then dropped a damned chandelier on him!"

"Mr Thomas! Mr Weasley! Bed! Now," the matron ordered. The two exhausted crime-fighters were all too eager to obey, not because Madame Pomfrey put the fear of Merlin into them, but because they were about ready to drop. They chose beds on either side of their wounded comrade and dropped themselves onto them.

"Will he make it," Dean asked quietly.

"If we can stop the bleeding, yes, Mr Thomas. He'll make it," Poppy answered.

Professor Flitwick sat in his favourite easy chair in his quarters, sipping a glass of Madame Rosmerta's best Gillywater when he heard a commotion from outside the door. He leapt down from the chair and tottered to the door. "What on earth—"

"Perfesser Flitwick, come quick ter the 'osptial wing. Madame Pomfrey needs yer straightaway," Hagrid growled urgently.

"I'll be right there," the Charms professor promised, tossing off his smoking jacket in favour of his professor's robes. He wondered what might have happened to cause Poppy to send for him. He tossed a bit of Floo Powder into his fireplace and called "Hospital Wing." He stepped in and disappeared with a whoosh of green flame.

Horace Slughorn shouldered his portable potions lab he kept in a charmed knapsack and rushed through the Floo to the hospital wing where he found Madame Pomfrey and Miss Prewett working feverishly over a patient. The sheets were stained deep crimson and the nurses were covered with blood up to their elbows. "What's going on," he asked, his face full of fear.

"Sectumsempra curse, Horace," Poppy replied. "I'll need more BRP and some restoratives."

"Dear me," he said, setting up his equipment on a vacant side-table. "_Engorgio_," he muttered, and the table quadrupled in size. "Ah, that's more like it. Now, blood-replenishing potion first, then." The Potions Master set to work, expertly brewing enough for ten wizards.

A few minutes later, Flitwick arrived and scurried over to Seamus' beside. "What can I do to help, ladies," he asked.

"We need an extra wand here, Filius," Poppy said. "This boy—this man—has been cut to ribbons with Severus' damnable cutting curse!"

Flitwick transfigured a chair into a tall stool he could stand on so he could see over Seamus' body. "Oh dear, dear, dear, Mr Finnegan," he squeaked. "You have done it this time, haven't you?" The tiny wizard set to healing cuts while Fiona smeared the foul-smelling ointment over them in his wake.

Two mages could heal wounds faster than one, and since Fiona pushed blood-replenishing potions between smearings, Seamus began to breathe easier and his colour improved markedly. A half-hour later, the three stepped back and breathed collective sighs of relief. "Horace, how are we coming with that first restorative?"

"It'll be finished in about twenty minutes, Poppy," he replied, handing her several vials of blood-replenishing potion. "Judging from the amount of blood he's lost, I thought I should brew the BRP first."

"Good thinking, Horace," Flitwick agreed. "Our Mr Finnegan's not out of the woods yet."

"No and he's going to need a round-the-clock watch, tonight," Poppy said gravely.

"I'll stay with him," Dean offered. "I've got nothing going on at home right now."

"Mr Thomas, are you sure," the matron asked. "It's going to be a long night."

"I'll spell 'im halfway through," Fiona offered. "That way nobody's up all night."

"Fine, then. I'll take first watch. Mr Thomas, I'll wake you for the second, and Fiona can take the third. Is that all right with you," Poppy asked. Dean and Fiona nodded. "Right then. Mr Thomas, to your bed; Fiona to your quarters. Mr Thomas can Floo you when it's your turn."

"Yes ma'am."

"Fiona," Ron called from his bed.

"Yeah, Ronnie," she answered. "Whattaya need, honey?"

"Could you Floo the Burrow and let Mum, Dad, and Hermione know we're all right? I think Harry's already contacted Ginny, but we might want to let them know anyway," he said.

"Sure," Fiona said. "I'll let 'em know as soon as I get to my quarters."

"Thanks, Onie—you're the best," Ron smiled and promptly dropped off to sleep.

"All right, Mr Thomas," Fiona fussed. "You need to crawl in too. Yer shift's comin' up in four hours."

"You'll have no argument from me," he yawned. "Thanks for looking after my mate over there."

"Now you jus' never mind," she whispered, patting his foot. "I was doin' my job is all. Good night." Fiona blew out the flame of his bedside lamp and then helped Poppy finish cleaning Seamus up and to change his linens. Dean turned over in his bed and drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that his best friend would be there when he awoke.

It seemed as though Fiona had just lain down when she was awakened by a voice in the Floo. "Miss Fiona," the voice called. "It's your shift."

"All…all right, Mr Thomas," she replied with a stretch and a groan. "How's he doin' so far?"

"He's still sleeping," Dean said. "Madame Pomfrey says he should sleep for a few more hours yet."

"Good. I'll be right down." Fiona swung her legs over the side of the bed and headed into the loo for a quick shower and a change of scrubs. She hadn't even bothered to put on nightclothes, she was so tired. Throwing her ever-present rucksack over her shoulder, she whistled for Mr Deeds who hooted and left his perch to fly out the door and lead the way to the hospital wing.

As soon as she arrived in the hospital wing, she removed her rucksack and set it down in the corner by the office. She opened it and withdrew her wand. Ron lay on his belly with his arms tucked under his pillow, fast asleep, snoring softly. Dean had returned to his seat on Seamus' left after waking Fiona. "He's asleep, but he mumbled something that sounded like your name," Dean told her.

"He's liable ta say just about anything in his state," Fiona replied, waving her wand the length of Seamus' body. "We gave him Dreamless Sleep Potion, but that was almost nine hours ago, so it's just about time for 'im to start comin' to."

"Madame Pomfrey says he's healing, but awfully slowly," Dean reported, a little worried.

"He's got some nasty curse wounds, Mr Thomas—"

"Dean. It's Dean," the younger man insisted.

"All right. Dean. As I was sayin', he's got some nasty curse wounds. I ain't never seen anything like 'em 'til I visited that seventh-year at St Mungo's. Until then, I'd never even heard of Sectumsempra, let alone ever tried to heal it."

"It was really popular with Vol…Vol…Voldemort's Death Eaters. In fact, one of our old professors invented it when he was a student here," Dean told her. "Harry discovered it our sixth year. Almost killed Draco Malfoy with it because he didn't know what it would do."

"Harry? As in Harry Potter," Fiona asked, aghast.

"Yeah. He found it in an old Potions book that used to belong to Professor Snape," Dean said. "Ron, Hermione, and Ginny finally talked him into getting rid of the book. I don't know what he did with it, but it's gone."

"Good riddance," Fiona said, finishing her scan. "Now you go back to bed for a few hours. Breakfast—well, you know when breakfast is served, don't you?"

"Yeah. I do," Dean chuckled. "After seven years here, I ought to. Well, goodnight, then."

"Sleep tight," Fiona said. As soon as Dean tucked back in, she cast a silencing charm around his bed so as not to disturb him in case Seamus woke up in pain. "As for you, Auror Finnegan—you jus' stay in La-La Land for a bit longer so you can heal." She walked back to her rucksack and removed a miniaturised Mokey. _I might as well play a bit_.

Fiona worked through a few mountain songs and a couple of hymns in between thoughts about what had happened to Seamus and why. It sounded to her like a lot of the stories her mother told her and Taya about freedom-fighters in Ireland's storied history and the struggles they endured in the name of independent home-rule.

Those stories reminded her of other stories Granny Tyree told her about the American Revolution and even the War-Between-the-States. _"T'weren't nothin' civil about that war, girls! War ain't civil a'tall! It's bloody business 'n' ain't fit fer human bein's."_ An old song about the Easter Uprising in Dublin in 1916 came to mind—one that her mother used to sing as a lullabye. Adjusting her capo, she began to play.

_As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I;_  
_There armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by._  
_No pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound its loud tattoo,_  
_But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey's swell rang out through the foggy dew._

'_Twas England bade our wild geese go, that "small nations might be free;"_  
_Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the great North Sea._

_Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha,_

_Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew._

_Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war;_  
'_Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud-El-Bar._

_And from the plains of Royal Meath, strong men came hurrying through._  
_While Britannia's Huns, with their great-big guns sailed in through the foggy dew._

_Oh the night fell black, and the rifles' crack made perfidious Albion reel_  
_In the leaden rain, seven tongues of flame did shine o'er the lines of steel!_  
_By each shining blade a prayer was said, that to Ireland her sons be true,_  
_But when morning broke, still the war flag shook out its folds in the foggy dew!_

_Oh the bravest fell, and the Requiem bell rang mournfully and clear_  
_For those who died that Eastertide in the spring time of the year;_  
_And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few,_  
_Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew._

_As back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore,_  
_For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more._  
_But to and fro in my dreams I go and I kneel and pray for you:_  
_For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew_.

"Am I dead, then," a weak voice said, startling Fiona from her reverie. "I could swear I'm hearin' angels."

Fiona's eyes grew wide as she looked into the face of a pale, but grinning, Seamus Finnegan. "You're awake, Auror Finnegan."

"Then I'm still among the livin," he asked.

"I'm afraid so," Fiona said. She couldn't help but smile. "Ya did give us a scare, though. You almost bled out on us. If it wasn't fer Ron and Dean…"

"Ach, nothin' doin', darlin'," Seamus said. "Just a few scratches."

"Scratches, my left food," Fiona said, putting Mokey in his case and shrinking him down. "You were cut to ribbons, not to mention the fractured ribs." She placed the guitar back into her rucksack and drew her wand again.

"Ruddy damned chandelier," Seamus said with a chuckle. He then began to cough. "I forgot not to laugh."

"Don't laugh, Auror—"

"Seamus. Me name's Seamus, Love," he said. "So do I have a lovely Fenian lookin' after me, then?"

"Not me, but my momma's granddaddy was a Fenian," Fiona said. "She told me he got in a few scrapes with the Tommies."

"Ya better watch that word around here, Love," Seamus warned with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

She chose to ignore the warning and stick to business, summoning a basin, flannel, towel, clean bandages and the jar of purple ointment. "It's time to wash you up 'n' change yer dressin's. Can ya sit up or do ya need me to help ya?"

"I could use a hand, if ya don't mind," Seamus said, trying to raise himself up. "I'm a bit stiff."

"I'm sure," Fiona said with a private smile. "All right. Let's unbutton your shirt and then we'll setcha up so we can take it off ya. Ready? Up!"

Fiona released the button of Seamus' pyjama shirt and then braced him behind his shoulders and helped him sit up. "I've never been undressed by a beautiful Fenian before," Seamus flirted. "I think I could get used to it."

"I'm glad you're havin' such a good time," Fiona smiled. "Let's see how ya handle the beautiful Fenian givin' ya a bath." As she slid the pyjama shirt off him, she sucked in a breath. His muscled chest was covered with bruises. His entire upper torso was wrapped in linen bandages, some showing evidence of oozing. The pressure bandage on his stomach was half-soaked.

"Somethin' wrong, Love," Seamus asked. "Ya look like ye've heard a Banshee cry."

"I…I'm fine. It's just—"

"Ya've never seen anything like this before," he asked again. "It's all right, darlin'. Ya gotta find out some day, 'n' if yer gonna be healin' Aurors, ye're gonna see a lot of it. Now how 'bout that bath?"

_I'd love to do more than bathe you. Merlin, you're gorgeous_. "Oh, yeah. Here, let's get these old bandages off." Fiona set to carefully cutting the wraps and removing them from the wounds. She blinked back a few tears the moment she saw the extent of his injuries. She hadn't given it much thought the night before, as she and Poppy were too busy staunching the flow of blood to pay much attention to the cosmetic appearance. "Um…I'll take care of everything above the waist and let you take care of the rest if ye're able."

"We'll have to see." Seamus would have liked nothing better than to allow this beautiful redhead to take care of the rest, but if any of his private fantasies had a prayer of becoming reality, he'd have to put off the ladies' man and put on the gentleman. "We won't know until we try."

"Fair enough," she replied. "Now I'm going to let you wash your face first, then I'll do your arms, chest, back, and belly." She handed him the soapy flannel so he could wash his face. There was still a bit of dust in his hair and on his face and neck. "When we're done, I'll see what I can do with your dusty head. What is it with you Aurors and hair?"

Seamus washed his face and neck and then handed her the flannel, so she could rinse the soap off it. He wiped the soap off and held his hand out for the towel, which she gave him. "Harry started that, actually. Ginny wouldn't let him cut his hair after the war, and so it sort of snowballed from there. Even Boot and Goldstein have deserted their barbers."

"I like it," Fiona said, before she could catch herself. "I mean…um…it's… Oh hell. It looks good on ya."

_YES!_ "It looks all right on me," Seamus asked, surprised. "Honest?"

"Oh yeah. I like long hair on a man. Always did," Fiona said. "It's quite popular back home. The Carver boys are famous for it. Jackie wears his like Willie Nelson—two braids and a bandanna around his head." She took the towel from Seamus and began to gingerly wash his chest. As she passed over a particularly nasty gash over his sternum, he let out a hiss. "Oh Seamus. I'm so sorry, I—"

"S'arright, darlin'," he said wincing. "Goes with the territory. I'm all right. Go on. Who's Willie Nelson?"

"He's an American country singer," Fiona said. "I love Muggle country music. Hell, I love Muggle everything music, pretty much—'cept rap 'n' hip-hop. It sounds like fartin' to a beat. Gives me a headache."

Seamus began to chuckle and then cough. "Oh, don't make me laugh. Dean listens ta that stuff—bloody annoyin'." He coughed a few more times and then settled when Fiona gave him a sip of water.

"Okay now," she asked. "Sorry about that."

"It's nothin', Love. So where'd ya learn _The Foggy Dew_," Seamus asked, enjoying Fiona's ministrations. "It's one of me da's favourites."

"My momma used to sing it as a lullabye," she replied, still washing his chest. "I think it's more about the melody, though, because the words ain't nothin' remotely lullabye-ish."

"It's about an uprisin' that got a lot o' good men killed," Seamus said.

"Yeah, I know. Momma said her granddaddy was there, but managed to escape before he got arrested when it was all over," Fiona said. "She heard all the stories. It wasn't pretty."

"No, it wasn't. But—ow," Seamus cried. "That bloody hurt!"

"Sorry," she winced. "It's this really ugly one on yer belly. Hang on," she said apologetically, pulling her wand. "I need to see if I can seal this again." Concentrating as closely as she could, she moved her wand slowly over the oozing slice. "Good grief! If I ever get my hands on that Snape guy, I'll rip his cajones off!"

I need to requisition a wrist-holster for this woman. "Ya won't, Love," Seamus said through his teeth. "He's dead. Voldemort killed 'im in the war."

"Good. Why ain't this one o' them Unforgivables," Fiona fumed. "Damnation!"

"Makes ya wonder, doesn't it," Seamus agreed. "It cuts through things better than Diffindo, though."

"Yeah 'n' the AK is good for slaughterin' beef cattle, but folks got no business cuttin' each other up like this! You could-a…could-a…" She wiped a few rogue tears on her sleeve. "I'm…I'm sorry. I don't know what's the matter with me. I don't usually…get all worked up like this."

"It's all right, Love," he said, taking her hand. "With what's been goin' on this past month, it's amazin' ya haven't gone ta pieces before now."

"I ain't goin' ta pieces," she countered. "I just never seen so much violence and hatred, Seamus. What's goin' on with folks these days? Wasn't that war enough for 'em," she asked, tears streaming down her face as she worked. "Here, do yer family jewels and lemme know when ye're ready to rinse." She handed him the freshly-soaped flannel so he could finish the job and then turned around to give him some privacy.

A few minutes later, Seamus was ready for a rinse. She laid the towel next to him so he could dry himself. "Fiona, do ya think ya could help me ta the loo?"

"Uh…okay. Just put your arm around my shoulders and we'll go one step at a time, okay," she replied. "Ready?"

"Ready," he confirmed. She helped him swing his pyjama-clad legs over the side of the bed and then supported him as he stood on shaking legs.

"You all right," she asked. "Ye're a bit wobbly and lookin' a little peak-ed."

"Yeah," he groaned. "But I've got a beautiful Healer by my side. What more could a lad ask for?"

"Flirt," she said, blushing scarlet.

"I'm not flirtin'; I'm serious. What about that date," he asked.

"Seamus, ye're in no shape ta be talkin' about datin'," Fiona said, blushing furiously. "Ya got a lot o' healin' ta do."

"I'm ready ta go dancin', Love. I know a great pub in Dublin that has live band jams and a bit o' dancin' on Saturday nights," Seamus insisted. "But first I need the loo!" They shared a quiet laugh as Fiona helped the wounded Auror to the loo.

"Think ye'll be all right in there," Fiona asked, a little concerned about his pallor. "I could wake Dean or Ron—"

"Nah, let 'em sleep. They had a rough go of it. I'm fine," Seamus assured her. "There's stuff ta hold on to."

"If ya have any trouble—"

"I'm good, Love," Seamus chuckled, but didn't cough. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

"I'll be countin' the seconds," Fiona smirked.

"Now who's flirtin'," Seamus smiled, closing the door.

"_Fiona, girl, that is one good-lookin' man, and ye're a downright fool if you let that go," _a facsimile ofGranny's voice sounded in her mind.

"_But can I trust him?"_

"_He ain't that dad-gum big-talkin' horse's patoot ya just got rid of. He's a good man, this Irishman. He's got a thing fer you, girl,"_ Granny's voice argued.

"_Harry says he's a ladies' man."_

"_Didn't sound like a ladies' man, though, did 'e? Nope, this is the real deal, Onie-girl, and ya need ta latch onto 'im 'fore he gits away,"_ Granny's voice reaffirmed.

She was just about to form another mental counterpoint when she heard the lock turn behind her. "Everything come out all right," she asked with a smirk. _If he can flirt, so can I_.

"Good as gold," he quipped, reaching for her arm. "Shall we take a walk, then?"

"I thoughtcha were ready ta go dancin'," Fiona replied.

"I am, but not 'til next week," he said with a series of winces. "Need me rest."

"That ya do, but next Saturday is Ronnie's and Hermione's Stag 'n' Hen night," Fiona reminded him. "Ya won't be doin' any dancin' 'til the weddin', honey."

"Ifreann na Fola! I ruddy forgot about that," Seamus said, dropping onto his bed.

"How's that? You freed a what," Fiona asked with raised eyebrows.

"_Ifreann na Fola_," Seamus gasped. "It means _bloody hell_."

"All right, super-Auror," Fiona said resolutely. "Back into bed with ya. Dinky!"

_Pop!_ "Yes, Miss Fiona," the diminutive House elf replied with a curtsy.

"Dinky, darlin', could you bring some breakfast to our heroes? Mr Thomas and Mr Weasley can have anything you bring, but Mr Finnegan here is limited to broth, jello—er, jelly—clear juice, water, and plain tea. Understand?"

"What," Seamus exclaimed. "I'm healin'! I need me meals!"

"Nothing heavy yet, Seamus Finnegan. Ye've got a belly wound. No sense gobblin' like a hawg if ye're gonna heave it all up again," Fiona argued. "Now just lay back 'n' hush. If ye're a good boy, I might let you have an ice at supper-time."

"And I thoughtcha were an angel. Ye're the divvil in disguise, ya are," Seamus huffed, wincing as he tried to cross his arms over his chest.

Fiona sent Dinky on her way and then returned to Seamus' bedside. "Aw, now ye're not gonna hold a little broth 'n' juice against me, are ya," she said, batting her long lashes. "Ye'll thank me for it later, I promise."

Seamus took her soft hand in his and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. "I s'pose I'll survive it. Now, about that date, Miss Prewett…"

"Fine. Okay. I'll go, but it'll have to be after Christmas," Fiona said with a grin.

"New Year's Eve then," he said. "They're havin' a party at McGourthy's. Ya might wanna bring that guitar o' yers, too."

"I thoughtcha said we were goin' dancin', not singin'," Fiona said in mock-suspicion.

"Singin' and dancin' go hand-in-hand where I come from," Seamus replied. "Don't ya's do that in America?"

"Of course they do that in America," a new voice called from the centre of the ward.

"Hermione! What brings you to Hogwarts—oh. Duh," Fiona laughed. "He's still out, but Dinky's bringin' breakfast in a few minutes, so I'm sure he'll wake up—"

"Breakfast," a sleepy voice said. "Did someone say breakfast?"

"RON! Oh Ron, are you—" Hermione cried. "Harry said you were okay, but I had to come and see for myself when you didn't come home!"

_Pop!_ Dinky arrived balancing three trays in her hands and on her head. "Dinky is bringing breakfast for the Aurors, now. Auror Finny'll be taking his time, sir. Auror Finny is not to eat too fast," she said authoritatively.

Dinky had been assigned to the hospital wing to help out any way she could, as she was too small to work in the kitchens or do much cleaning around the castle. She was quite helpful, fetching potions and bandages whenever Fiona or Madame Pomfrey needed them, and was responsible for bringing meals to in-patients. She watched and listened carefully when the Healers took care of their patients and learned a bit about healing herself.

"Here, Dinky, let me take that tray for you," Hermione suggested, taking the heavily-laden tray from her head. "I assume this one's for my fiancé?"

"Yes, Miss Grangey," Dinky replied. "It is for Auror Wheezy, sir. Dinky is waking Mr Thomas, sir, now." Dinky held the last tray in both hands and hopped up onto Dean's bed. "Mr Thomas, sir. Dinky is bringing you breakfast. Needing to eat, sir."

Dean stirred and then rolled over to find the tiniest House-elf he'd ever seen standing on the foot of his bed. "Uh…thanks…erm…"

"Dinky, sir. They is calling me Dinky because of Dinky's size, sir," she said in a squeaky voice.

"Right. Dinky. Thanks," Dean said.

"Sir is most welcome," Dinky said. She hopped down and padded to the office and went inside.

"She. Is. Adorable," Hermione said, preparing to feed Ron his breakfast.

"'Mione, I'm all right. I can—" Ron protested weakly.

"I know, Love, but…just humour me, okay? I missed you last night," she argued with a blush. "Open wide."

"Bloody hell," Ron grumbled, but allowed her to feed him. "I feel like a two-year-old."

"Mm, but you don't look like one," Hermione said, feeding him a bit of sausage. She leaned in to his ear and flicked her tongue at it. "And you sure don't shag like one either."

Fiona picked up the bowl of chicken broth and sat down beside Seamus on the bed. "Hungry, Finny?"

_Oh I'm hungry all right, but not for that soup_. "Go on, then." Seamus opened his mouth so Fiona could spoon some of the broth into it.

"Good boy," Fiona cooed. Her stomach flipped, leaving a warm feeling pooling in her belly. _I never thought feeding a man some soup could be so…wow_. "Is it settin' good on yer stomach?"

"So far, so good. I got good warm broth and a lovely Fenian face ta go with it," Seamus said softly, looking into her sky-blue eyes. "I could get used ta this." _Eat your heart out, Watson, you git_.

"Ye're flirtin' again," Fiona said with a soft smile. "I could get used to that, too."

Seamus took the spoon from Fiona's right hand and placed it inside the bowl. Taking her now-free hand in his, he raised it to his lips and kissed it gently. A chill ran down the redhead's spine, raising goose-flesh all over her body. "There's more where that came from, Love."

Her gaze locked with his. She couldn't bring herself to look away. Seamus pressed his lips to her hand once again, taking her breath away, but never breaking his gaze. His eyes searched hers almost desperately.

Ron and Hermione stopped what they were doing when the room went quiet. Dean stared on in disbelief at his friend and the Apprentice Healer, who appeared to be engaged in a silent conversation.

"He's flirting with my cousin," Ron hissed. "I'm not going to let him—"

"Leave it, Ronald. He's looking at her like you look at me and like Harry looks at Ginny," Hermione said, running the back of her index finger along his jaw line.

"How can he…but they just…she's—" Ron sputtered.

"It doesn't matter, Ron. They're falling in love," Hermione smiled broadly. "Molly's going to be thrilled!"

"But…they hardly know each other," Ron argued. "He just dumped Lavender!"

"Ronald, just leave it. She's a grown woman and fully-qualified witch," Hermione argued. "She can take care of herself."

"But 'Mione—"

"_Leave it_, Ron. She needs someone and Seamus is really a good man. You trusted him with me," she insisted.

"That's different. Your heart wasn't on the line," Ron said.

"No, but my life was," she reminded him. "I mean, look at them. He's looking at her the same way you look at me. Only love can do that."

Ron watched his cousin and comrade-in-arms for a few moments. He had to admit that his American cousin appeared completely at ease with the scrappy Irishman. Still, he'd known and been friends with Hermione for seven years before they got together and Harry had known and been friends with Ginny for four, initially, but Seamus and Fiona had met just three short months ago. He couldn't help but harbour some degree of concern for his somewhat-vulnerable American cousin.

"Well, I guess…he just better be good to her."

"He will be. Now finish your breakfast so we can go home. Your mum's worried sick," she said, kissing him on the nose.

Monday morning found Ginny at home at Ionúin Bhaille with her mother. Harry and left for work, meeting up with Ron at the office. She and Molly hadn't had a chance to chat alone in a very long time, what with so many people in and out of the Burrow all the time. She had baked a batch of Harry now-favourite chocolate chip cookies, making sure to set aside a dozen just for him.

"Mum, relax. You put up your best against a load of amateurs," Ginny told her mother, serving her a cup of tea in her brand-new kitchen.

"But Ginny, some of those recipes are new ones," Molly worried. "They're dishes from Thanksgiving."

"Exactly, and they were wonderful. Besides, you included two of Harry's favourites. You can't lose," Ginny said, sitting across from Molly.

"I wish I could be as confident as you, dear," the older witch sighed, sipping her tea. "Ginny, this china is lovely. You let Harry spend entirely too much gold."

"Mum, when Harry decides he's going to spend, he spends, and no amount of arguing's going to stop him. I talked him out of a load of Muggle appliances, so I had to let him have his fun with the furnishings and such," Ginny laughed. "He really does love to shop."

"You father hates it," Molly giggled intimately. "He only went along to buy your school things because it gave him a chance to socialize outside the Ministry. And then once Harry came along, well, it was like having another son to guide."

"Dad's been good for Harry, too, Mum," Ginny confessed. "He told me once that at the very moments in his life when he needed the advice only a father could give, Dad was there for him. Harry really loves him."

"That dear, sweet boy. It breaks my heart to think of the horrors he's had to endure in his life. But Ginny, you've been the light in his darkness. You and Ronnie and Hermione saved his life. I shudder to think what he might have turned out like if not for your love and friendship," Molly sniffled.

"We've all saved each other at some point, Mum," Ginny said. "We would never have survived the war if we didn't have Harry and Harry couldn't have done what he had to do without us."

"That's what binds us together as a family, Ginny. When you have children, you'll understand better," Molly assured her. "Now—what have you planned for Hermione's party?"

"I was thinking about having a theme-party. Harry's taking the Troglodytes to the Black Dragon. He and Sam have something cooked up, but what it is, is a mystery. He won't say."

"Troglodytes? What in the name of Merlin's knobbly knee-caps is a troglodyte?"

"A cave-man—a Neanderthal," Ginny giggled. "Hermione called the stags that when they crashed our hen party at Shell Cottage. Harry, the git, threw three of George's Stun-bombs through the Floo and knocked us all out for a few minutes. We were all pissed out of our minds, including Hermione."

Molly worried about her boys with their Weasley temperament. Alcohol might intensify that trait and cause her boys to become dangerous. She worried mostly about Charlie and Ron, but with Bill's new wolfish traits, anything was possible. "How was Ron that night?"

"Pretty mellow, actually, Mum. When Hermione fell into his lap, he just wrapped his big arms around her and snuggled into her neck," Ginny assured her mother. "The others were too busy trying hold one another up to do anything else. Charlie and Neville were hysterical."

"Are they meeting here or at the restaurant?"

"They're going to meet at the restaurant. I'll have the hens here," Ginny sighed. "What Hermione did for mine was brilliant, but she's not about Quidditch or carousing. I think the lingerie thing might be fun. Just ask the guests to bring something…pretty and lacy…as gifts."

"Where would we find something like that? Madame Malkin doesn't sell that sort of thing," Molly observed.

"Mum, there's a Muggle shop in London called Victoria's Secret, and from what I've seen, Victoria's secret is out," Ginny giggled.

"Ginny!"

"They have the prettiest things, Mum. Knickers and bras that match in all kinds of colours, teddies, negligees, peignoirs—Fleur says Bill loves hers!"

"And Harry?"

"Mum!"

"Well?"

"Okay, okay. Let's just say I rarely have any of it on long enough to really know for sure," Ginny told her mother point-blank. For the second time in history, the great and powerful Molly Weasley was struck dumb, her face red with embarrassment. "He's a red-blooded British wizard, Mum."

"Oh poor Hermione," Molly groaned. "If Ronnie's anything like your father, she's in for it."

The image her mind conjured up of Molly Weasley dressed in a lacy teddy gave Ginny pause to consider never having children, but then again, she and Harry didn't plan on doubling the population of the Wizarding world single-handedly, either.

"Ginny, we were young once, too, you know," Molly reminded her daughter. "I used to be petite like you and your father was tall and slim like Ronnie used to be. It's just that your father didn't have the chance to build himself up like he has."

"Was he cute," Ginny asked, suddenly interested in her parents' love life.

"Oh my, yes," Molly said dreamily. "Red Weasley. He didn't much like his given name. He though it was nerdy."

"_Arthur's_ not nerdy. It's…distinguished. I mean, I'm madly in love with and married to a guy called _Harry_, for Merlin's sake. And he wears round glasses," Ginny argued. "But he does make round glasses look good…"

"And your father made red hair look good. I wasn't the only girl at Hogwarts with her cap set for Arthur Weasley, let me tell you," Molly said. "But the dear man had eyes only for me—little Molly Prewett."

"At least Dad noticed you," Ginny said. "Harry barely knew I existed. Was it that love potion you told us about?"

"Love potion? Oh that! I was seven. I think what I finally came up with was herb soup," she laughed. "It was vile!"

"That's not what you said to me and Hermione that day at the Leaky Cauldron," Ginny reminded her.

"All right, all right. I was twelve, but I didn't know what I was doing. Love potions are illegal and very hard to brew, you know that," Molly said, waving her hand while her daughter clutched her sides in laughter.

"But seriously, Ginny, Harry knew you existed. He just didn't know what to do about you," Molly assured her. "I remember the look in his eyes the moment you came down the stairs that morning your brothers rescued him in that old car. But that aside, look how long it took for Ron to finally admit his feelings for Hermione."

"Yeah, but that's different, Mum. They hung out together—they were the Golden Trio. I was just Ron's little sister," Ginny sighed. "I had all but given up on Harry until that day after we won the House Quidditch cup in '97."

"Oh your father wasn't in love with me from the day we met, Ginny. Far from it. He was awkward and shy and completely unaware of how attractive he was or how many girls would have given their wand arms for his attention," Molly said. "But I knew he was the man for me, so I was patient. Frustrated, but patient."

"When did he finally notice you, Mum?"

"Our fifth year, Valentine's Day, 1966. He caught me completely off-guard. I was sitting in the Gryffindor common room working on some project or another with Mary-Alice Landon when your father walked up—sort of stiffly, like Percy—and said, _Miss Prewett, would you do me the honour of accompanying me to Hogsmeade this Saturday_?"

"Did he really say it like that," Ginny laughed.

"Yes. Just like that," Molly giggled. "Percy is more Weasley than he knows, dear. To be honest, the rest of you are more Prewett than Weasley, except for your tempers. Percy is pretty-much all Weasley. Aunt Muriel doesn't have the slightest idea what she's talking about when it comes to Percy."

"So did you go to Hogsmeade with Daddy," Ginny asked.

"Of course! And he was the perfect gentleman, too. He'd saved his meager allowances and a few Galleons from his summer job to do it right," she remembered fondly. "We had lunch at the Three Broomsticks—Rosmerta was just a young barmaid then—and then he took me to Honeyduke's and bought me a small box of their best chocolates. He blew nearly every Knut on that date."

"When did he propose, Mum," Ginny asked.

"Graduation. Aunt Muriel didn't much approve. She's always had a disdain for the Weasley clan, but I never quite understood why. My mother was thrilled that her little girl was going to marry into one of the oldest families in Wizarding Britain," Molly said. "Granted, the Weasleys were not wealthy like the Blacks or the Malfoys or the Potters, but then again, we Prewetts weren't nobility either."

"So where did Auntie Muriel get all her money," Ginny asked, a bit confused. _If the Prewetts weren't rich, how did that old bat get her hands on all of that gold?_

"Savings and investments, dear," Molly said. "Muriel never married, so when my grandfather passed away, she invested her share of the inheritance. My father used his share to raise me and your uncles. It paid for our schooling."

"But he passed away before you graduated, didn't he," Ginny asked for clarification.

"Yes, he did. He became very ill and it weakened his heart, so my mother was left to raise us alone. As soon as the twins graduated from Hogwarts, they went to work in Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry. We weren't destitute by any means, but we weren't wealthy either."

"So Grandmother was okay with you and Dad getting married, but Aunt Muriel wasn't? Hag," Ginny snorted.

"Just remember that that _hag_, as you called her, sheltered us during the war," Molly scolded gently.

"But that doesn't give her the right to treat you and Dad like dirt under her feet," Ginny asserted. "I was so proud of Ron when he told her off that day when she insulted Onie. She had no right to say those things about Aunt Rhiannon."

"Aunt Rhiannon. Oh, she would have loved to hear you say that. She was an only child and in our year—I didn't even know she and Fabian were married. But I digress…"

"Yeah, so Dad proposed at your Graduation. That would have been—"

"1968. And like the proper Purebloods we were, our engagement lasted a year. We married in October of 1969 and Bill came along in November of 1970," Molly said. "So any of Muriel's reports about my being pregnant when I married your father are plain rubbish. I've got the documentation to prove otherwise. I came to my husband on our wedding night a virgin."

"I guess Harry and I didn't carry on that tradition, did we," Ginny said with a smirk.

"Oh well, those were different times and different circumstances, dear. You and Harry and Ron and Hermione had to grow up entirely too quickly. You stopped being children when you were eleven and twelve years old and then you fought in a war," Molly rationalised. "And that Soul-bond of yours made a lot of difference."

"I don't think Harry ever was a child," Ginny said sadly. "I mean, those relatives of his were horrible to him! Did you know he slept in a cupboard under the staircase until he got his Hogwarts letter?"

"Yes, Ginny, I know that. I know a lot of things about Harry's childhood he doesn't think I know," Molly confessed. "Daddy and I sat up many a night talking with Remus and Sirius at Grimmauld Place that summer. It took a lot of talking to keep Sirius from Apparating to Privet Drive to kill Vernon Dursley."

"They really hurt him, Mum," Ginny said. "Hermione said Harry used to flinch when people would touch him. Sometimes he still does if I touch him while he's asleep. The first time Hermione hugged him, she said he stiffened up like a board and held his breath for a moment."

"He'll get over that, dear. It's just going to take time. He's had a rough go of it for seventeen of his nineteen years. But he's got a loving wife and family around him now and I'm sure James and Lily Potter are just as proud of him as we are."

"Why did you and Daddy have seven children," Ginny asked. "I mean, how did you manage all of us?"

"Ginny, we had all of you because we wanted all of you. After you were born, the Healers told me I shouldn't have any more. I was thirty-one years old when you came along, all pink and adorable. I had a few more child-bearing years left, but I'd had all of you so close together—the twins were especially hard on me—that it literally wore me out," Molly told her daughter fondly, taking her hand. "But then we were blessed with two more when Harry and Hermione came into our lives. And I must tell you, Ginny that each and every one of you has been an absolute joy."

"I still miss Fred," Ginny said, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Harry still feels guilty about him, but I don't know how to bring it up."

"We all miss Fred, Ginny, but he lives as long as we keep his memory alive," Molly counselled her daughter. "You and Harry need to talk about Fred so you can heal. We all do. It's the only way Victoire and Teddy and however many other grandchildren are going to know about their funny Uncle Fred and how he and crazy Uncle George used to terrorise Hogwarts. They have to know about the legacy to carry it on."

"Those who love us never truly leave us," Ginny mumbled.

"What's that, dear?"

"Oh—it's something Sirius told Harry once. _Those who love us never truly leave us_. I think what you said is what he meant. It's because we keep them here and here," she said, covering her heart and tapping her temple. "But more importantly, it's because we talk about them and remember them how they lived, not that they died."

"Yes, Ginny, that's exactly what Sirius meant. I have an idea," Molly said.

"What, Mum?"

"I'm going to gather all the women in this family together—you, me, Fleur, Fiona, Hermione, and Angelina—and we're going to build a Scrapbook!"

"Mum, that's wonderful! We can do a Family Tree like that tapestry at Grimmuald Place! Hermione and Harry hold Wizengamot seats, so they can access Ministry archives and get copies of birth, marriage, and death certificates, records of commendations—and I'm sure Minerva can help us with any Hogwarts records we might use," Ginny said enthusiastically.

"And I'm sure we can coax a few photos out of our friends. Harry's got some that Hagrid managed to scrape up for that little album he loves so much, and I'll bet he's got more somewhere in those vaults of his. Albus must have salvaged something from James' and Lily's lives," Molly added.

"And it'll grow with our family! Oh Mum, this is brilliant," Ginny cried. "I've got to owl Dennis and see if he can find Colin's negatives. He's sure to have loads of pictures of Hogwarts!" Ginny was about to go off on a tangent when her eyes fell on the clock. "Great Circe! Mum, it's past noon! Dad wasn't coming home for lunch, was he?"

"No, not that I know of. Why don't you send that owl and we'll Floo home for some lunch. I've got some roast pork left over from supper last night. We can make open-face sandwiches with mash," Molly suggested.

"I'm there! Just let me owl—damn!"

"What is it, dear?"

"I keep forgetting we don't have an owl. Harry won't—"

"Hedwig?"

"Yeah. He can't bring himself to buy another. I've tried, but he won't have it. He either sends stuff from work or sends Prongs," Ginny sighed.

"Well, I'm sure Pig would be more than happy to carry a note to Hogwarts," Molly soothed. "The poor dear's been going stir-crazy."

"Great! Let's go then," Ginny said, crossing the kitchen to the fireplace. On the mantle sat a large bowl filled with Floo powder. Ginny took a small handful and stepped inside. "The Burrow," she called and disappeared in a whoosh of green flame with Molly right behind her.

Ron stepped out of the lift on Level Two, but Harry made no move to follow. "Harry? You coming, mate?"

"Kingsley asked me to personally deliver the report on the Antrim operation," Harry explained with a heavy sigh. "He Patronused me only minutes before I left home."

Ron looked at him even more concerned. "Do we expect any problems?"

"I hope he just wants to talk with me to get a few answers that weren't put in writing," Harry said as the door closed and the lift continued. Moments later it stopped.

"Level One, Office of the Minister for Magic," the soft voice announced.

"You don't say," Harry grumbled as he stepped out. He strode swiftly to Kingsley's office, maroon robes streaming behind him in his wake. When Kingsley's Patronus interrupted, he'd been engaged in an enjoyable snog with Ginny on the kitchen table. He stepped into the outer office and reported his arrival to the secretary.

"The Minister will be with you shortly, Chief Potter," the secretary said with a dull voice.

Harry sat down and browsed the three-foot parchment that contained each team's report while he waited. After five minutes, the door to Kingsley's office opened and Percy stepped out with a stack of parchments under his arm.

"Harry," he greeted warmly. "How do you do?"

"Percy," Harry replied. "I'm fine, thanks. And you?"

"Fine, Harry. If you'd excuse me, I'm off to the Wizengamot Administration Service with these reports."

"And I have a meeting with the Minister," Harry replied. "But I'll see you for lunch, right?"

"Our usual table," Percy declared with a grin. "Have a great morning."

Harry nodded before he entered the office. _Why's he so bloody cheerful?_

"Good morning, Harry," Kingsley said, shaking his hand once the door closed.

"Good morning, Kingsley. Here's the report you asked for," Harry said and handed over the parchment. "It's only the initial reports written last night before we all returned home to get some sleep."

Kingsley accepted it and placed it on top of his pile of parchments. "Tea, Harry," Kingsley offered and nodded toward his armchairs.

"Please," Harry said and sat down. "I was running a bit behind this morning." _And if I'd had my way about it, I'd have been a lot more behind._

Kingsley flicked his wand at the pot and served them a cup each before sitting down. "Now, Harry, you're probably wondering why I asked you to come here in person."

Harry nodded. "You could say that."

"You see, Harry, three people died. A couple of your Aurors were injured and Finnegan is still not out of the woods. And you made a couple of arrests," Kingsley said.

"That's true," Harry replied, hoping Kingsley to come to his point before lunch.

"Harry, what can you tell me about what happened last night? I have a meeting with Undersecretary Gumboil later this morning, and I'd prefer to have heard what happened there from you, personally, rather than what's in this morning's _Prophet_." Kingsley took a sip of tea.

"Undersecretary Gumboil heads a political-activist group called ELF, promoting Muggleborn rights," Harry started, choosing his words carefully. He wanted to tell the truth, but do it without saying too much. "Gumboil approached me, Hermione and Ron about it a few months ago."

"I wasn't sure if he had, but it isn't a surprise," Kingsley commented. "What about Finnegan?"

"He lives at the Three Broomsticks and I know he was there and heard what Gumboil had to say," Harry replied honestly. "First of all, he wasn't on duty yesterday, but after sharing a dorm with him for six years, I'd say, being Irish, he smelled trouble with a Muggle-connected political rally in Ireland and went there, just in case. It doesn't matter to Seamus whether he's on- or off-duty. If he smells trouble, he investigates."

"Ah, you refer to the Muggle conflict in Ireland," Kingsley asked.

"Yes. There are Muggleborn wizards and witches who share the Muggle opinion that Ireland, Muggle or magical, would be better off without us Brits," Harry claimed.

Kingsley sat in silence and thought about what he was told. "And once the trouble started Seamus alerted you, and you sent your people in," Kingsley assumed.

"Yes. It was full-scale war in that pub when we arrived. We tried to minimize the danger of injury, but had to put a stop to it as quickly as possible. I don't think it was any of my Aurors who did the killing," Harry said. "There was a Muggle shotgun involved."

"Even if that's the case, you did well," Kingsley said. "Is there anything else?"

"If I may say so, sir, in my opinion it was wrong from the start for Gumboil to bring his political group to Northern Ireland," Harry said. "There was really no point to it other than to cause trouble."

Kingsley sighed and nodded. "Yes, I intend to ask him about that," Kingsley assured his Chief Auror. "By the way: I heard Finnegan wasn't there alone, but in the company of a friend, a Mr Thomas."

Harry nodded. "Dean and Seamus have been best friends from our first year at Hogwarts. They spend a lot of spare time together. Although I shared that dorm with him for six years, I'm not that close to Dean... some minor personal issues... but I know he suffered greatly during the war and would share Seamus' interest in Muggleborn rights. Dean is a Halfblood, but he was raised by his Muggle Mum and Muggle Step-father."

"Personal issues," Kingsley asked.

"Nothing to worry about, sir. He dated Ginny for a while and I was jealous. Then I got together with her not long after they broke up and he was jealous. We're fine now. Anyway, I'd guess Dean and Seamus were there because of their interest in Muggleborn rights, and Seamus definitely sensed potential trouble."

"What about you, Ron and Hermione and Undersecretary Gumboil's group," Kingsley asked finishing his tea.

"You know I hate politics. I get enough of it as it is," Harry said. "Ron's thinking pretty much the same way. Hermione has attended a few pub meetings to see what he has to say. She was at the Three Broomsticks that first night, and I know that she allowed Gumboil to use a short treatise she'd written."

Kingsley nodded. "Yes, I read that. It's a brilliant piece."

"But with the wedding, her new job, and the Wizengamot seat, she has no time to devote to it, so she declined his invitation, too," Harry explained. It wasn't a complete lie. She actually did decline for two of those three reasons.

"Thank you, Harry. I must read that report of yours now before I meet with Gumboil," Kingsley said.

"And I need to see how my injured Aurors are doing," Harry said and stood up.

"Harry, I know you're brooding over this and I want you to stop. Your Aurors were injured in the line of duty, not because of your choices, but because of Undersecretary Gumboil's choices," Kingsley reminded his Head Auror. "You did this right, Harry. A three-pronged attack put a quick end to the fight and saved more lives."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied quietly. "I wanted to arrest Gumboil, you know."

"I'm sure you did, but why didn't you," Kingsley asked.

"Because of who he is, the charges would never stick," Harry replied. "I'll see you later."

"Give my best to Ginny," the Minister said as Harry swept out the door. _I thought Alastor was the right man for the Undersecretary job. Perhaps I should've approached Arthur instead. Bloody hell._

An hour later, Kingsley's secretary knocked on his door. He had finished reading Harry's report five minutes before his meeting with Undersecretary Gumboil. He took a few moments to collect himself. He was furious over the lack of judgement displayed by a veteran Law Enforcement officer like Alastor Gumboil. Kingsley's first impulse had been to sack the man, but on second thought, he realised he needed to hear Gumboil's version of the story before taking any action on the Antrim debacle.

The man of the hour was escorted into Kingsley's office by the secretary. "Undersecretary Gumboil, sir," she announced.

"Thank you, Mavis," Kingsley said and invited Gumboil to take a seat. After the secretary closed the door, he turned to Gumboil. "Alastor, you've been in Magical Law Enforcement your entire adult life. You have an exemplary record. As I hear it, yesterday evening, you took a group of British political activists into Northern Ireland that resulted in a minor battle which claimed three lives. I must ask you WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN'S BRAIN FARTS WERE. YOU. THINKING, IF YOU INDEED WERE THINKING AT ALL?"

Kingsely's voice had darkened and once he stopped shouting, a very tense silence hung in the air until Gumboil, clearly nervous, cleared his throat.

"Minister, I... I didn't know it would go wrong like that," Gumboil began, immediately being interrupted by Kingsley.

"But surely you must be aware of the hostilities in Muggle Ireland, and certainly you must understand that the Muggle conflict affects us too, since there are many Muggleborn witches and wizards in Ireland who learn that the British are their enemy. Ever after the Irish Muggles became independent, there has been more and more talk among the magical Irish that they should follow suit, and have their own administration."

"I am aware of the Muggle situation, yes..." Gumboil said shamefacedly.

"We've seen our community almost destroyed by the two wars, Alastor. Blood Purity politics has all but ripped us apart," Kingsley said slowly. "And now you might have created a spark that could ignite into an explosion that can rip us apart again—English, Irish, Scots, Welsh... and who knows if it'd stop there. Why, Alastor?"

Gumboil looked sheepishly at the Minister before answering. "I thought that a more equal community would be in everyone's interest."

Kingsley nodded. "But why a pub in _Northern Ireland_ of all places," Kingsley asked.

"I've been to pubs in England, Scotland and Wales without any hostilities at all. Pubs are a great way to meet with people. Much better than cold and impersonal interviews in the Prophet."

Kingsley closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Look, I have to investigate the incident at the pub. Since you're involved and may even have inadvertently caused this mess, and are the Undersecretary for Law Enforcement, you understand that this is a difficult situation, since it'll be DMLE who conduct the investigation."

Gumboil stared at Kingsley, this time with a streak of fear in his eyes. "What are you saying, Minister," Gumboil asked, the sweat beginning pour down his face in earnest.

"That I suggest you send a memo asking for a holiday for the rest of December and the entire first week of January."

"Any alternative?"

Kingsley thought about it for a moment. "I can't have you working as Undersecretary for Law Enforcement until this investigation is finished. The alternative would be to sack you, which would look bad for all of us, or move you to another position, which wouldn't look quite as bad."

Gumboil sighed. "You'll have my request for a holiday before lunch today, sir."

"And you understand that you'll be summoned for questioning," Kingsley added.

"I suppose all who were present will be questioned," Gumboil replied.

Kingsley nodded and studied Gumboil carefully before he spoke again. "If you're ever involved anything like this again, Undersecretary Gumboil, it may cost you your job. I need my Law Enforcement to be strong and trustworthy. Despite your record and your experience, I won't hesitate to replace you if activities like the ones last night and in Hogsmeade are repeated."

Gumboil felt annoyed by the threat, but he simply nodded. Kingsley flicked his wand to open the door. "Sir, for what it's worth, I'm sorry," Gumboil said as he got up.

"Alastor, I assure you that I want some of the old prejudicial laws changed as much as you do, but changes like those take time," Kingsley said. "Now, I must write a letter to the French Minister. I hope he's stopped laughing by now about my appearance the last time I saw him." _And then I'm going to nail that wand-slinging reprobate of a Boy-Who-Lived-to-Regret-Pranking-Kingsley-Shacklebolt and put my foot so far up his Chosen arse, he'll be using the sole of my boot for a tongue!_

Gumboil left the office to request a long Christmas holiday.

Harry still wasn't happy with the Gumboil situation. He wanted to rant and rave at Kingsley for being so calm about it all, but then what would he have the Minister do? Sack the git? It wouldn't stop the man from doing something like Antrim again—in fact, it'd give him more time and ammunition. He decided to just suck it up and find solace in the arms of his beautiful wife when he got home that evening. He exited the lift-car and strode to the Apparition point at the rear of the Atrium and transported himself to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

"Head Auror Harry Potter to see Aurors Dawlish and Bones, please," Harry said to the kind-faced woman at the reception desk.

"Of course, dear. If you hurry, you'll catch them. They're about to be released," she told him with a grandmotherly smile.

"Fourth floor?"

"That's right," she replied. "Open ward."

"Thanks…er…Gertrude," Harry said politely.

"Anytime, dear. Hurry, now!" Gertrude watched as the dashing young Auror walked quickly and confidently toward the lifts. "Such a polite young man, that Harry Potter," she said to the young woman at the other end of the desk.

"And did you notice his chest," she sighed. "Ooh, that Ginny's a lucky girl."

"Now, Julia, there are other Plimpies in the pond," Gertrude said. "I'm sure there are a few single Aurors still available."

"Yeah, but they're not Harry Potter or Ron Weasley," Julia sighed again. "Why couldn't I snag one of them?"

"Because your mother insisted upon sending you to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts," Gertrude asked with a grin.

"I'll never forgive her for it either," Julia giggled.

Harry arrived on the open ward on the fourth floor just as Susan and John were signing their release parchments and receiving last-minute instructions from Healer Wyatt. "…Auror Bones, you need to rest that leg for a few days before you take on any heavy assignments. Auror Dawlish, be sure to keep your head clean and apply this salve until those blisters heal. Don't go breaking them on your own. You'll regret it, trust me."

"So you two are going to live, then," Harry said with a smirk, causing the Healer to jump.

"Auror Potter, it's great to see you again," the Healer said, extending his hand. "How's Miss Granger?"

"It's good to see you too, Leo. Hermione's fine. I'm sure you heard she's on the Wizengamot, now," Harry replied.

"Good for her," he said. "Now, these two: I'd suggest a few days off so Auror Bones can rest that leg while it finishes its knit. Auror Dawlish needs to keep his head clean, so no outside assignments."

"Fine, fine. Bonesy, why don't you go on up and spend a few days with your aunt at Hogwarts. JD, you can work cold-cases with Jock and Ross."

"Okay, Harry," Susan replied. "Is it all right if I Apparate, Healer Wyatt?"

"Absolutely not, unless Auror Dawlish wants to Side-along you there," he ordered.

"You can go with me. I'm going up there from here to look in on Irish, anyway," Harry offered.

"Well, now that that's settled, I think I'll just head home and have a nap," Dawlish said.

"Good idea, John. We'll see you tomorrow, yeah," Harry said, shaking the man's hand.

"Bright and early," he replied. "Thanks, Leo."

"Sure thing, Auror Dawlish," the Healer said as the senior Auror left the ward.

"Ready, Bones," Harry asked, offering his arm.

"When you are. See you, Leo! Thanks for everything," Susan said, taking her boss' arm and limping from the ward. She let out a squeal when Harry picked her up and carried her to the lifts. "Harry, what on earth are you doing?"

"Taking care of my people. You need to rest that leg and you don't weigh more than a Fwooper at the most."

"I am not shocking pink and I do not make people crazy with my singing," Susan protested with a giggle. "I think my singing would make them sick!"

"Of course you're not shocking pink," Harry said, putting her down while they waited for the lift. "You're a Hufflepuff. You'd be day-glo yellow!"

By the time Harry and Susan reached Hogwarts, it was already 10:30 AM. He escorted her safely to Amelia Bones' office and then to the hospital wing. In case Seamus might be asleep, he entered the double doors quietly, casting a silencing charm on his feet.

What he found made him smile. Seamus was sitting up talking with Fiona about something they both found amusing, from what he could tell. But most-noticeable was the fact that he held both of her hands in his and their eyes never left one another's faces.

"So it appears you've decided to hang around a bit longer, then, Irish," Harry said slyly.

"Shut it, you," Seamus growled good-naturedly. "Didja think I was done in, then?"

"You looked pretty bad off, mate," Harry said, approaching the bed. "Onie, how are you?" Harry leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"I'm just fine, Cousin Harry," she replied. "Our patient here is on the mend, I'm happy to report. His belly wound stopped oozin', so he should be sprung by Friday afternoon."

"Harry," a familiar voice called from the end of the ward. "What have you broken this time?"

"Nothing, Poppy. I'm here to check on my Auror," he replied. "What's the prognosis?"

"He gave us a scare when Auror Weasley and Mr Thomas brought him in, but our Fiona's been a real shot in the arm," the matron told him. "She's something special." Fiona turned bright red and ducked her head. Since Seamus had her hands held in his own, she couldn't cover her face.

"Damn right she is," Seamus agreed. "She's agreed to go dancin' with me on New Year's Eve."

"Dancing? Where?"

"McGourthy's Pub in Dublin. They're havin' an open jam and a bit o' set dancing for First Footin'," Seamus said with a Cheshire grin.

"Isn't that a Scots thing," Harry asked.

"Yes, but we do it in Ireland, too," Seamus replied. "Only better!"

"So is that a request off for the weekend, then," Harry asked. "You'll have to pull Christmas Eve and Christmas Day."

"Fair enough. I'll take the Swing Shift if nobody else wants it."

"That'll work. Lavender asked for days so she can go to her mother's. Tony'll be on with you. Of course, I'll be on call while Ron and Hermione are in Barbados."

"Barbados! Is that where they're honeymoonin'" Seamus asked with a gasp. "Must be nice!"

"Yeah. The trip is gift from Hermione's parents. Hey, you know the Stag/Hen night is next Saturday, right," Harry asked.

"Yeah, Fiona and I were just talking about that. I told her about yours. Ruddy Stun-bombs," Seamus snickered. "You were right pissed, mate!"

"We all were. Neville kept calling Charlie Chuck, so Charlie called him Nevvie," Harry laughed. "We got our arses handed to us by the girls on the Quidditch pitch, though."

"Lucky Bludger shot for Hermione won that match," Seamus reminded Harry. "Not bad for a witch who's afraid ta fly!"

"Liquid courage, my friend. That was all there was to that," Harry said.

"She wasn't drunk during the game, was she," Seamus asked. "She seemed quite herself, if I remember correctly."

"Seamus, you were smashed when I threw those Stun-bombs into that room," Harry laughed. "You lot had already cracked a case before Ron even brought me there! But Ginny said they'd spiked Hermione's orange juice with gin."

"Gin? In orange juice? No wonder she got blitzed," Fiona laughed. "Gin's so sweet, she would never have known it was there."

"That's what Fleur said," Harry snickered. "Trust me, Fiona. Whatever Ginny's got cooked up for you girls is going to be fun."

"So what are we doin' ta—er _for_—Ron, then," Seamus asked.

"Black Dragon. Lots of food, plum wine, sake—Sam ordered it special from Osaka—ale and porter," Harry said. "I bought the place out for the night. It's all ours!"

"Do you mean to say, Mr Potter, that you bought out an entire restaurant on a Saturday night for a Stag party? That must've cost a king's ransom," Poppy exclaimed while she checked Seamus' dressings for the third time that day. "Is Mr Weasley aware of this?"

"No—he doesn't know I bought the place out. Don't worry, though. He's long over that money-thing he used to have," Harry assured her. "Fifteen-thousand Galleons a year as an Auror cured him of that."

"Hey, I only get ten-thousand," Seamus complained, winking at Fiona. "What's he got that I don't?"

"The Assistant Head's badge and a load of headaches," Harry replied.

"Oh, right. Pass," he said, shaking his sandy-blond head.

Harry glanced down at his watch and noticed it was almost noon. "It looks like you're all right, Irish, so I'm going to head back to London for lunch."

"Yeah, I'll be fine, mate. Say hello to everyone for me," Seamus replied, shaking Harry's hand.

"Me too," Fiona said.

"Poppy," Harry said, giving his favourite Healer a hug. "Keep an eye on our Onie."

"Of course," she replied in mock-annoyance. "It's what I do best—babysit you and your friends."

"Oh but you love us anyway," Harry chuckled. "Take care, you lot." With a final wave, Harry passed through the double doors into the corridor.


	27. Chapter 27 Return of the Troglodytes

**Chapter 27—Return of the Troglodytes**

Ginny and Fleur spend a glorious day shopping in London for Hermione's hen party. They spent half the day ferreting out as many of Victoria's secrets as they could, buying an entire trousseau for Hermione and several dainty delights for her wedding party and the other guests.

"Ooh, Geeny, zis is adorable, non," Fleur said, holding up a modest teddy. "Zese would look so sweet on ze leetle girls wizzout showing anysing inappropriate."

"Fleur, those are perfect! Oh, we've got to have them for Patricia and the twins! They'll absolutely _love_ them," Ginny agreed. "Now all we need is something for Mum, Helen, and Selma."

"Well, do you sink we dare bring Muzzer Weasley and Madame Granzher somesing… revealing," Fleur asked with a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes. "We do not want to offend zem."

"Oh please," Ginny scoffed. "It's all in fun! Besides, I'm sure Dad and Richard would appreciate it. It's not like any of us will ever see it on either of them. But Selma—she's a widow and…well…I think we could go a bit more conservative for her."

"Oh yes. Victoria's Secret has some lovely sings for ze older woman," Fleur said, perusing the racks. "But let us first shop for ze muzzers of the ze bride and groom, non?"

"Oui," Ginny giggled. "Mums first, then Selma."

The sisters-in-law added three of the modest teddies to their basket and then began to sort through the peignoirs and negligees for Molly and Helen, which they found quite readily. After a bit of hemming and hawing over colour and design, they found the right ones and added them to their basket. Fleur found a nice flowy violets-on-cream nightgown with matching robe for Selma, which Ginny heartily approved of.

"So zat's it, zen," Fleur asked. "We are feenished?"

"That's it. Fleur, thanks so much for helping me. I could never have pulled this off without you," Ginny gushed, hugging her eldest brother's wife. "Let's check out and find some lunch, yeah?"

"Wonderful. I am…how does Ron say…starving," Fleur giggled. "I could eat one of Sharlie's Dragons!"

"Ooh, Fiona says Madame Rosmerta serves a fabulous Dragon beef dinner. Shall we Apparate to Hogsmeade," Ginny asked, her stomach now growling in anticipation of a meal.

Following a satisfying lunch at the Three Broomsticks, they found a little gift shop that sold all kinds of magical gift wrap, bags, and party decorations for all occasions. They found some really pretty but simple ones with tissue paper that glimmered and shined with every colour of the rainbow.

They had already banished their Victoria's Secret purchases to Ionúin Bhaille, so they sent the gift-bags and decorations there also, and then Apparated back to London, where they all but bought out Bath & Body Works. They were exhausted by the time they returned to Ionúin Bhaille, but they'd had a wonderful time and were excited for the day of the party to arrive.

"Ron," a familiar voice asked. "Um…Ron?"

Assistant Head Auror Ron Weasley looked up from a collection of parchments in his hands to find Auror Chang standing in the doorway. He ran his hands over his face and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Please tell me there's an emergency that'll give me an excuse to leave this mess for Harry," Ron groaned dropping the pile of reports and memos.

It was Harry's day off, leaving Ron in charge of the Auror Office that Saturday. His shift was coming to an end and he couldn't be happier. Chang and Goldstein were also on duty, but since there wasn't much going on in Wizarding Britain short of Christmas preparations, there was no need for more people hanging about.

The Aurors' main task was keeping the Dark Arts at bay, but this autumn had to have been the lightest one in that regard in many years. Expelling Boggarts from musty old trunks and wardrobes long-forgotten in old attics and cellars, or herding a few stray Mountain Trolls away from Muggle neighbourhoods they'd wandered too close to, had been the only Dark Creature cases in a long time.

Due to their extreme training, the Aurors' jurisdiction further-encompassed the really hard law-enforcement cases, and that had been what they had worked most these past weeks, with the riots and general political unrest. But this Saturday passed calmly and dully and much to Ron's chagrin, _slowly_.

While Ron pushed parchment, Chang and Goldstein performed general maintenance on the training facilities and equipment, repairing mats and filling in chinks in the walls from stray spells. The boredom had begun to affect the Assistant Head Auror because he was hungry. He'd had only a muffin and coffee for breakfast and a quick sandwich and Butterbeer for lunch because he wanted to plough through the paperwork as quickly as possible. His stomach had begun to protest, so he was ready for an all-out feast.

"Well…it's not an emergency really, but Uncle Sam Flooed me and asked if we could help him with a Boggart that moved into the cellar at the Dragon."

Ron smiled. _Food, glorious food._ "No problem, Cho. Is Goldstein coming," Ron asked, prepared to have a good laugh with the Boggart. Boggart-hunting had developed into an unofficial competition to see who could make his or her fellow Aurors roll with laughter by coming up with the most hilarious shapes for the Boggart one could think of, with extra points for causing his or her team mates to wet themselves.

"I wouldn't miss it," Tony grinned from behind her. "I'm going to hit the loo and meet up with you in the Atrium."

Ron flicked his wand at the parchments on his desk, sending them flying across the room, where they arranged and settled themselves neatly on Harry's desk. Cho eyed Ron curiously and raised an eyebrow. "Relax already, Chang. Those are just the ones I've been going through today that require Harry's signature. The rest is already archived."

"If you say so. You know, I'm beginning to truly appreciate that course your brother taught on Ministry organization," Cho said thoughtfully. "I mean, although it was only slightly more-interesting than Binns' dry droning in History of Magic class, your brother actually taught us something useful."

"I hadn't joined you at that point, yet," Ron replied. "But I wouldn't doubt it. Hermione insists that knowing about Goblin Rebellions is useful, but then again, she finds knowledge about nearly everything useful. She's actually the one who tutored me in Ministry procedure. If she hadn't, I would never have passed it."

"We all knew you two were meant for each other, you know," Cho smirked. "We all knew the bickering was just foreplay."

Ron blushed scarlet from his neck up, but held his silence. _You have no idea_. Cho and Ron left the Auror Office and met up with Tony in the Atrium. They headed for the Floo and stepped in one after the other calling out "The Black Dragon" very clearly.

Sam Chang approached them as soon they stepped from the Floo in the small office behind the kitchen of his restaurant. "Cho, my little lotus flower, welcome," Sam greeted his niece with a slight bow, which she returned. "Ron, my favourite customer and your colleague are, of course, welcome too."

"Sam Chang, Auror Tony Goldstein," Ron said, introducing their companion. "He was in Ravenclaw House like Cho."

"My pleasure, Auror Goldstein. But three Aurors to take on one Boggart..." Sam chuckled.

"Honourable uncle, you could've dealt with the Boggart yourself," Cho smirked, kissing the restaurateur on the cheek. "You old faker."

"All right, all right, but I know you Aurors like to have fun with them," Sam laughed. "You know where the cellar is. The one who destroys the Boggart wins a free lunch."

Ron smiled again. _Yes!_

"Now, Aurors! What you waiting for? Go! Go find Boggart! He make too much noise! Disturb customers! Frighten staff," Sam barked, retreating into pidgin English.

Cho snickered into her hand and led Ron and Tony through the kitchen to a staircase. She waved her wand, lighting the lanterns that hung from sconces along the stone wall illuminating the steps. "Ron, as highest-ranking officer, you go first," she said, showing him the door.

"My pleasure," Ron grinned, flicking his wrist. His Chestnut and Dragon-heartstring wand slid into his palm. _Peking duck, here I come!_

Ron led the way, stopping at the bottom of the stairs where he found a closed door. "Wands out, Aurors," Ron whispered, preparing himself for the Boggart to assume the shape of a monstrous Acromantula poised to attack. "_Alohamora!_"

He had already decided what he would do to it, and he hoped it would make Cho and Tony wet themselves. As the door opened, he was surprised to find his best mate on the other side.

"Harry? You're certainly not what I fear the most," Ron huffed. _So much for a free lunch_.

"I sure hope not, mate," Harry smirked at Ron's wand. "Holster than weapon, Auror. Cho, Tony—mission accomplished. Thanks!"

"Glad to help, Harry," Tony grinned.

"Hey, no problem. It was fun," Cho giggled. "I'll just head back to the Office and wait for the next shift to arrive, if they're not there already. Say hello to Ginny and Hermione for me?"

"Will do," Harry replied. "On your way out, order up a small feast for yourself and the others and have your uncle charge it to me."

"Harry, you don't have to—"

"That's an order, Chang," Harry smirked, cutting across her.

"Yes sir," she replied with her pearly-white smile. "Feast for the shift. Got it." Cho turned and headed back up the stairs to the kitchen.

Ron glanced at Harry with narrowed eyes and a red face as he set his wand back into his wrist holster. "Let me guess—Stag night?"

"Right you are, mate. Please—enter and be honoured," Harry said with a grand gesture. Ron, followed by Tony, headed into the cellar. The guest-of-honour had to duck to pass through the door as it was about four centimetres shorter than Ron was tall.

Inside the cellar room, Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Harry, Seamus, Neville, Dean, Terry and Jock Thompson waited with Cheshire grins on their faces and arms crossed on their chests, guarding several bottles of potent potables.

"Dad and Richard were invited too, but they said they wanted to spend the night at the Grangers, tinkering with Muggle stuff and then watch a boxing match on the telly," Harry explained.

"That ought to be interesting," Ron grinned. "Does Mum know about this?"

"I doubt it," Harry snickered.

"Ronald," Percy declared pompously, "Your Stag night festivities are hereby open!" With a flick of his wand, a tray with glasses and a dusty bottle of Old Ogden's Best Firewhiskey appeared on a small table in the middle of the cellar room.

Since Ron hadn't had time to eat much during the day, he felt a bit tipsy from the initial shots of the very-smooth and very-lovingly-aged whiskey in the cellar of The Black Dragon, physical size notwithstanding. He knew there was no use trying to remain sober because his brothers and friends were hell-bent on getting him embarrassingly pissed. Besides, since they were gathered in the cellar of a restaurant, he felt fairly sure food was forthcoming.

"Ron, dear brother and friend, you're about to tie the knot. May Merlin have mercy on you, you lucky sod," Harry said with a grin, raising his glass in a solo toast. "We will, in the company of your best friends and brothers, celebrate your impending union with my dear sister, the brightest witch of our age, Hermione Granger-Black."

"She's marrying Ron, mate. Is that something we might consider wise," Neville mocked.

"All right, Longbottom's had enough already," George snickered. "Cut the git off."

"Sod off, Weasley," Neville snorted. "I can handle my liquor, thanks—prat."

"Aw, come on, you lot. Hermione's a Gryff! She's naturally-imbued with the courage necessary to wed into the Weasley clan," Bill grinned. "Leave the wisdom to the 'Claws!"

"Here, here," Tony and Terry called out together, to the amusement of the others assembled.

"To Hermione," Percy called, raising his glass. "The brightest—if not the bravest—witch of our age!"

"Not to mention the most-beautiful," Ron called and threw back his shot. _And the hottest._

"All right, listen up. Sam should have the feast laid out by now. To the staircase, mates," Harry called. "The place is ours for the night!"

They headed up into the restaurant where Sam presented them with a buffet consisting of nearly every item on the Black Dragon menu, including a few of Ron's favourite Mandarin tidbits. Ron gazed longingly and appreciatively at all the food, his stomach growling furiously.

"Merlin's pants," Neville gasped, eyes wide. "I've heard of this place, but I always eat at the Leaky when I'm in London."

"Can't understand why you'd want to go there," Harry snickered.

"A certain blonde employee, I'll wager," Seamus filled in with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I hear she's lookin' pretty good these days."

"May I remind you, Finnegan, that said blonde happens to be my wife," Neville retorted proudly. He and Hannah had been married for over a year, a situation the Longbottom scion found most-agreeable. "And you, my friend, will never know just how good she's looking."

Seamus winced as if stung. "You're a lucky man, Neville. Good on ya, mate!"

"Yeah, well, I hear that you've had a bit of luck yourself, there, Irish," Terry interjected. "A certain Apprentice Healer?" The others in the room gave Seamus a long _oooooooooooooh_. "Care to report, Auror?"

Seamus bowed. "Well now, I wouldn't say I've been lucky yet," he said. "She's a fine girl and I'll not sully her reputation with a lot o' blarney. Besides, there are five—well, _six_—Weasleys in this room 'n' I'm rather fond o' me bits, ya see."

"Too right," Charlie snorted. "You keep those bits off our cousin and to yourself and you'll have them for many long, happy years!"

"Duly noted, esteemed Dragonmaster," Seamus replied, tipping his glass to the second-eldest Weasley son.

They all shared a round of laughter at the Irishman's expense, pelting him with questions about his burgeoning relationship with Fiona Prewett and her impact on his rather speedy recovery.

Just then, Sam appeared in the dining room with a bow. "It is my pleasure to host this Stag night for my favourite customer," he declared and served them each a cup of a liquid held at body temperature.

Charlie looked at it dubiously. "What _is_ this stuff," he asked.

"Sake," Sam Chang explained. "Harry asked for it special for tonight."

"Sake? That's not Chinese; it's Japanese rice wine," Percy declared pompously.

"Perce, after a few rounds of this, you won't care where it's from," Bill grinned.

"Quite right, Mr Weasley," Sam replied. "I have a friend in Osaka, Toshiru Nogata, who has Muggle connections in Tokyo. He was more than happy to help Harry Potter give his brother a worthy gift…for a nominal fee."

"Or would you prefer Calvados," George asked, blue eyes glinting.

Harry moaned loudly. "_Please_ tell me nobody brought Calvados," he groaned.

"No one is allowed to bring that stuff within ten metres of Percy," Bill ordered.

Percy looked very confused. "Why not?"

"Percy, you sang—or howled—after getting royally pissed on that stuff in Normandy. I think you had a bottle and a half," Charlie explained. "And you promised Cousin Fiona never to sing in public again."

"I certainly did not! I have never sung in public," Percy argued.

Bill leaned over to Charlie and nudged him. "Technically, that's true. That could never be called singing."

"What was it? Hippogriffs in heat," Charlie replied with a snort.

Ron clapped a large hand on his brother's shoulder, gazing down at him with sincerity in his sapphire eyes. "You did. I could show you and our friends gathered here my memory of it in a Pensieve if you won't take our word for it."

"But... I don't remember..." Percy whispered.

"You crashed in the loo and fell asleep. Mum gave you a potion to ease the hang over, and you slept most of the next day away," George enlightened him.

Harry decided to diffuse the situation. "My fellow Troglodytes, it's time for a toast," Harry called, bringing them all back to the order of the day. He raised his cup in salute. "To Ron, my brother and friend. Our host, Sam, taught me a Chinese toast, literally meaning _dry the cup. Gan bei_."

"Gan bei," a chorus of voices replied, and they drank.

"Let's eat," Harry declared, inviting Ron to be the first to choose from the buffet, which covered three long tables. A massive round table had been set for the group.

"Are we the only guests tonight," Ron asked sitting down with his plate piled high—the first of many.

"That's right," Harry said. "I bought Sam out for the entire evening, which included all of this. Eat up, brother."

Ron didn't know what to say. His best mate thought enough of him to spend at least 700 Galleons to throw a party for him, but still allow Sam to make a profit for the night. He loved his raven-haired brother deeply, and this only intensified that sentiment. _I owe you, mate_. "Thanks, Harry. This is…wow. Thanks."

"No problem. It was our pleasure," Harry said, indicating everyone in the room. After a good hour spent eating and drinking, they conceded that they were reasonably stuffed, and for the occasion, appropriately smashed. Dinner conversation had so far been mostly about Quidditch, peppered with banter about the bets they'd made at Ionúin Bhaille.

All at once, Harry leapt up on his chair and cleared his throat. "All right, Trogs! Make sure your plates and goblets are full, because you won't want to miss a single moment of this," Harry declared before turning to Ron. "Mate, Ginny and I have, as innocently as possible, asked Hermione a few questions these and have recorded her answers on this parchment. Now we're going to ask you the same questions in order to find out just how well you know your bride-to-be."

"Harry, I know her," Ron huffed. "There's nothing you could ask me about Hermione that I couldn't tell you."

"That remains to be seen. Your job is to suss out what Hermione told us," Harry grinned.

"You're going down in flames, Potter," Ron snarled good-naturedly. "Bring it on!"

"All right, then. The first question is this: If she'd been born a magical creature, which one would it be?"

Ron blinked at his friend in disbelief and a little annoyance. "How in Merlin's most-untrimmed beard am I supposed to know that," he complained.

"That's the question, Weasley. Hermione seemed quite intrigued by it and I have no doubt she'll be interested to find out what you said, once she finds out we've asked _you_ the same questions," Harry said calmly. "You're not backing down already, are you?"

"You wish!" Ron thought for a few moments before debating his options with himself. "Okay, nothing that flies, right? She hates flying. Despite her _affection_ for them, she wouldn't want to be a House elf," he reasoned. "She's brilliant, stubborn, clever, dedicated, beautiful, scarier than a Manticore when she's mad, and dangerous in a fight, so I'd have to say she's a…a Centaur!"

Harry simply nodded, amazed by Ron's display of sharp reasoning.

"More sake for Ron! He's too ruddy sober," Seamus said, handing him a refill.

"Sláinte," Ron said and emptied it in one gulp.

"Ready for the next question," George asked.

"Hit me," Ron challenged.

Harry studied his parchment. "Now, you know we asked her which magical creature she thought _you'd_ be."

Ron paled a bit. "I hope she didn't suggest a Gnome or a Troll," Ron huffed before he seriously considered the alternatives. "Well, I'm also stubborn, somewhat dangerous in a fight, and for some confounded reason she finds _me_ beautiful. She probably said Centaur for me, too."

"You're bloody brilliant, mate," Harry nodded.

"At least you're swimming in the same gene pool," George shouted. The others laughed uproariously and clapped him on the back.

"Good one, Georgie," Percy howled. "Good one indeed!"

Harry waited until they had all collected themselves before continuing with the next question.

"Which is Hermione's favourite book?"

"Well, she certainly wouldn't say _The Invisible Book of Invisibility _or_ The Monster Book of Monsters_," Ron reasoned. "And since you'd have her specify _one_ favourite book, I'll bet she listed three, claiming you're narrowing it down far too much. And the three would be... _Hogwarts: A History, _her Arithmancy book— _Nume… Foggy and Whatever_, and finally her treasure, her heirloom, _Tales of Beedle the Bard_."

"_Numerology and Grammatica,_" Harry corrected with a flabbergasted look on his face. "And _Unfogging the Future_ was our Divination book. But you're right—Hermione went all… _Hermione _about having to choose only one. And she did list the three Ron mentioned."

"You rreally do know herr, don't ye, Rred," Jock Thompson said in awe.

"C'mon Harry, if he keeps getting them right, we'll never hear the end of it," Bill urged.

"Hold your Hippogriffs," Terry called. "We need another toast! To Red Ron Weasley, the _longest arm of the law!_"

"A real _tower_ of strength," Tony added.

"A _pillarr_ o' forrtitude," Jock cried.

"What _higher_ praise could we offer," Harry asked with a bow.

"Now you're telling _tall_ tales," Dean snorted.

"The _height_ of the most-ridiculous," Charlie added with a snort.

"What do you want from a bloke who walks around with his _head in the clouds_," Bill asked the room with a wide grin.

"Gentlewizards, I believe we've reached the _pinnacle_ of bad punliness," George howled.

"Runts," Ron grumbled, smiling to himself. "_Punliness_ isn't a word and Hermione's favourite book is _Hogwarts: A History_. She's got the ruddy thing memorised."

"Right again," Harry announced. They all threw back another cup of sake, with Percy still puzzling out what business Japanese wine had in a Chinese restaurant. Still, the more he drank, the more-relaxed he became. With a deep breath, Harry turned his attention back to his parchment.

"All right, all right. Next question," Harry began. "Ron, which is Hermione's favourite _Muggle_ book?"

"Actually, she's a fan of Jane Austen," Ron replied confidently. "_Pride and Prejudice_ and _Sense and Sensibility_ are her favourites, but if I had to choose one, I'd have to say _Pride and Prejudice_. She told me once that she identifies with Elizabeth Bennet and compares me to Fitzwilliam Darcy."

"Bloody hell, Ron," George cried. "Since when do you know about Muggle books?"

"Since I fell in love with Hermione, George. We've done a lot of talking _with_ each other instead of _at_ each other this past year. I've learned a lot about the Muggle world," he replied. "I told you—there's nothing you can ask me about her that I can't answer."

"All right, then," Harry said smugly. "Which operating system does Hermione run on her computer at home?"

"I thought these questions were supposed to be about Hermione herself, not her ruddy computer," Ron thundered. "All I know about that thing is that you have to use a rat to move the curse-thing!"

"Ron, it's a _mouse_ and the curse-thing is a _cursor_," Harry said calmly. "I was just yanking your chain."

"So…does she have a zoo at her parents' house," Percy asked, blinking dazedly. The sake had begun to settle in his brain.

"Percy, for a genius, you're sure naïve," Harry snickered. Seamus and Dean fell all over one another in quiet laughter. "Never mind. I'll explain later."

Turning back to Ron, whose breathing had returned to normal, Harry posed the next question. "Ron, which is Hermione's favourite spell?"

Ron had to think about that one for a few moments. Hermione was a very talented witch with an affinity for spells and how they work. "Well…the first spell I ever saw her do was the one on your glasses, Harry—_Occulus Reparo_. The second one was the one we all learned together—_Wingardium Leviosa_. The one she used to get us out of trouble with Filch in our first year was _Alohamora_. Then there's that sexy blue flame thing she does that got us past the Devil's Snare, but she invented the _Four-points_ spell for you for the Triwizard Tournament. I sure wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of her _Bombarda,_ and her _Episkey_ is quite lovely..."

"Yeah and she's wicked with _Petrificus Totalis_," Neville snorted. "She nailed me with it in first year and then you three apologised for it. The only thing is that you tossers left me there until someone came along and lifted it."

"Who lifted it," George asked.

"Um…I don't remember. I was pretty dazed," he replied. "Doesn't matter, though. Hermione never jinxed anyone without good reason. So spit it out, Weasley!"

"Well…I'd have to say…_Wingardium Leviosa_. It's the one I used when Harry and I rescued her from the Mountain Troll in our first year." _And I love how she swishes and flicks_. The pictures that passed through his mind caused the heat to creep up from his loins all the way to his face.

"Right again," Harry announced with glee. "More sake! He keeps guessing correctly!"

"Of course. I know my witch," Ron beamed, downing another cup of sake. "Bring it on, Potter. I'm on a roll!"

"What is Hermione's favourite academic subject," Harry asked. "And why?"

"Well, early on, her favourite was Charms because she's so damned good at it. But then again, what isn't she good at," Ron asked rhetorically.

"Divination," Dean said. "She even walked out on it."

"That's because it was all rubbish. Trelawney was a right fraud and Hermione knew it from the off," Ron replied. "Third year, she really got into Arithmancy, but Ancient Runes helped her develop her Five-points spell. She was even good at Potions when Snape was a bastard to her."

"I can't imagine how I passed my ruddy OWL with that greasy git for a teacher," Neville snorted.

"Hermione," a chorus of voices in the know said together.

Neville raised his glass to the sky and called, "To Hermione Granger, without whose help and encouragement I would be little more than a Squib!"

_Baby, when I get my hands on a Pensieve, I'm going to show you this_. "To my 'Mione, whose favourite class was Arithmancy," Ron crowed, downing his sake in one gulp. "She thought it had more potential than Divination."

The Stags raised their cups and down the warm liquid in one go. Harry slammed his cup on the table and shook his raven head. "Mate," Harry began, clapping Ron on the back, "I must admit that I've seriously underestimated you. I mean, you're an excellent Auror and I know you love my sister, but…but…damn!"

"What can I say," Ron smirked goofily. "Hermione's _my_ favourite subject. She always has been."

"All right, then," Harry began again, consulting his parchment. "What drives Hermione to be the best at everything she does?"

"There are tonnes of reasons behind that, Harry," Ron answered thoughtfully. "Her mantra is _Knowledge is power_. I remember it because the bloke who said it was called Bacon."

"What," George interjected. "And his brother was Egg?"

"That's Ron. Always thinking with his stomach," Bill grinned.

Ron pulled a fair know-it-all face and continued. "In the Muggle world, the more a bloke knows the further he can go. Muggles prize education because it's the thing that drives their technology.

But that's not the whole story for Hermione. Her parents are intellectuals. They've been to university, so it's only natural that their daughter would be an intellectual, too. But really, Hermione'll tell you she's not any smarter than anyone else; she just knows more because she studies more."

"So what's the answer, Ron," Bill asked. "What drives her to be the best?"

"Honestly? For all of her brains and cleverness, she's had a very low opinion of herself, although I don't understand why. She's brilliant and beautiful, but she told me once that she drives herself to be the best at whatever she does in the name of self-worth."

The room went deathly silent as tears began to trickle down the big Auror's face. For as long as he'd known his fiancée, he never could understand how she could think that way. He'd always admired her brains and drive, even though he did give her a hard time about it.

For his part, Harry had to blink back a few tears of his own. Hermione had always seemed so confident to him, even in the face of Draco Malfoy's taunts and Severus Snape's cruelty. She'd been the one who supported him all through the Triwizard Tournament and kept his spirits up when Rita Skeeter printed her bile in the _Prophet_.

"Little brother, I surely hope you worship the ground that woman walks on and treat her accordingly, because if you don't, I'll kick your freckled arse all over Britain, Auror or not," Bill said reverently.

"Hear, hear," Ron replied softly, downing a cup of sake. "She's the best."

"To Hermione and knowledge," Percy cried, wiping tears from his own eyes. "Sláinte!"

"Sláinte," they all chorused, and threw back another cup of rice wine.

After the toast, Harry studied his best friend for a few moments. He wanted to be sure he'd collected himself and was ready for the next question. "You okay, mate?"

"Yeah," Ron replied with a watery smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Bring it on."

"All right, what's the one Muggle thing Hermione would like to introduce to the Wizarding world?"

"C'mon Harry, that's too ruddy easy—pen and paper. She doesn't mind using quills and parchment, especially on formal occasions, but in the interest of cost and neatness, she'd love to introduce pen and paper for everyday use."

Harry shook his head at his brother-in-law in awe. "Right you are! There's a lot to be said for a nice Biro and a spiral-bound notebook!"

The others snickered among themselves, except for Seamus and Dean. Seamus' mother was a witch, but his father was a Muggle. Seamus was raised between both worlds and was more than familiar with the use of pen and paper, since he attended Muggle Primary school. Dean, on the other hand, was the son of a Wizard father who was never part of his life, and a Muggle mother and step-father. Dean also attended Muggle Primary school and actually preferred pen and paper for the same reasons Hermione did.

"One more before we make another toast: Ron, we all know Hermione's accomplishments—brewing Polyjuice Potion in second year, casting the Protean charm in our fifth, keeping herself, Ron, and me concealed from the Ministry for almost a year, earning ten 'Os' on her NEWTs, altering the Trace... the list goes on. But the question is this: which, of all her accomplishments, is Hermione most proud of?"

Ron looked very thoughtful. That was a tough one, since Hermione usually didn't outwardly show personal pride for any of her truly-amazing accomplishments—at least she rarely mentioned them.

"Of all the stuff you listed, I know she's quite proud of her NEWTs, although it would take a double-dose of Veritaserum to force her to admit it," Ron said. "But the one thing I think she's most proud of is earning the friendship, trust, and love of our family and friends—that's—what matters most to her. Hermione didn't really have friends before Harry and me because she was so bookish. The other kids teased her a lot. She was so lonely."

Ron paused to take a drink of ale before he continued. "From the day she lied to McGonagall and took the blame for the Troll incident on herself, she's been our heart and soul. She put her own life on the line when she took Polyjuice potion, along with five more of us, and transformed into a clone of Harry the night we took him from Surrey for the last time. She knew as well as we did that we could fall under attack, which we did."

Ron took another slug of ale. "But that didn't matter to her, because there's almost nothing she won't do for the people she loves. She's more Harry's sister than we ever thought, really. But her ultimate act of bravery—or maybe insanity—was the day we broke into Gringotts. She was terrified, but she faced one of her demons head-on. She disguised herself as Bellatrix Lestrange so we could break into a vault and so Harry could take Voldemort down. And don't ask."

The Stags who had been standing dropped into seats, stunned to silence. It wasn't clear what moved them so—Ron's eloquence or Hermione's deeds. But they each hoped to Merlin and Maeve that Ron had answered that one correctly.

"You're right again, mate," Harry declared and raised his cup. "Sláinte!" Again, the Stags drank in honour of Ron and his Hermione.

"Final question, Ron. This is for your Hermione NEWT," Harry said solemnly. "Marriage is about sharing your lives together, so how does Hermione see herself in fifty years?"

"She'll be seventy years old then," Ron snickered. _And still as beautiful as she is at this moment_. "Right now, she's working for improved conditions and a few rights for magical creatures, especially House elves. In fifty years, I'm sure she'll have pushed through several new laws and a pushed for the repeal of a few old ones.

I surely hope she still pictures me by her side because I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be. I hope we've had a few children who will have given us a load of grandchildren. I think she'll have written a few books, but I doubt she said that. I don't think she sees herself still at the Ministry, though. I think her hope is that she'll return to Hogwarts one day to teach."

Harry consulted the parchment once again. "Let's see. Yes, she sees herself still married to Ron, improved conditions for magical creatures, and teaching at Hogwarts. Ron, it's Arithmancy she'd love to teach, of course. She hopes you have children, but not seven of them, and grandchildren too. She also hopes that blood-purity ideals are only found in the history books by then, and that blood-status will never dictate one's potential in magical life. Well done, mate! You've got an 'O!'"

The Stags whooped with glee and the alcohol began to flow again. As the evening progressed, they became more and more plastered and with that, more and more boisterous. The Firewhiskey, mead, ale, porter, plum wine, and sake flowed freely leaving them all red-faced and giddy.

At approximately 9 PM, Ron decided to issue a challenge of his own. He leapt up on the round table and waved his arms, sloshing ale onto his boots. "ALL RIGHT, YOU TOSSERS! I HAVE A CHALLENGE FOR YOU," he shouted. "I CHALLENGE ANY ONE OF YOU WITH THE BOLLOCKS TO AN EATING CONTEST! HUNAN AND SZECHUAN!"

"I'm in," Bill answered.

"Me too," Charlie volunteered.

"And me," Neville called, waving his bottle of porter.

"I'm in too," Ron declared as if there had been any doubt, since he issued the challenge.

"All right. Four brave—or foolish—souls," Harry joked. "Wands on the table where we can see them. We can't have any of you casting secret charms to dampen the heat." Four wands clattered to the table.

"Now, we'll do this by process of elimination—or attrition, as the case may be. The rules are simple: you must finish a small plate of one of Sam's spiciest dishes, Szechuan-style Pork, to stay alive and I promise you: it's _hot_. Crying for milk, spitting out food, or fainting disqualifies you. Chopsticks must be used and the two winners of that round face a hellish final with the hottest dish Sam can make."

Harry flicked his wand sending four sparks into the air above the table, two green and two red. He then pointed it at the four contenders and then swished it at the sparks. The sparks moved around the table faster and faster until they stopped in front of one person each. "Bill and Neville, you got the red sparks, so you'll go first. Ron and Charlie, you'll go after them," Harry said.

Sam quickly set a table for two and served each of them a plate Szechuan Pork. The Stags gathered around the table to witness the roasting of Bill Weasley and Neville Longbottom. The two grabbed their chopsticks and stared one another down as the room fell silent.

"Ready, steady, go," Harry barked and the Stags erupted in cheers as Bill and Neville took their first bites. Bill turned red in his face immediately, and Neville showed drops of sweat on his forehead.

After a few bites, Neville had to pause. "H-h-h-hot," he gasped, waving his hand if front of his mouth in a futile attempt to put out the fire. But he wasn't beaten. Neville dug in again and ate methodically, working his chopsticks gently and with precision, much to the amazement of the spectators.

Bill's inner wolf emerged as he tried to shovel in large bites, but a lot of it fell back on his plate, singeing his lips as it passed. At this point, there was no clear leader, since neither seemed to wish to yield.

About two-thirds of the way through, each of them glanced up to gauge the other. Sweat poured down two crimson-red faces as the rest of the Stags cheered them on, pausing only to drink from their pints. Neville continued like a machine until he shovelled the last bite into his mouth, while Bill battled his chopsticks with now-shaking hands to grab hold of the last few pieces.

"And the winner is Neville No-Sweat Longbottom," Harry declared. Neville pumped a fist in the air, savouring his victory over such a powerful and respected wizard as Bill Weasley. _Wait until Hannah hears about this!_

Bill shook his head in defeat as he pulled the younger wizard into a one-armed man-hug. "Congratulations Nev! You beat me fair and square," Bill conceded. "Now, can I have something to drink?"

In response, Seamus handed him a bottle of Guinness®. "That'll put yer fire out!"

"Thanks, man," Bill said, chugging the dark brown porter like a man dying of thirst.

"Following an exciting match between The Curse-breaker and the Herbologist, it's time for someone used to flames, our Dragonmaster, against the man who owns the reputation for _food_ as his favourite dish, according to my gorgeous wife—his sister. I give you Charlie and Ron! May the best Weasley win," Harry announced.

Charlie and Ron sat down in the same chairs Bill and Neville had previously occupied. Sam brought them their plates of food and the duel of Weasley wills began. In mere moments, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that Ron would be the clear winner. When it was over, Charlie still had a quarter of his plate left when Ron finished. "All right, the winner is Ron Ironbelly Weasley!" Ron and Charlie stood from the table and embraced one another. "Kick Longbottom's arse, little bro."

"Not a problem, big bro," Ron snickered. "I'll bury him!"

"Let's have a few minutes before the prestigious final between Neville and Ron," Harry declared. "This way we can all catch our breath and have a drink."

"Damn! The sake's gone! How about some of this plum wine stuff," Terry suggested.

"Now that I'll take," Percy replied enthusiastically. He was no longer bothered by the Japanese drink, but he rather enjoyed wine and this particular type intrigued him.

"Harry, for the final round, I cast a flavour-enhancing charm on these plates. They will be... challenging," Sam said with a wicked grin as he handed Harry the two plates.

"Sam, you're a devious bastard," Harry snickered. "There's a few extra Galleons in this for you."

"My pleasure," Sam replied. "This has been the most fun I've had in a long time."

"You're welcome to hang out, you know," Harry told him.

"Oh no. This has been great. I've had time to catch up on some book work, but if you need anything—like life support—just give a shout," he chuckled.

"Thanks again, Sam. You've outdone yourself," Harry replied, turning back to the dining room. "All right—first one to finish wins. Are you ready," Harry asked, as if calling a boxing match.

"Bring it on," Neville snarled. "I can take it!"

"You're in for a load of hurt, Longbottom," Ron growled. "You'll wish you were dead!" Neville and Ron shook hands and sat down at the table.

"Three, two, one, begin," Harry barked and watched the two like the referee at said match. Ron had barely shovelled the first bite into his mouth, when his eyes bulged in torment. He began to sweat heavily, his face scarlet-red. Tears flowed down his face as he struggled not to spit his food out. For his part, Neville bounced silently on his chair as if to ease the pain while he chewed his first bite, his breath coming in pants. For the two contestants, eating this dish was like eating molten lava.

Ron finally swallowed his mouthful and dropped the chop sticks on the table to catch his breath. "This is hotter than hell itself," Ron choked, barely over a whisper.

Stags howled with laughter as Ron coughed and wiped his eyes with a napkin, while an equally-red and crying Neville continued to bounce like a Quaffle between Chasers. Ron looked at his opponent's progress and stubbornly took up his eating tools and dug in for the second bite. As he put it in his mouth, there was a distinct _crack!_ and a horrified scream. The Stags stopped cheering and laughing as Ron dropped to the floor, clutching at his face as he rolled around in terror. Neville immediately stopped eating out of alarm and concern for his red-haired friend.

"Ronnie, what is it," Bill asked urgently. "Talk to me, little brother!"

Ron held his hands over his mouth and tried to speak, his terrified eyes conveying all he couldn't say.

"What is it, Ron? Tell me," Bill shouted, shaking him

"It 'athn't the ho' hickth," Ron said. "It 'ath ny ant Nehah's hanth."

"I can't understand you, dammit! Forget the ruddy challenge! Take your hands away from your mouth, spit out the food, and tell me what the hell's going on," Bill urged him.

Ron shook his head and got up. He picked up the chopsticks with his free hand and held them in front of Bill.

"The chopsticks," Bill said.

Ron shook his head and grabbed his and Neville's wands and nodded, as he held them like chopsticks.

"Bloody hell, Ron! Did you eat with the wands instead of the chopsticks," Bill cried.

Ron nodded. The Stags stood collectively stunned. "Well, what was that crack we heard?"

"Ton't knoh," Ron shrugged.

"Did you hex your mouth? You sound like your tongue was transfigured," George said, slightly worried and mildly amused. _I hope he's all right, because this is worth taking the Great Mickey out of him._

With some hesitation, Ron removed his hand from his mouth. "'Ell? Ho' toth it luk?"

"Ron, you've hexed your lips off," Harry observed with both shock and amusement in his voice. "And you look ridiculous. Um…I guess a Healer at St Mungo's should be able sort this out in a tick."

"I'n not goin' uh Tht Nungoth. Thiona can thikth thith," Ron said angrily, shaking his head mightily.

"Did you say Onie, mate," George asked.

Ron nodded.

"Ron, she's at the Hen party and she's drunk as a skunk, as she would say. I don't know if I would take my chances with her healing capabilities at this particular moment," Harry said.

Sam noticed the sudden silence in the restaurant following the scream and rushed from the kitchen to investigate. "Is Ron all right," he asked, peering down at his favourite customer.

"Ron confused his and Neville's wands with chopsticks and hexed his lips off," Harry told him, trying to contain his laughter.

"Oh, such things not unheard of. Can be very nasty. Very nasty. In my village in China, one man hex nose into potato. Had to live rest of life with potato on face. Very nasty," Sam blabbered in pidgin and then suddenly switched to proper English. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm so used to keeping the act up. He needs a Healer _now_, because the faster he does, the greater the possibility for him to be fully-functional on his wedding night."

Harry turned to Sam and sighed. "He doesn't want to go to St Mungo's and to be honest, I don't blame him. The_ Prophet_ would have a field day with this. You wouldn't happen to have something that would sober up our probably-pissed Healer cousin at the Hen's party, would you," Harry asked hopefully.

"Of course," Sam replied and returned to the kitchen for a few moments. He rushed back out with a vial containing a cloudy greenish liquid. "Give her this and she'll sober up enough to help Ron—I hope."

"Okay, ladies," Ginny called. "Dinner is served!"

Hermione, Ginny, Fleur, Fiona, Angelina, Hannah, Luna, Susan, Lavender, Parvati, Padma, Selma, Molly, and Helen gathered around Ionúin Bhaille's massive dining table. The spread Molly and Helen prepared rivalled any upscale brunch buffet London had to offer, complete with a chocolate fondue with fruit. Finger foods and dainty sweets of all kinds tempted the taste buds, and in the centre of it all lay a beautiful half-sheet cake with piped-on holly and ivy surrounding sparkling sugar wedding bells. In deep golden icing were the words, _Congratulations, Hermione_, lovingly applied by her mother's steady hand.

Hermione stood in awe of the display of culinary art before her. Tears welled in her cinnamon eyes as she held a shaking hand to her mouth. "This is…this is…" She couldn't speak as tears coursed down her face. She'd never had such a lovely party as this. It even rivalled her birthday party at her parents' home only three months previous. "Thank you."

"C'mon, Hermione, we're starvin' here," Fiona said, causing titters of laughter to wash across the dining room.

"Oh! All right," she said, wiping her eyes. "Molly, Mum, this is just wonderful!"

"Not at all, dear," Helen replied, taking her daughter into a warm embrace. "It's not every day a mother gets to marry off her little girl."

"Absolutely, Helen," Molly agreed, resting her gaze on Ginny. "I know just how you feel. Do you realise it's been only six months since _my _little girl married Harry?"

"Time does fly, doesn't it," Helen said, as she watched her daughter and her friends. "They're a lovely couple, Ginny and Harry."

"Helen, you have no idea," Molly agreed. "But your Hermione and my Ronnie are just as lovely. She's been so good for him."

"I'd say Ron's been good for her. She seems so confident and comfortable around people," Helen said. "Richard and I worried about her as a child. She didn't play or muck about with friends. But then she went off to Hogwarts and that all changed, didn't it?"

"That summer after their first year, all Ronnie talked about was Harry and Hermione, Harry and Hermione. The older they got, the more about Hermione he talked," Molly said with a chuckle. "His brothers took the Mickey out of him for it, but I knew my son was in love. He's a lot like Arthur, you know."

"I guess some things are just meant to be, aren't they," Helen observed. "But I must say that we have the most-interesting family, don't you think?"

_We have the most-interesting family_. Molly marvelled at the astuteness of Helen's observation and how she articulated it. "Yes. Yes, we do. And by the way…"

"Yes?"

"Welcome to the family, Helen" Molly said, wrapping an arm around her new friend and giving her a squeeze.

"Welcome to the family, Molly," Helen replied, returning the affection.

As soon as everyone had eaten their fill, the Hens played a few games, with Molly and Helen as game-mistresses so Ginny could enjoy the party too. Hannah won Bridal Bingo having been the first to fill her card, Hermione won the Wedding Word Scramble, having unscrambled all twenty-five wedding-related words, Selma won the Know the Bride game, having only missed three of the twenty questions, and Fiona won the Bride's Handbag game by guessing the most items in Hermione's purse. The prizes were special items Ginny and Fleur had picked up at Bath & Body Works.

"Presents," Ginny called excitedly. She winked at Fleur and the two of them carried the mountain of gifts from the table as Molly and Helen began to pour the wine. Ginny deferred to Fleur on that, since she wasn't as well-versed in it as her sister-in-law. Given carte blanche, she ordered a case of the finest vintage from a magical winery in Bordeaux.

Hermione blushed as she opened her gifts. She never expected such a turn-out and was surprised to find Lavender in attendance, but was still glad she came. But most of all, Hermione wasn't used to being the centre of attention and the love her friends showed her that day filled her heart in a way it had never been filled before.

Molly and Helen recorded each gift in a wedding book so Hermione could send appropriate thank-you cards and also so the list could be included in the family scrapbook. She received many lovely household items and a few lacy things. She blushed furiously when she opened the trousseau Ginny and Fleur had assembled for her honeymoon, but thanked them heartily, as she would never have been able to afford such lovely things on her own.

Selma gifted her with several sets of towels and matching washcloths, Parvati and Padma had gone in together on a gloriously-detailed area rug from India, Lavender gave her a pretty card with a twenty-five Galleon gift certificate good at any shop in Diagon Alley, Susan gave her a twenty-five Galleon gift certificate to Flourish and Blott's, Angelina gave her a gift certificate for a Muggle spa in London for her wedding-day pampering, Luna gave her a lifetime subscription to _The Quibbler_ and a painting of her and Ron she had done herself from a photo she'd taken of the two of them at Harry's and Ginny's reception. Fleur presented her with a set of luggage for their trip to Barbados, and Hannah gave her several plants, magical and mundane, that Neville prepared just for them. The parents of the bride and groom gave them various and sundry items for the home, including a gorgeous crimson-and-gold afghan Molly had crocheted herself.

When she got to Fiona's gift, she couldn't imagine what could fill such a large box. She tore the wrapping paper away and opened it. She gasped. "Oh Fiona, this is gorgeous! Where did you find this?"

"What is it, dear," Helen asked. "Show us."

"It's from Rook Holler. Granny's quiltin' bee made it," Fiona explained as the women ooh'd and ahh'd over the hand-sewn king-size quilt Hermione pulled from the box. "The design's called Weddin' Rings. It's supposed ta bring good luck to the couple. Granny said ta tell ya never ta go ta bed mad 'n' the luck'll never run out."

"Sound advice," Selma agreed. "Chester and I never went to bed angry with one another, bless him."

"Are you telling me that this magnificent work of art is all hand-made," Helen asked in awe.

"Yes ma'am. Ain't no sewin' machines in Rook Holler 'n' quilts like that don't come from a wand," she replied. "This is all done with scraps o' cloth, battin', needle 'n' thread, and whole lot o' TLC. Nothin' fancy, nothin' fine."

"Nothing fine," Molly repeated in disbelief. "I can't say as I've seen anything finer!"

"Onie, I must write your gran and her friends thanking them for this lovely quilt," Hermione declared. "And thank _you_, Fiona, for commissioning it. Ron's going to flip when he sees it!"

"Sure. You write it 'n' I'll send it off from Hogsmeade," Fiona replied.

The last gift Hermione opened came from Ginny and Harry. She burst into tears when she opened the first of three boxes tied together with ivory ribbon. Inside the first box, she found a simple tiara of tiny diamonds, emeralds, and garnets, and a shimmering veil in ivory and lace.

"Oh Ginny," Hermione gasped. "You…you shouldn't have!"

"Oh, pish! Harry insisted and you know Harry. When he wraps his head around something, there's no stopping him," Ginny countered, grinning brightly. "But there's more. Go on."

In the next box, Hermione found a pair of pretty slippers done over in ivory lace and tiny pearls with delicate bows tied with gold ribbon. They would match her gown perfectly. She looked at Ginny with tear-filled eyes. They were the exact pair she'd wanted but just couldn't afford, what with having spent so many Galleons on her dress and the gifts for the wedding party. "Ginny, I…"

"Harry again, Love," Ginny said softly. "You brother really wants you to have the best."

The third box contained a gift for the bride and the groom. Inside were two royal-blue velvet boxes, one marked _Ron _and the other marked _Hermione_. Underneath them lay an envelope marked _Mr and Mrs Ronald B. Weasley_.

"The envelope won't open until you're at your hotel in Barbados," Ginny instructed. "It's something special."

"Oh. All right," Hermione replied and handed it to her mother for safekeeping. "Ginny, what have you and Harry done now?"

"Just open the boxes and find out," Ginny insisted as the gifts and cards circulated amongst the Hens.

Her hands shaking, Hermione lifted the hinged lid on Ron's box and took a peek. Inside, she found a pair of two-carat emerald-cut diamond cufflinks with a matching tie tack. "Ginny! Oh gosh, these are perfect! Oh thank you!"

Ginny only smiled and nodded toward Hermione's box. "Go on. Finish the job."

Swallowing deeply, Hermione opened her box. Inside laid an exquisite diamond necklace with a pearl clasp and matching cascade earrings.

"Can't have a winter wedding without ice and icicles," Ginny said with a sly smile. "I picked out these out, since I knew what the neckline on your dress looks like. I hope you like them."

"Like them," Hermione asked incredulously. "I love them! They're beautiful! Oh, thank you, Ginny! They're perfect!"

"Hermione, those could be heirlooms for you to pass to your daughter when she marries," Helen said, wiping tears from her eyes. "And then she'll pass them to her daughter, and so on."

"I hadn't thought of that," Hermione replied. "Oh Ginny, thank you!" She threw her arms around her best friend's neck and hugged her close.

Ginny grinned and breathed a sigh of relief as she returned Hermione's embrace. She was secretly afraid Hermione would refuse to accept them or that the others might think she and Harry were just flaunting their wealth. She was glad to know that this wasn't the case at all. Harry would be pleased.

Molly and Helen served the chocolate and yellow marble cake and French vanilla ice cream while Ginny and Fleur distributed the gift-bags to their guests. "In zese bags, you will find somesing special from our family to you. Sank you all for coming and please enjoy ze rest of ze celebration."

"A toast," Ginny called. "To my dear sister-in-law in blood and soon, by marriage. May she and my darling brother have a wonderful life together and give me loads of nieces and nephews! Sláinte!'

"Sláinte," they all replied and drained their glasses in one go.

Having finished their dessert, Lavender and Susan had to leave early because they had duty on the graveyard shift and preferred a brief nap before they reported. Susan had moved in a few weeks after Seamus moved out to share expenses, since her Aunt spent most of the year at Hogwarts where she taught Transfiguration. She really didn't like going home to that big old house alone.

"Thank you so much for coming," Hermione said, hugging both of them. "I wish you could stay."

"I wish we could too, but duty calls," Susan sighed. "Well be at the wedding, though."

"Yeah, I wouldn't miss it," Lavender agreed. "It was always you for Ron, you know. Even while we dated, I knew where his heart truly was. Congratulations, Hermione."

"Thanks, Lav. I can't tell you what that means to me," she replied. "Play safe tonight, okay?"

"Will do," Susan replied. "I can't go too much overboard with this leg quite yet, but I'll be all right. Except for those couple of riots, it's been pretty dull in the crime-fighting business."

"That's for sure," Lavender agreed. "Goodnight, all!'

"Night," the women chorused.

Wine flowed and conversation turned to stories of school, boys, husbands, and a little gossip provided by the Patil twins. Even the older witches in the group were feeling their wine, their faces rosy with the warmth of the alcohol.

"She's a lovely girl, Helen," Selma said. "She's a breath of fresh air in our department. She's so bright and dedicated. She drives Amos crazy, you know."

Molly huffed and took another sip of her wine. "Serves him right. Hermione comes home frazzled almost every night. She's better once she's had a good supper, but sometimes, Ronnie has to carry her upstairs, she's so exhausted."

"I have no doubt," Selma agreed. "She and Amos have had words more than once over her research. He can be such an arse about non-humans. And not to mention that shrine he's built around Cedric in his office."

"Pardon my ignorance, but who on earth is Amos," Helen asked.

"Oh! Pardon me," Selma exclaimed. "Amos Diggory is our Head of Department at the Ministry. He's a bit bigoted where magical creatures are concerned. Honestly, I haven't the slightest inkling what he's doing in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

Molly and Selma spend the next half-hour dishing the dirt on Amos Diggory, explaining about the Triwizard Tournament and how Cedric's death affected him. Selma described the Cedric Wall in her boss' office and how that office had become a hermitage away from his hermitage.

"He never blamed Chief Potter for Cedric's death, you understand, but he had no more use for Dumbledore or anyone who sat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors."

As the three older women chatted, the noise level in the sitting room rose by degree. Over the din, Fiona's voice called for quiet. "Hermione! How 'bout you model some o' that fancy stuff Fleur 'n' Ginny gotcha? Whattaya think, gals? Wanna have a fashion show?"

"Oh yeah," Ginny agreed enthusiastically. "Come on, Hermione! Show us what you've got. It's just us Hens!'

"No way," Hermione said holding her hands before her, palms out. "There is no way in Merlin's crusty cauldron I'm going to model this for anyone but Ron!"

"Oh please," Angelina said, pouting. "If you model yours, we'll model ours." She held up her gift-bag containing the teddy Fleur and Ginny had chosen for her.

"Yeah, we'll make it a real show like Aints in New York do," Fiona agreed. She flicked her wand, clearing a space in the sitting room to create a makeshift runway. "Hell, I'll even go first!"

"Okay, but you have to leave your things on until Hermione's done," Angelina insisted.

Hannah held up her bra and panties set and pulled a sceptical face. "Um…there's not much to this. I'm not so sure I want to—"

"Give me a break, Abbott," Ginny teased, calling her by her maiden name. "You weren't so shy at my party. You all but jumped Neville's bones in front of us all! You'll model just like the rest of us and that's final."

"Fine, but if I catch cold—"

"We'll dump Pepper-up Potion down yer neck and you'll be fine as frogs' hair," Fiona interjected. "Remember, I'm a Healer!"

"You've got me there. All right," Hannah said resolutely. "I'm in."

"Great! Okay, Hermione, you and Fiona go up first; Luna and I will follow. Then you and Hannah go and Angelina and Fleur will follow. After that, you and your Mum go and Parvati and Padma will follow. Then you and my Mum can go with Selma. How's that? And then you'll finish."

Hermione thought about that for a moment. Once again, she was thrust into the spotlight, but the wine had begun to work on her inhibitions and her face split into a wicked smile. She picked up an open bottle of Bordeaux and drained it dry. "All right, then. You're on! Come on, Onie! Let's show them how it's done!"

The Hens cheered as Hermione and Fiona disappeared up the stairs. Molly, Helen, and Selma bustled into the room to find out what all the fuss was about. "What are you lot on about," Helen asked.

"We're going to have a fashion show, Mrs Granger," Angelina explained. "We're going to show off our pretty knickers."

"Yeah, and you three have to do it too," Ginny snickered. "And we have to leave ours on until Hermione's done with all of hers."

"I beg your pardon," Selma said in mild indignation. "Are you saying you want me to model my nightgown?"

"Of course," Ginny replied. "It's just us girls and I'd really like to see how that set looks on you anyway. Fleur picked it out."

"Well," Molly said, draining her wine glass. "I'm game. What about you, Helen?"

"Molly, if you do it, I'll do it. Selma…" Helen purred. "Are you going to be a party pooper?"

Selma glared at the other two women and then smiled conspiratorially. "Never let it be said that Selma Dorsett ever pooped on a party! I'm in!"

"Great," Ginny squealed and proceeded to explain the order of appearance.

First down the stairs came Fiona, clad in a white silk teddy with narrow green ribbon woven through eyelets around the neckline with matching ribbon to hold it up. It was a perfect fit, accentuating Fiona's curves without exposing her assets. The others cheered and applauded as she slinked down the runway and posed for her audience.

"Ooh, work it, girl," Angelina cried and handed her a fresh glass of wine. She took her place on the floor as Hermione descended the stairs and took to the runway.

They all drew in a deep breath as Hermione appeared in her bridal negligee and peignoir. "Ron's Wrackspurts are going to fly away when he sees you in it," Luna said airily. "I wish I could be a Glumbumble on the wall to witness it."

"Um…thanks, Luna," Hermione said as she turned to head back up the stairs. "I just wanted to model this first, you know, just in case the boys came in early."

"Phht! Harry's not going to let that happen, trust me," Ginny said. "Go on, now. You have to change."

An hour later, all of the women had modelled their garments. Only Molly, Helen, and Selma had changed back into their street clothes so they could tidy up. The younger witches chattered and giggled in their lingerie, some of it rather skimpy. All at once, a crash came from the Floo in the den. "What in bloody hell was that," Hermione shouted.

Molly and Selma drew their wands and indicated to the other witches to do the same. "The wards should keep undesirables out, but we can never be too safe. Helen, stay here." The Weasley matriarch led her small army into the den where she found a parade of rather pissed wizards stumbling from the green flames.

"Harry James Potter, what—" Ginny began, her chocolate eyes flashing.

"Fiona, quick," Harry grunted, cutting his wife off as he and Bill dragged Ron to a seat on the sofa. "He's hurt."

"Ron? Baby," Hermione cried, tears beginning to fall. She'd forgotten about her state of dress which at that moment was nothing more than a pink lace teddy with strategically-placed bits of matching silk.

"He…he cursed his lips off," George chuckled. "Seems Ickle Ronnikins here can't tell the difference between chopsticks and wands."

Fiona summoned her rucksack from the entryway and stepped over to the sofa, still clad in her own teddy. She knelt before Ron and prised his hands away from his mouth. "Okay, darlin', let me see."

"Onie, you might want to down this before you do anything," Harry said, thrusting the vial into her hand. "Just in case."

"Good thinkin' Cousin Harry," she agreed, uncorking it with her teeth and throwing it back. As the potion worked its way into her system almost immediately, she shook her head and whistled. "Didn't think I was that far gone, but I guess I was. Thanks, Harry."

"It was Sam Chang's idea. I'll relay my regards," Harry chuckled. "So…can you fix him?"

"Sure, this is pretty easy stuff. You wouldn't believe what them Hogwarts kids hex off themselves or turn each other into," she said.

While Fiona prepared to restore Ron's lips, Seamus' eyes locked onto her body from across the room. He swallowed deeply as heat pooled in his belly. He drew his robes around himself as nonchalantly as he could to hide his physical reaction to the sight before him. _Not now, lad. Not now_.

Ron lowered his hands, his face and ears bright red with shame. He gazed sadly into his cousin's eyes, silently pleading with her to repair the damage.

"Can he talk at all," Fiona asked Bill.

"Yeah, but it's near-impossible to understand him," he said.

"How'd he do this," the Apprentice Healer asked, examining Ron's mouth.

Bill explained about the eating contest and how Ron had dropped his chopsticks and then picked up the wands instead.

"Way ta go, genius," Fiona giggled. "All right, hold still. This might sting a bit." Ron nodded and clamped his eyes closed. "_Restituo labiae_," she muttered and moved her wand in an oval around his mouth where his lips should have been. With a final flick, Ron, flinched.

"Bloody hell, that bites," he cried, working his mouth. "Looks like you win, Nev."

"Ron, I didn't finish my food, so—"

"No, I cursed myself out of the contest. You win by default," Ron argued. "But I do want a re-match."

"You're on, mate," Neville agreed, shaking Ron's hand.

"Fiona, thanks. You're a life saver," Ron said, kissing her cheek.

"No problem, honey. Just keep your wand holstered away from your chopsticks next time, okay," she answered, closing up her rucksack.

"Oh Ron," Hermione cried, tears streaking her face. She threw herself into his arms and wrapped herself around his body. "Are you all right?"

"I'm okay, Love," he whispered into her hair, holding her close and rubbing her back. "Don't cry, 'Mione. I'm all right."

Harry led the others into the dining room where he hoped to find some leftover cake and ice cream. He was just slicing into it when a shout came from the den.

"Bloody hell! Hermione, what are you wearing," he exclaimed, throwing his cloak around her.

"Or almost wearing," Percy snorted drunkenly.

"Now he notices," Harry snorted. "Cake?"

Ginny sidled up to Harry in her deep-green satin mini-nightie. _"Hermione loves the ice and the other things, too. But you know what?"_

Harry had already begun to sweat at the sight of so many lovely witches in such skimpy garments. _"Uh…what, Gin?"_

"_I love you."_ She planted a tiny kiss on his neck and nipped his ear lobe.

"_Love you too, baby. Have fun tonight?"_

"_It was wonderful. Thanks."_

"_Only the best for my two favourite witches."_

"Hannah Longbottom," Neville shouted, breaking Harry and Ginny from their private conversation. He strode across the room as if suddenly sober and wrapped his arms around her, crushing his lips to hers. "Great Merlin, you're hot!"

"Neville," she giggled when he finally released her.

Fiona had completely forgotten her state of dress when she banished her rucksack to its place in the entryway. She picked up her wine glass and turned around to find Seamus Finnegan standing there with his eyes glazed over, his jaw slack. "Tarnation," she cried, wrapping her arms around her body and tore up the stairs.

"So that's your Apprentice Healer, Irish," Tony Goldstein asked, giving his comrade a nudge. "Not bad."

"That's mine, Goldstein," he growled. "Or she will be right soon, if I'm to have me way."

Ginny came down the stairs first, dressed in her blue Weasley jumper and faded jeans. "I see you found the cake and ice cream."

"Too right," Ron replied, his smile broad and eyes bright. "Mum made it, didn't she?"

"Yeah, the buttercream icing, too," Ginny replied. "Helen decorated it, though. I guess it's a good thing we didn't completely demolish it. Just save a couple of pieces for Dad and Richard."

As the other women trickled down the stairs, the sobering Troglodytes ploughed through the leftovers. Molly and Helen rescued plates-full for their husbands, along with a couple of pieces of cake.

While the boys ate, Helen Granger stacked dishes, forgetting that she was surrounded by wizards and witches who could clear away in minutes with a few swishes of their wands. She decided to tidy up the party area when the Floo in the den whooshed with green flame once again. Arthur Weasley stepped through with Richard Granger holding firmly to his arm.

"You're just in time for cake and ice cream," she said. "The boys are here. Ron managed to hex his lips off, but Fiona put him right."

Shaking with laughter, Arthur and Richard crossed to the dining room where they found the younger wizards feeding their faces.

"Aurors! Present," Harry barked, leaping to his feet. _Gods, I love pulling this!_ Ron, Terry, Tony, and Seamus snapped to.

"Sir," they all shouted, eyes on their commander.

"As you were, Aurors," Arthur said, shaking his head at his seventh son. "Harry, you are rotten, did you know that?"

"Yeah, but you've got to admit they're good," Harry laughed.

"Impressive," Richard said, taking a seat at the table. "You lads ever consider military service?"

"Richard, Aurors _are _soldiers," Arthur explained. "The cream of the crop. I'd pit this lot against any of Europe's top duelling champions."

A slow smile stole across Harry's face. "Aurors, I've got an idea."


	28. Chapter 28 Always and Forever

**Chapter 28 – Always and Forever**

"I'll miss you," she whispered.

"It's only for a little while," he replied. "And then we'll never be separated again."

"I know, but I'll still miss you," she said again, a tear stealing down her cheek.

"It'll be all right, Love. You'll have all your friends around you tonight," he assured her.

"Not all of them," she countered.

"I'll miss you too," he said, leaning down to kiss her goodnight. "But we'll see each other tomorrow."

"Promise," she sighed. "I…I couldn't bear it if—"

He pressed two fingers to her lips. "I'll be the bloke down front in the ivory and gold," he assured her with his signature lop-sided grin. "No worries, yeah?"

She smiled a watery smile and held his face in her hands. "No worries. I love you."

"I love you too. No go, before I won't let you leave," he said, holding her tightly.

"No drinking tonight, okay? Please," she asked as she broke the embrace.

"Not a drop—well, maybe some Butterbeer, but that's about it," he replied with his right hand over his heart.

"Good night, my love," she said, backing away down the path to the Apparition point.

"Good night, baby," he called, watching her until she disappeared. He strode back into the house and grabbed his kit that he'd left laying next to the fireplace. He took a handful of powder and stepped inside. "Ionúin Bhaille," he called.

"It's about ruddy time," George snorted as Ron stepped through the Floo. "I hope it was a good snog!"

"Shut it, you. 'Mione was a bit…nervous…about tonight," Ron replied. "I had to settle her down."

"We don't want to know," Neville smirked, uncorking his third Butterbeer.

"So what've you lot been up to," Ron asked, surveying the room. There were bowls of various snacks strewn about the den, mostly Muggle, and a few cases of Butterbeer.

"Harry, anything stronger laying about," Charlie called.

Harry passed into the dining room from the kitchen, levitating a half-dozen massive pizzas in front of him. "Sorry, mate. Hermione made me promise: NO ALCOHOL. She wants our Ronnikins on his game tomorrow." Harry grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

"Gits," Ron huffed. "Harry, is that pizza?"

"What did you expect, turnips," Harry asked snarkily, reminiscent of a comment Ron had once made to him their first Christmas together at Hogwarts. "You name it, it's on one of these pizzas. If not, summon it from the kitchen. It's sure to be there."

The groom and his attendants attacked the food with gusto, including young Joseph Pointer, who would serve as the junior groom. "Mr 'Arry," he began, swallowing his bite of double-cheese with everything. "This is really tasty. Did you make 'em yourself?"

"I did," Harry replied, lifting a slice of pepperoni and mushroom. "And thanks."

"Harry's a bloody brilliant cook," Ron said. "He learned when he was a kid."

"Ron, we don't need to go into—"Harry began. He didn't mind cooking for his family and friends because they truly appreciated his efforts. The Dursleys never did and took him for granted, rarely even allowing him to reap the rewards of his labours. It was a period in his life that he would rather banish to the oblivion it so richly deserved.

"Oh go on, mate," Bill said. "We all know your relatives were gits, but they made an excellent cook out of you."

"Bill, really. I don't want to talk about the Dursleys tonight. This is Ron's night, okay," Harry insisted, his eyes conveying his blossoming annoyance.

"Fair enough, but these are still really delicious," the eldest of the brethren conceded, biting into his cheese and sausage with shirred egg, an Australian favourite Harry heard about somewhere.

"Eat up, then," Harry told them all. "There are six more in the ovens."

"Hermione," Patricia cried, leaping up from her place on the Grangers' lounge floor to give her mentor a hug. "We thought you'd never arrive!"

"Sorry. I got a bit side tracked. Some last minute stuff," she blushed, returning the girl's greeting. "Hello, everyone."

"It's about time you showed up," Fiona giggled. "We cain't get this shindig goin' withoutcha!"

"Onie, tell me that's not wine," Hermione sighed.

"No it ain't _wine_," Fiona huffed. "It's sparklin' cider, completely alcohol-free. We got minors here tonight."

"So you've all got your dresses and shoes," Hermione asked, praying everyone had done as she asked before they came.

"Dresses, pretty knickers, stockings, and shoes," Erica replied. "At least Pats, Em, and I do."

"Yes, Hermione," Ginny assured her, rolling her eyes. "Fleur, Angie, Hannah, and I went together and picked up our dresses and the men's robes. We're all good."

"Right, so just settle in and enjoy. We have to get up early and head into London," Angelina said. "You have a pampering waiting for you and so do we, courtesy of your stud of a brother."

"Hey, get your own stud," Ginny snapped in mock-annoyance. That's my stud you're gushing about."

"Speaking of studs," Hermione began, accepting a glass of cider from Fiona. "Emma, dear. Do tell?"

Emma ducked her red head and blushed. "Well…"

"Spill, Em," Erica nudged her sister. "Tell Hermione about the last day before holidays behind the statue of the One-eyed Witch."

All the women _ooooooooh'd_ at Emma and clamoured for the story. "Do tell us," Fleur begged. "We 'ave so leetle romance in our lives."

"Oh puh-leeze," Ginny choked. "You have so little romance? Fleur, you're only married to the hottest Weasley brother of the lot _and_ you've got a beautiful baby!" Even though Ginny felt closest to Ron, Bill was her favourite brother. Just shy of eleven years her senior, Bill was like a second dad to her, often protecting her from the twins' pranks or taking revenge on them on her behalf. He consoled her when she was hurt and played with her when the other boys left her behind. When he left for Egypt, she cried her heart out for days.

"I beg to differ," Hermione giggled. "I dare say _I'm _marrying the hottest Weasley brother of the lot in less than twenty-four hours!"

"Now, now, girls," Fiona interrupted. "I do believe Emma here's waitin' to tell us her story, aintcha, honey?"

"Well…okay," she began hesitantly. "Um…so it was Tuesday evening after supper, as we were to board the Hogwarts Express to come home for the hols. We waiting until just about everyone had left the Great Hall and then sneaked up to the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower to the statue."

"And…" Patricia prodded. "Come on, Em. It's just us girls."

"And…well…Joseph's got really nice…um…lips," she blushed and then raised her head high. "He's a fantastic kisser!"

"So he snogged you in the Defence tower," Hannah cried. "That's where Neville first kissed me when—well, you know."

"What? No Astronomy tower," Hermione smirked. "I thought all first kisses happened in the Astronomy tower."

"Yours didn't," Ginny giggled. "In fact, Ron didn't even kiss you first. You kissed _him_ right in front of Harry and all of us!"

"Well…that was different," Hermione said, taking another sip of cider. "There was a war on."

"So you kissed Ron first," Patricia asked with wonder. "How did that happen?"

Emma breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she had been let off the hook without a load of details. She didn't have to go into how warmly Joseph held her in his arms or how he touched her face and promised to keep her safe.

"Oh you're going to love this," Ginny smirked. "It was too precious!"

Hermione told the story of how she and Ron had sneaked into the Chamber of Secrets just before the final battle at Hogwarts to do something they needed to do so Harry could kill Voldemort. She didn't go into detail and she was grateful nobody asked. She was sure Ginny would have steered the conversation away from the why and how of that particular side trip if anyone did.

"And so Ron said there was no way we should expect the House elves to fight for us. I was so overwhelmed I just threw myself into his arms and snogged him senseless right there in the Room of Requirement. If Harry hadn't intervened, we'd probably still be there," Hermione concluded with a giggle.

"Is Ron a good kisser," Erica asked, starry-eyed and dreamy. She'd had a crush on Ron Weasley since she'd found his Famous Wizard card in Chocolate Frog packet on the Hogwarts Express.

"The best," Hermione replied with a sigh. "He's so sweet and so gentle. My knees threaten to turn to water every time he looks at me with those big blue eyes…" When she finally caught hold of herself, she looked around the room at the others. They all had dreamy expressions on their faces—except Ginny. She simply sat there and shook her head.

"Hermione, dear," Helen called from the kitchen. "I think it's time you ladies turned in. It's almost half-ten and you've all got to be up and showered in time to make your spa appointment at nine."

"Thanks, Mum," Hermione replied. "You heard the woman. Bed!" Fifteen minutes later, the bride ascended the stairs to her childhood bedroom for the last time as Hermione Jean Granger. The others spread out on the floor amid pillows, blankets, and duvets. By eleven o'clock, they were fast asleep.

"Ron, what's wrong," Charlie asked, noticing his youngest brother looking a pit peaky.

"I love her, Charlie," he replied as if in a trance. He sat slumped on the overstuffed sofa in his best mate's den with a Butterbeer bottle, his fifth, hanging loose in his fingers.

"This is a bad thing," the Dragonmaster asked with raised eyebrows. "I thought that was the whole point."

"I'm not good enough for her," Ron groaned, shaking his red mane.

"Of course you are, mate," Harry interjected. "You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

"Cold feet? No! N-nothing like that, I just—"

"You're just nervous," Harry assured him. "Remember what a mess I was the night before I married your sister?"

"What about me, the night before I married Fleur," Bill added.

"Hell, I could hardly breathe the night before I married Hannah," Neville offered. "She is one beautiful and talented witch and I'm only inches from Squibhood."

"Neville, you're a prize prat, you know that," Percy snorted. "I heard about how you led the DA and took a lot of grief for my sister. No Squib or near-Squib could've pulled that off."

"And not to mention the fact that you swung Gryffindor's legendary sword and killed that ruddy snake," Ron said, brightening. "No Squib could've done that either."

"Ron, trust me," Harry began, staring his brother-in-law in the eyes. "Hermione loves you more than anything in this world, and that's proof enough that you're worthy of her. Now, stop sulking and go to bed. Ginny fixed up the guest room for you. Your wedding garb is hanging in the closet."

"Anywhere you want us to kip," George asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, summoning bedding from the hall closet. "Pull up a piece of sofa, chair, or floor and crash. I'm going to bed myself and no, I don't need any company." Within the hour, Ionúin Bhaille fell into restful silence, the quiet broken only by Ron's snores.

Helen Granger crept from the room she shared with her husband of twenty-three years and padded across the hall to her daughter's bedroom. She knocked quietly on the door and opened it a crack, finding Hermione just stirring. "Good morning, baby."

"Good morning, Mum," she yawned, her arms stretched over her head. "Is there tea yet?"

"Not yet. I wanted to wake you first so we could have a little mother-daughter time before we have to wake the others," Helen whispered. "Molly sent over some lovely scones and popovers for you girls."

"She didn't have to do that," Hermione replied with a soft smile. "But I'm glad she did. I mean, have you ever tried her scones? They're delicious."

"No, but she did give me her recipe," Helen chuckled. "Come on. Throw your robe on and come down."

Hermione complied and followed her mother down the stairs to the kitchen. The lounge lay quiet except for the soft breathing of her friends still sleeping there. Hermione sat at her customary place at the family table and watched her mother prepare a steaming pot of special breakfast tea and arrange a few popovers and scones on a plate. As soon as the kettle hinted that it was about to whistle, Helen turned off the flame.

"I'd almost forgotten this," Hermione admitted. "We used to do this on Sunday mornings before church—before Daddy even got up."

"Mm-hmm," Helen smiled, tears forming in her eyes. "That's why I wanted to do this one last…one last time."

"Mum, I'm about to be wed, not dead. We'll be able to do this loads more times, I'm sure," Hermione said, taking her mother's hand.

"But it won't be the same, Hermione," Helen insisted, breaking open a popover and taking in the rich aroma. "My baby's a grown woman, now."

"That's my little girl, you're talking about," Richard Granger added softly, kissing his daughter's forehead. "Did you two think you were going to have this little chat without dear old Dad?"

"Good morning, Daddy," Hermione smiled. "Scone?"

"Are these Molly's legendary treats," Richard asked. "Arthur goes on and on about them."

"They are, Richard, but keep your voice down. The others are still asleep," Helen admonished her husband. "Now…where were we?"

"Your baby's a grown woman," Hermione prodded. "And…?"

"And she's about to start a family of her own," Richard finished.

"Not so fast," Hermione giggled, buttering a scone. "Ron and I want some time to ourselves and established in a home of our own before that happens."

"So you've discussed this then," Helen surmised.

"Yes, and at great length. Ron's fiercely independent like I am. We don't want to bring children into our lives until we're ready to take proper care of them," Hermione said. "Arthur and Molly really struggled with their seven—not that it was Arthur's fault or anything."

"Of course not, princess. He wants for his children what I wanted for you. All fathers want to give their children a better life than they had," Richard said. "Your mother and I married right out of dental school, and it wasn't easy for us. But we waited to have you so we could give you a secure home."

"But—"

"I know what you're going to say, and if you'd come along sooner than we'd planned, we would have been just as happy and loved you just as much," Helen assured her.

"Sure, the Weasleys struggled, but what they didn't have in money, they made up for in love. Like us, Ron wants both for his sprogs," her father told her. "And these scones are fantastic. Helen, did you—"

"Molly sent the recipe," Helen giggled. "Now, Hermione, do you have any questions for us?"

"No, Mum. I know all about the birds and the bees," she giggled.

"Great. I really didn't want to go there," Richard snorted.

The Grangers chatted until the sounds of yawning and stretching reached their ears from the den. "Oh dear! It's half-seven! We've got to get a move on," Helen gasped. "Hermione, use our shower and I'll start herding the girls through. And for heaven's sake, hurry. You can lounge at the spa."

"Yes, mummy, dear," Hermione replied, kissing her parents on the cheek. "Right away, mummy dear."

Ionúin Bhaille awoke to the sounds of Arthur Weasley banging on an old beat-up steel kettle with a wooden spoon. "Rise and shine, boys! You're brother's getting married to day. Percy! Bill! Look sharp! We've got a marquee to charm! Move!"

"Merlin's tarnished belt-buckle," Bill complained. "You could give a bloke a heart-attack with all that racket!"

"What the bloody hell—" Harry cried, racing down the stairs from the master bedroom, wand in hand and eyes blazing. When he arrived in the den, he found his wife's father standing there with a mischievous grin on his face and some wonky-looking cooking utensils in his hands. "Oh. G'morning, Dad."

"Good morning, Harry! Just rousing the boys," Arthur replied. "I'm taking Bill and Percy with me. Molly'll fed them breakfast and then I'll send them back when we're finished with the marquee."

"Right. Okay. I'm going to let Ron have a bit of a lie-in. When he smells breakfast, he'll come running on his own," Harry replied. "As for the rest of you Troglodytes, look alive!"

Fifteen minutes later, Arthur, Bill, and Percy Flooed to the Burrow for a bite of breakfast and a morning of venue-charming. Harry and the others magically folded and stowed the bedding and then he led them to the breakfast nook for some tea while he made breakfast.

"Can I 'elp, Mister 'Arry," Joseph asked sincerely. "I'm a pretty good 'and in me Mum's kitchen."

"Sure. Can you handle slicing that fruit over there," Harry asked, glad for the help.

Joseph cracked his knuckles and grinned. "Just show me to the cutting board."

The two Gryffindors chatted and joked while they prepared breakfast for the others, Joseph having a little trouble with Harry's long slicing knife, but after a few pointers from his mentor, Joseph had the sliced bananas, oranges, and apples arranged on a platter with three bunches of red grapes. Harry scrambled four dozen eggs and cooked three full rashers of bacon in the oven, serving them with Molly's scones and fresh butter.

"Damn, Harry, you don't miss a trick, do you," Neville exclaimed, chewing on his fourth slice of bacon. "And these scone are ruddy fantastic!"

"They're Mum's," Ron yawned, padding into the kitchen. I'd know that glorious smell anywhere. "Why didn't you ponces wake me up?"

"Because we knew the smell of food would jerk you from your wet dreams," Charlie snorted.

"Git," Ron smirked. He had dreamed sweet dreams of the witch who, in mere hours, would be his wife. "Thanks for doing all of this, Harry. I owe you."

"What are best mates for," Harry asked. "And you're welcome, but I had a little help this morning." Harry nodded at the preteen sitting next to George.

"Oh so we've got another chef in the ranks of Godric Gryffindor's noble knights," Ron said with a wink. "Well done, mate!"

"Aw it were nuthin'," Joseph blushed. "I just hacked up a bit o' fruit, thass all."

"Well it was some fine hacking, then," Ron replied. "Cheers!"

"All right, you lot, here's the plan. The wedding's at two o'clock and we'd better be on time or Hermione'll be after our blood. There are three showers in this house—the main one upstairs off the main hallway, the one off the guest room that's all Ron's first, and the one off the master bedroom that's all mine first. I expect Bill and Perce'll shower at the Burrow before they come back here to dress," Harry explained.

"When Ron's finished, George follows him; when I'm done, Joseph follows me. Neville, you take the other one and if Bill or Percy need to, they can fight over it after that," he said. "Any questions?"

"No sir," Ron barked. "Uh…Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Where are the girls this morning. Having a lie-in?"

"Not a chance, mate," Harry replied, checking his watch. It was ten o'clock. "At this moment, I'd imagine they're wallowing in mud."

"What? Mud? Harry, why would they do that? Hermione does not wallow in mud," Ron exclaimed.

Harry, Neville, and George about choked with laughter. "Mate, it's special mud for their skin! They're at a spa in London undergoing some mysterious Muggle female beautification ritual that's supposed to end with them looking like goddesses!"

"So they're muddled," Neville snickered.

"At least Hermione has to be. She's marrying Ron," George replied through the side of his mouth. "And your little mud-flower should come to you radiant," George said loftily.

"Shut it, you smarmy git," Ron snapped. "Hermione already is a goddess."

"Yes, I do have a lovely sister and my wife is a stunner herself, but trust me—you'll like how she looks," Harry promised.

"Um…is Emma wallowin' too," Joseph asked tentatively, his heart skipping a beat as he imagined his girlfriend frolicking about with her friends, all of them covered in _special_ mud.

"They all are, mate," Harry replied. "We'll have the most beautiful witches in Britain on our arms today. Now let's crack on!" Harry and Ron made for the showers first while George and Neville cleared away. They were momentarily tempted to allow Joseph to help, but decided against it for fear of invoking the wrath of that old bat, Hopkirk, at the Ministry.

As Neville and George worked, Joseph watched them closely, mimicking their wand movements with his index finger, imprinting them on his brain for further study upon his return to Hogwarts after the new year.

Bill and Percy returned to Ionúin Bhaille just after noon, completely exhausted and in need of hot showers. "Please tell me there's still hot water," Percy moaned.

"Perce, this is Harry's and Ginny's house. Don't you think they've charmed the water to always be hot," Bill exclaimed.

"Right, well, we're all set, so Bill, you take the master shower and Percy, you can use the main one upstairs," Harry told them. "Then we need to get Ron sorted out. He's in the guest room hyperventilating."

"Come on, Perce. Our little brother appears to be on the cusp of a full-scale meltdown," Bill laughed. "Harry, you've got the rings, right?"

"I have," he replied. "I've got them already stowed in the inside pocket of my robes. But I'll check again before we Apparate to the Burrow."

"Good man," Bill said, mounting the stairs to a well-deserved and much-needed shower.

"Hermione, you look stunning," Ginny gasped as the cosmetologist at the spa released her from her chair. Her wild curls had been brought under control with a mild relaxer and then piled on her head in a semi-up-do with the rest cascading down her back.

Hermione usually wore very little make-up, so she instructed the artist to go easy on it. She didn't want to look painted when she met her fiancé at the altar. The make-up artist complied with her wishes and the result was beyond anything Hermione imagined. It was perfect.

By noon, all of the women in the wedding party, including Fiona, had been pampered and preened and returned to the Grangers to dress. Fiona left before the others in order to set the string quartet and check the charms on them to be sure they played the correct pieces in the correct order and in the proper keys.

Hermione and Ron had left the music to her care when she agreed to sing for the wedding. When she went to pick up the guitar she'd purchased for the event, she discovered the magical string quartet for hire and snapped it up straightaway. Sure enough, the magical instruments were ready to go and all that was left was for the wedding to begin.

Fiona decided to check on her aunt to make sure she was all right. She found her sitting at the scrubbed oak table in her bathrobe, tears streaming down her face. "Aunt Molly, you all right," she asked in her softened Carolina twang.

"Oh! Yes, I'm fine, dear. Would you like a cup of tea? You look lovely," she replied.

"Oh no, thanks, Aunt Molly. I don't wanna have anything on my stomach when I hafta sing. I cain't get good air," she declined politely. "Is there anything I can help ya with?"

"Well, do you know anything about hair and make-up," Molly asked with a huff. "Ginny and Fleur bought me this entire kit and I haven't he first clue what to do with it all."

"Piece o' cake," Fiona assured her. "Let's see whatcha got here."

She rifled around the kit and pulled out what she'd need. Thirty minutes later, Molly's hair and make-up were finished and she looked every bit the proud mother of the groom. Fiona flicked her wand and then stepped back and gave her aunt a radiant smile. "Ya look like a queen, Aunt Molly. I set yer make-up so it won't run when ya cry. It's a little trick I picked up from Cousin Fleur."

"Thank you, dear. Are you sure you wouldn't like a spot of tea," Molly asked again.

"No, thanks," Fiona declined again. "Don't wanna disturb the pipes. I'm singin' country today."

Arthur stomped through the door and stopped short, hitching in a breath. "Mollywobbles, you look good enough to eat! You're still as lovely as the day I married you."

"Oh Arthur, you flirt," Molly giggled. "You'd better run upstairs and get ready, now. Your youngest son is getting married in a little over an hour and you need to look your best. Your new robes are laid out on the bed with your shirt, tie, socks, and trousers. I'm sure you know where to find the rest. Shoo!"

"If he ain't the smoothest operator I ever did see," Fiona giggled.

"You have no idea," Molly laughed. "Oh dear! It appears the caterers have arrived. Could you show them to the kitchen tent?"

"I'm on it," Fiona said as she sashayed out the door to guide Sam Chang and his staff to their work area.

"Hermione, I think you should wait to put your gown on until we arrive at the Burrow," Helen suggested.

"No, Mum. It'll be fine. I've already put an anti-mess charm on it to keep it clean and I'll have the train tacked up when we Apparate," Hermione countered. "It's all right. The only thing I'll have to put on there is my veil and tiara. Cricket! The flowers!"

"No worries, Hermione," Ginny reassured her friend. "They're already there and waiting. Harry confirmed them yesterday on the way home from the Ministry. You're all set."

"Remind me to hug the stuffing out of him today," Hermione said with a breath of relief. "He's really done too much. Oh, dear! I almost forgot! Ginny, would you bring me the jewellery boxes over there on the mantel?"

"Sure. Ladies, gather round, quickly. Hermione has something for all of you," Ginny called. Fleur, Angelina, Hannah, Patricia, Erica, and Emma crossed to room and stood before the bride.

"All right, Ron and I want to thank you for agreeing to stand with us today," Hermione began, tears welling in her cinnamon eyes. "This is a very special day, as you all know, and we want to share our happiness with you, so...we found these." Hermione called each of her attendants by name and presented them with their gifts.

"These are called Add-a-Pearl necklaces. There is only one on each, but it's a rather large one. The ones you add should compliment it," she explained as they helped one another put them on. "I think I'd better wait to do my necklace and earrings until we're at the Burrow. I'd hate to lose them in transit."

"Zat is a very good idea, 'Ermione," Fleur agreed. "Zey are far too beautiful."

"Girls, we'd better go," Richard called. "Helen will Side-along with Hermione and I'll go with Ginny. Emma, Erica, and Patricia, you'll Side-along with Fleur, Angelina, and Hannah. Are we ready?"

"Ready," the all replied. With a turn, they all vanished from the Grangers' home and reappeared less than a minute later at the Burrow's Apparition point.

"Is everyone here and in one piece," Helen asked, checking the three pre-teens. "Great. Let's get to the house before the men arrive."

"Come on, you lot," Bill shouted. "We're going to be late and Ron has something he wants to say to us!"

Once the men gathered round the groom, he cleared his throat and began to speak. "I…that is Hermione and I want to thank you for standing with us today and so we picked something up for each of you." Ron flicked his wand and summoned seven boxes from the mantel.

"The long box is for Joseph," he explained. "The others are hip flasks with your name and the date on them. Joseph, yours is an ID bracelet. The witch at the jewellers said they're very popular with Muggle teenagers. On one side is your name and on the other is today's date."

"I have just the thing for those flasks," Harry called, summoning a dusty bottle from the kitchen. "This is a never-ending bottle of Rosmerta's finest mead." He popped the cork and filled each flask.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said. "So anyway…thanks."

"Wow," Neville gasped. "This is amazing. Thank you, Ron."

"Yeah, thanks, Ron," the others echoed.

Harry stood by his best friend and brother, who was now shaking like a leaf. "Just breathe, mate. That's all you have to do. Just breathe."

"But what if I make a mess of my vows? I can't remember a thing," Ron moaned. What he was really worried about was the surprise he had in store for Hermione and by extension, the entire congregation.

"I had the same problem, about six months ago. Remember," Harry asked. "What did you say to me?"

"I haven't a clue," Ron replied, making to run his hand through his hair.

"Don't do that, you prat," Charlie said, grabbing his brother's hands. "You going to spoil your ponytail and it took me twenty minutes to get that damned ribbon right."

"You put a ribbon in my hair," Ron roared. "I told you tossers I didn't want any of that Lucius Malfoy Pureblood nonsense at my wedding! I probably look like a poufter!"

"Easy, little brother. He's just yanking your chain." Bill soothed. "Charlie, let him be. Now's not the time. You can harass him at the reception. Ron, your hair's tied back with a gold band just like you wanted, and you do _not_ look like a poufter."

"Sorry, mate. You look great," Charlie apologised. "Well, I guess it's time, yeah? Harry? Got the rings?"

"Right here," Harry said, producing the black velvet box that held the Celtic knot work bands and checking it to be sure. "There in there safe and sound."

"Then let's escort our lamb to the slaughter," George teased, much to the consternation of his eldest brother.

"George, stop it, all right," Bill commanded.

"Right, Bill. Sorry," George apologised. "Come on, Ron. Your beautiful bride awaits."

"Percy, Charlie, you're Ushers. You go on ahead and make sure the coast is clear. We'll follow in about three minutes," Bill directed. "All right, there, Ron?"

"Yeah," he gulped. "I'm…I'm good." Ron took deep breaths as Charlie and Percy passed through the front door and Apparated outside the gate.

"They're away. Harry, I'll Side-along with Ron. You take Joseph," Bill directed. "I trust the two of you can Apparate?"

"Of course we can, you ruddy git," George replied with a chuckle. "Neville here's a war-hero, after all. I'm sure he can Apparate."

"Too right, I can," Neville snorted. "And knock it off with that war-hero stuff. It's embarrassing."

"Hey, I can Apparate myself, thank you," Ron argued.

"I know that, little brother, but you're obviously nervous and Hermione would hex us all blind if we let you splinch yourself," Bill explained.

Ron glared at his brothers for a moment and then caved. "Maybe you're right. I've done the splinching thing and it doesn't tickle."

"Not to mention the mess," Harry agreed and shivered. During the war, the trio had to escape Death Eaters and Snatchers a few times and Ron managed to splinch a finger or two. Hermione had to work fast to restore those fingers before Ron bled out. It was scary for all of them.

"All right, then. We're off. See you in a few," Bill said, escorting Ron to the gates of Ionúin Bhaille. Five minutes later, all the men were gathered in the marquee with the Father of the Groom affixing boutonnieres to their robes.

"Ron, son, you look very nice," Arthur told his youngest boy as he anchored the ivory carnation bound with deep-green ivy and red holly berries, all frosted with frosty-glitter and tied with a gold ribbon. It matched perfectly with his ivory robes with gold trim around the lapels, sleeves, and hem with Celtic knot work throughout. His cufflinks and tie tack glittered in the fairy lights that illuminated the simulated chapel inside the marquee.

"Thanks, Dad," Ron said with a smile. He finally began to relax once he'd arrived at the Burrow, and began to enjoy the most wonderful day of his life.

"It's time to gather down front, men," Kingsley Shacklebolt whispered. "They're about to seat the mothers of the bride and groom.

Ron, Harry, Bill, George, and Neville followed the Minister for Magic to the front of the chapel. Arthur held Joseph back as he would escort Patricia down the aisle as the Junior Bride and Groom, with Patricia dropping rose petals along the way.

Upstairs, the bride and her attendants checked hair and make-up for the final time. Fleur and Ginny fussed with her tiara and veil, making sure the ensemble remained anchored in her hair. "'Ermione, c'est magnifique! Trés belle!"

"Thank you, Fleur. Thank you all," Hermione said, touching the hand of each witch.

A knock came at the door and Richard Granger peeked in. The man hitched in a breath at the sight of his daughter in her wedding gown and veil. "Princess, you look beautiful."

"Thank you, Daddy," Hermione demurred. "Is it time?"

"Yes, it is. You ladies should head out to the marquee and take your places. I'll escort my daughter," he directed.

"See you in a few minutes, Hermione," Ginny said, squeezing her friend's hand. The others followed suit, except for the Prewett twins, who were Hermione's train attendants.

Richard crooked his arm for Hermione to take. "Ready, baby?"

"Yes, Daddy. I'm ready," she replied softly. "I love you."

"I love you too, Sweetheart," he said. "Let's go marry you off to that Auror of yours, shall we?"

Hermione didn't answer; she simply smiled and nodded. Together, they walked to the makeshift chapel, Richard turning over the life of his little girl in his mind. The day she was born, her first steps, her first birthday, her first word—book, her first day at kindergarten. Tears filled his eyes as he thought back to the day old Professor Dumbledore arrive at the door to inform them that their little Hermione was a witch. Before either of them realised, they stood outside the marquee. Ginny handed her an ivory faux-fur muff with three frosted red tea roses tied with a sprig of ivy and holly berries.

The witches took their places, with Hannah poised to step off first, followed by Angelina, Fleur, Ginny, Joseph and Patricia and finally, Hermione and Richard. Kingsley nodded to Fiona, who flicked her wand to start the processional. The string quartet rose and began the opening measures of _Pachelbel's Canon in D_.

At the beginning of the ninth bar, Hannah stepped off, staggering her steps so as not to rush. Her burgundy velvet gown hung to the floor from and Empire waistline. She carried an ivory muff similar to the brides, but sans the tea roses. In her hair lay a wreath of holly and ivy, frosted, and trimmed with a matching burgundy velveteen ribbon. Neville, dressed in matching burgundy robes set off with a frosted holly and ivy boutonniere, ivory shirt, matching bowtie, and black trousers with black shoes, gazed lovingly at the vision of loveliness that was his wife. Her blonde tresses fell in waves down her back. She smiled demurely and then turned left to take her place at the altar.

Dressed in like manner, Angelina stepped off once Hannah reached the third pew from the rear. Her darker skin shone softly, a result of a full cocoa-butter massage at the spa that morning. George, dressed identically to Neville, beamed at her. He'd never seen her look more beautiful than she did at that moment. Her black hair fell in tiny ringlets around her shoulders.

Following Angelina, Fleur, dressed identically to her fellow bridesmaids, stepped off as the music flowed through the marquee. Her silvery-blonde hair hung to her waist, fluttering in the slight breeze magically-created to keep the assembly cool and comfortable. Bill, his scars having faded a bit over the past two years, grinned widely at the vision as she moved with exceptional grace toward the front.

As the music began to dance, Ginny stepped off. Her forest-green velvet gown swirled at her feet. Her fiery mane fell in waves down her back and swayed with every step. She carried a muff with a single rose wrapped with holly and ivy and frosted like the others. Her chocolate eyes glittered in the fairy lights as she moved. Harry, dressed also in forest green robes set off with a frosted holly and ivy boutonniere, ivory shirt, matching bowtie, black trousers with shoes gazed at his wife with deepest love and adoration. He sent a wave of appreciation through their bond.

"_You're beautiful, Gin. You all are."_

"_Thank you, Harry. You lot look pretty hot."_

Following the bridesmaids, Joseph and Patricia stepped off, with Patricia carrying an ivory fireplace basket tied with holly and ivy. As they walked up the aisle, she dropped blood-red rose petals on the carpet. Patricia's gown was made of ivory silk with gold bows at the shoulders and a gold sash around her waist. She wore matching stockings with dainty ballet-style slippers on her feet. In her hair lay a holly and ivy wreath with a gold ribbon falling down her back and mingling with her light brown waves. Joseph wore an ivory robe similar to Ron's, sans the gold trim. He wore a matching shirt and trousers, with a burgundy bowtie. As soon as they reached the front, they parted—Patricia to the left and Joseph to the right—taking their places with the others at the altar.

Ron took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on the back of the chapel. What he saw took his very breath away. There stood his beautiful Hermione on the arm of her father. Her veil hid her face, but there was no doubt in his mind that the face behind it was the one that filled his dreams the night before. "Merlin, she's gorgeous," he breathed.

"Hang in there, mate," Harry encouraged. "Just keep breathing."

The congregation stood in salute as Richard Granger, natty in his black tie ensemble, escorted his only child down the aisle to the man who would take her from him forever. Tears streamed down his face as they walked, as the final strains of the Canon in D drifted over them. Hermione's gown of ivory silk taffeta and fine lace accentuated her curves, the skirt, filled out with a rustling crinoline hung to the floor and spread out behind her in a cathedral train. Emma and Erica followed behind, holding the train steady until it was time to gently let it fall to trail behind. Hermione's fingertip veil was bordered round with tiny pearls and her tiara shone like the sun in the fairy lights, the tiny diamonds, emeralds, and garnets glittering brightly.

Ron's heart nearly burst as Richard and Hermione arrived at his side, Hermione standing regally between the two most-beloved men in her life.

Kingsley raised his hands to the assembly. "Welcome, friends, to the binding of Hermione Jean Granger-Black to Ronald Bilius Weasley. Who gives this woman in matrimony?"

Richard raised his voice in reply. "Her mother and I." He then turned to Hermione and lifter her veil, giving her a light kiss on her forehead. He then looked up at Ron and placed his daughter's hand in his. "Take good care of my little girl."

"I will, sir," Ron replied, shaking the man's hand.

Richard stepped back and took his place at his weeping wife's side, placing a protective arm around her. Across the aisle, Molly wept into her handkerchief while Arthur rubbed circles on her back.

"Please, be seated," Kingsley said and nodded to Fiona, who began to play. What happened next flabbergasted the entire assembly and even left crusty old Aunt Muriel speechless. Ron looked straight into Hermione's eyes and began to sing in a rich baritone.

_I see the questions in your eyes; I know what's weighing on your mind,_

_But you can be sure I know my part._

"_Cause I stand beside you through the years—you'll only cry those happy tears;_

_And though I've made mistakes, I'll never break your heart._

_I swear by the moon and the stars in the sky—I'll be there,_

_And I swear, like the shadow that's by your side—I'll be there._

_For better or worse, 'til death do us part, I'll love you with every beat of my heart,_

_I swear._

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. She so loved to listen to Ron sing to her in private, but now he declared his undying love to her in song before their friends and family gathered in that marquee.

_I'll give you everything I can, I'll build your dreams with these two hands,_

_We'll hang some memories on the wall._

_And when there's silver in your hair, you won't have to ask if I still care;_

'_Cause as time turns the page, my love won't age at all._

_I swear by the moon and the stars in the sky—I'll be there,_

_And I swear by the shadow that's by your side—I'll be there._

_For better or worse, 'til death do us part, I'll love you with every beat of my heart,_

_I swear. I swear. I swear._

Helen Granger and Molly Weasley sobbed into their husbands' shoulders. The bridal party stood pleasantly stunned. None of them, save Bill, George, and Ginny had any idea Ron had such a beautiful singing voice. Aunt Muriel sat staring at her great-nephew, her jaw slack and her eyes blinking in disbelief.

Ron stole a glance at Fiona and winked, a gesture she returned. "Good job," she mouthed as Ron turned his attention back to his glowing bride.

"Friends, in the magical world—as in the Muggle—we do not enter into marriage lightly, for when we marry, we bind our hearts and magic to our beloved. Today, we celebrate the joining of two very remarkable people, living monuments to the power of love and I dare say, patience."

The congregation, including the bridal party, tittered with soft laughter.

"Inasmuch as Ronald and Hermione have agreed together to be bound by our law and tradition, let us begin. Hermione, your vow to Ronald, please."

Hermione took a deep, calming breath and took Ron's hands in hers. "Ron, I could give you a thousand definitions of love from the world's most-complete dictionaries and recite flowery sonnets written by the greatest poets of all-time, but none of it could even begin to describe what I feel for you. I love you so very much. You're my lover and confidant, but most of all, you're my best friend, and I thank whatever gods that may be that you chose me to love above any other. You're everything to me and I can't imagine a moment of my life without you in it. I promise to honour you, defend you, and love you from now and 'til the end of time. _Diligo vos, Postulo vos, Volo vos_."

When she finished, she took a shaky breath and smiled into her love's face, never letting go of his hands.

"Ronald, your vow to Hermione, please," Kingsley directed.

Ron gazed into his bride's eyes and blinked back a few tears. With a shaky voice, he began. "'Mione, I've wracked my brain for weeks trying to come up with the right words, but they just wouldn't come, so I have to say this with the words I've got. I can't get my head around what you see in me, but I must've done something right for you to fall in love with a prat like me. You're so smart and beautiful—I'm the luckiest man in the world to be standing here with you like this. I love you so much, Hermione. Everything I do, I do for and because of you. I promise to honour you, defend you, and love you from now 'til the end of time. _Diligo vos, Postulo vos, Volo vos._

Kingsley flicked his wand and a golden cord appeared and wrapped itself around their hands, flashed for a moment, and dissipated. He nodded once again and Fiona began to play, her warm alto drifting across the solemn silence of the chapel.

_I cried a tear; you wiped it dry;_

_I was confused; you cleared my mind._

_I sold my soul; you bought it back for me,_

_And held me up and gave me dignity._

_Somehow, you needed me._

_You gave me strength to stand alone again,_

_To face the world out on my own again;_

_You put me high upon a pedestal—_

_So high that I could almost see eternity;_

_You needed me, you needed me._

Ron smiled down at his love, fighting the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her delicious lips. His eyes darted from those lips to her shining eyes and back again. _Hang on, Weasley. It won't be long now._

_And I can't believe it's you, I can't believe it's true—_

_I needed you and you were there._

_And I'll never leave, how could I leave? I'd be a fool_

'_Cause I finally found someone who really cares._

_You held my hand when it was cold;_

_When I was lost, you took me home,_

_You gave me hope when I was at the end;_

_You turned my lies back into truth again—_

_You even called me friend._

_You needed me, you needed me._

_You needed me, you needed me._

As the final notes of Fiona's guitar and the string quartet faded to silence, the congregation wiped moist eyes, including the Minister, who had been so taken with the beauty of the moment, he'd almost forgotten that he had a binding to complete.

He stood before the bride and groom. "Hermione Jean Granger-Black, do you take Ronald in love to be your husband according to British Wizarding Law?"

"I do."

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, do you take Hermione in love to be your wife according British Wizarding Law?"

"I do."

Kingsley flicked his wand, from which a second golden cord appeared and wrapped around Ron's and Hermione's joined hands. He flicked it again and the light flashed for a moment, sealing their love and faith."

The congregation looked on transfixed as a faint blue light began to encompass the bride and groom. With each passing moment, it intensified, no one having the slightest inclination as to what the strange light might be.

As Harry and Ginny advanced with the rings, they looked at each other, the question in their eyes.

"_Harry, what's going on?"_

"_I haven't a clue, Gin. That didn't happen at our wedding, did it?"_

"_Not that I remember. Ron and Hermione don't seem to notice it."_

"_I noticed."_

As Ron and Hermione had done, Harry extended his pinky finger on which Hermione's ring rested; Ginny held Ron's on her index finger. Ron took the ring from Harry and placed it on Hermione's left ring finger. "With this ring, I thee wed." He grinned broadly into her eyes.

Hermione, in turn, took the ring from Ginny and slid it onto Ron's finger. "With this ring, I thee wed," she repeated softly.

Kingsley flicked his wand and a third golden cord appeared and wrapped itself around Ron's and Hermione's joined hands. The light flashed and faded away, but the blue glow around them intensified once again.

Still oblivious to the spectacle around them, Ron and Hermione gazed longingly and lovingly into one another's eyes. Her chocolate-brown locked on his sapphire-blue and they began to feel one another's heartbeats. Although they didn't notice it, they felt warmth and a comfort as they gazed into one another's eternity.

Kingsley raised his arms above the bride and groom. "Ronald and Hermione, you spoken your vows and made your pledges before this company. You have exchanged tokens of your love and faith; therefore, it is my great pleasure and privilege to declare you husband and wife. Ronald, you may kiss your bride."

_Finally!_ As the congregation broke into cheers and applause, the blue light pulsed and disappeared, leaving Ron and Hermione locked in a passionate and deep kiss, and looking like they wouldn't come up for air anytime soon.

After a few moments, Ron reluctantly released Hermione from the kiss and laughed with the congregation. "We made it, 'Mione! We're really married!"

"Imagine that," she giggled.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Mr and Mrs Ronald Bilius Weasley," Kingsley's voice boomed.

Fiona flicked her wand and the string quartet rose and began to play a cheerful recessional, Bach's _Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring_. Ron and Hermione, with the twins behind them, made their way to the back of the chapel, followed by Harry and Ginny, Bill and Fleur, George, and Angelina, Neville and Hannah, and Joseph and Patricia.

"Ronald, darling," Hermione cooed. "Was that what the appointments were all about?"

"What?"

"The song, you goof," she giggled. "That was…oh Ron, what a beautiful gift. Thank you." She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it sweetly.

"Yeah, that was it. Fiona coached me a bit," he admitted, blushing hotly. "You really liked that, huh?"

"No, I loved it," she replied.

Charlie and Percy held the family pews until Kingsley and Fiona passed, and then stepped aside to allow the Grangers and the elder Weasleys to make their way to the receiving line.

The moment the bride and groom stepped out, Auror Lieutenant Seamus Finnegan barked a command to two columns of Aurors positioned on either side of the exit. "Auror Columns! Face!" The two columns turned crisply and faced one another.

"Aurors! Present!" They all raised their wands high to form a sort of archway for the bridal party to pass under. Ron and Harry drew their wands and saluted as they passed, grinning like Cheshire cats."

"Why didn't they do that at our wedding," Ginny asked, eyeing her husband warily.

"Because I hadn't taught it to them yet," Harry replied. "Sorry, Love."

"You didn't sing to me, either," she teased.

"Something for which you should be eternally grateful," he laughed. "You know I can't sing."

"Well, it was a thought," she giggled.

"Richard, can you believe this," Helen exclaimed as they followed the bridal party out of the tent. "It's a perfect replica of our parish. I thought Arthur was kidding when he asked for those photos."

"All that was missing was the vicar," Richard agreed. "But the Minister cut a fine figure up there, didn't he?"

"He did. His robes are magnificent! And the flowers, Richard! I'm still stunned," she said, tears welling up in her eyes again.

"Our little girl has quite an eye for design," he said proudly. "I have to admit I was a bit sceptical about the Christmas theme, but she and Ron pulled it off brilliantly. And Minister Shacklebolt acting as officiator—that's like being married by the Archbishop of Canterbury himself!"

"I hadn't thought of that," Helen replied thoughtfully. "My, but our children are something special, aren't they?"

"Indeed they are, Helen. Indeed they are," Richard agreed with not a small degree of pride.

Arthur and Molly followed behind the Grangers. Judging from the snippets of their conversation and the way they looked around the marquee, they must have been pleased. "Artie, you and the boys did a fine job. I believe Richard and Helen are truly impressed," Molly beamed.

"Thank you, my beauty—and did I mention just how lovely you look today," Arthur replied.

"At least a dozen times, you incurable flirt," Molly giggled.

"Why didn't the girl wear my tiara, Molly? It's a tradition," the old witch huffed.

"Aunt Muriel, the girl's name is Hermione, and you'll find a lot of things different today, right down to the meal," Molly answered. "Ron and Hermione wanted to do something fun and whimsical and they wanted to do it their own way. Her tiara and veil were a gift from her brother and sister-in-law."

"Brother? What brother? That girl is an only child," Muriel argued.

"Oh not anymore," Arthur snarked. "Harry adopted her into the House of Black, to which he is heir and Head. Didn't you notice how the Minister called her Hermione Granger-Black?"

"So he did," Muriel agreed. "And what was the point in that? Rational people don't go about adopting adult siblings, especially Mug—"

"Muriel, that's enough. There was a specific reason for it. Aside the from the fact that Harry and Hermione love each other dearly as a brother and sister do, Harry couldn't allow the Black seat to fall into the wrong hands," Arthur explained hotly. "Those two sit on the Wizengamot now, and you had better get used to it."

"Aunt Muriel, I must ask that you keep your snide comments to yourself," Molly warned, holding tightly to her husband's arm. "It's Ronnie's and Hermione's special day and I'll not have you spoiling it. Now, you will behave yourself today or I will ask Charlie and Percy to escort you home."

"Such disrespect," Muriel grumbled. "At least the boy's made an honest woman of her."

"Muriel…" Arthur growled, and the old woman went silent.

Kreacher couldn't have been more thrilled. Working for and with Master Harry's family gave him a sense of worth and purpose. At this moment, his job was to escort people to a hospitality tent at the end of the receiving line for cocktails and hors d'ouvres while Mistress Luna photographed the wedding party. "Madame Weasley thinks of everything," he croaked to himself.

Like a proper Maitre'd, Kreacher saw to the guests' comforts and nearly took over supervision of Sam Chang's staff. At first, they scorned the old House-elf for his cheek, but then realised that he was only doing as he had been ordered to do by his master—at least that's what Kreacher let them think. Master Harry never ordered him about like vermin. Oh no. Master Harry asked politely as one might ask a friend, and the Elf was more than happy to comply.

"Ron, you have a lovely singing voice," Diana Templeton said, kissing his cheek. "You had me in tears before you finished the first line."

"Well done, Ron! I couldn't have done it better myself," Paul agreed, shaking the groom's hand firmly. "That took some real bollocks."

Ron blushed furiously at the praise he'd received throughout the receiving line. "Uh…thanks. I just wanted to do something special for Hermione."

"You're a lucky girl, Hermione," Diana assured the bride with a warm hug. "He's quite the young man."

"He's the best," Hermione agreed. "He's sweet, funny, kind, heartbreakingly handsome, and he sang to me in front of nearly everybody we know. What more could a girl ask for?"

"Ronald, I must say that I'm surprised," Muriel croaked. "In my day, a groom would never be so bold as to sing to his bride in public. It just wasn't done, but you did a fine job. Fine indeed."

"Thanks, Aunt Muriel," Ron replied politely, casting a sidelong glance at Hermione. "I'm glad you liked it." As soon as the old woman passed and started in on Harry and Ginny, Ron leaned over to give his new wife a long-overdue kiss. "Who was that woman and what has she done with Muriel Prewett."

"She's just so blown away by your good looks and talent, she couldn't help but praise it," Hermione giggled. "Now would you put those talented lips to work and kiss me again?"

"Just try to stop me," Ron murmured and took her in his arms. The kiss held up the receiving line, but those waiting to greet them broke into cheers, cat-calls, and applause, which only served to spur the bride and groom on. When they finally came up for air, Ron placed his lips near her ear. "There are more where that came from, Love."

"I'm counting on it," she replied with an evil grin. "And more."

The wedding guests enjoyed plum wine and Dim Sum in the hospitality tent while Luna snapped photo after photo of the bride and groom, their parents, the wedding party, and practically every combination thereof. Once she finished, Arthur, Bill, and Percy disappeared into the marquee to perform a bit more wand work to ready it for the reception.

Bill returned to the hospitality tent to tell Charlie and Percy to herd the guests into the redesigned marquee. They all gasped and exclaimed at the sight. The round tables looked as though they'd been carved from ice, decorated with floating candles that smelled of cranberry and vanilla ringed with frosted holly and ivy that matched the men's boutonnieres and the trim on the women's muffs. At each place setting, guests each found a box containing a personalised crystal Christmas ornament that read:

_Happy Christmas_

_Ron & Hermione Weasley_

_18 December 1999_

Two magnificent Christmas trees trimmed in silver and gold stood in the corners behind the head table. The hall itself was festooned with pine boughs joined with burgundy bows. Fairy lights blended with the evergreens, turning the marquee into a loose recreation of the Great Hall at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament Yule Ball.

Once the guests found their seats, unseen heralds trumpeted the arrival of the bride and groom and their attendants. Ron and Hermione led the procession into the marquee, smiling brightly as their guests stood and cheered for them. Emma and Erica fastened Hermione's train at her waist so she could sit comfortably, having been on her feet for more than three hours. Ron had even conjured a fluffy pillow for her to stand on while they greeted their guests in the receiving line.

The men seated their women and the feast began. Sam Chang's staff scurried about with bottles of plum wine and champagne, filling glasses while others offered more Dim Sum to accompany the entrée. The traditional knife, forks, and spoon accompanied each place setting, but for the adventurous, there were also bamboo chopsticks. The guests laughed and teased each other about their prowess—or lack of it—with the strange utensils. Each table was equipped with an ever-full pot of Chinese tea, cream, and sugar.

Once he saw that everyone had finished, Harry stood and tapped his spoon against his champagne glass. The din of conversation died down and everyone turned their attention to the Chosen One. Harry pressed the tip of his wand to his throat. "_Sonorus_."

"A toast to the bride and groom," he began, raising his glass. The company followed suit. "Eight years ago—almost nine, really—I had the fortune to meet the Weasley family at Kings Cross Station. I had no idea what to do, but Molly took a scared kid under her wing and did what she does best. She told me where to go." The company burst into laughter, including Molly, who playfully shook her finger at her son-in-law.

"I made friends with Ron on the train over a pile of Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Licorice Wands, and a load of other sweets. Ron was just about to cast a spell on his…pet…when Hermione burst in looking for Neville's toad. How's Trevor, Nev?"

"Wouldn't know," the Herbologist replied. "I'm done chasing the warty git." The company laughed again. Hannah leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Needless to say, Ron's spell didn't work, as it was one Fred and George taught him. But Hermione—now she was something else. Imagine my terror when this bushy-haired little girl with an attitude pointed her wand at my face and uttered the spell that repaired my broken glasses," Harry explained.

"During the war, these two were my lifeline. Without them, I couldn't have defeated Voldemort. Hell, I wouldn't have survived our mission. Hermione's cleverness and Ron's strategies kept us going, although we didn't have the slightest clue what we were doing. But one thing was for sure, Ron and Hermione were my brother and sister in every sense of the word."

Harry had to pause, as the emotion welled up in him so fully that his chest began to constrict. Ginny sent a wave of calm to him through their bond, allowing him to collect himself. "Ron, Hermione, you're my best mates, my brother, and my sister. I owe my life to you. Ginny and I count ourselves blessed to have you as such an important part of our life. The only advice we can offer you is to be kind and patient with one another—and make us loads of nieces and nephews to spoil. To Ron and Hermione Weasley! May their union be…interesting! Sláinte!"

"Sláinte," the guests replied and drank to the bride and groom.

Harry cancelled the amplification charm and sat down. Bill took up his spoon and began to tap his own glass, encouraging the others to do the same. Soon the marquee rang with the sound of silver against crystal, calling the bride and groom to task.

Ron took his wife's hand and helped her to stand. Gazing deep into Hermione's eyes, he took her in his arms and gave her a smouldering kiss. The company cheered and allowed them to finish their meal.

Luna Lovegood wandered around snapping photos of each table and of the hall itself. Even she found herself taken in by the magic of a Christmas wedding. Later that week, she would have a rather difficult time decided which photos she would use for the special Granger-Weasley Wedding issue of _The Quibbler_. Any she didn't use, she'd loan to _Witch Weekly_ and _The Daily Prophet_. When it was time for the dance, she helped clear the hall of the large round tables, which were replaced by smaller ones set against the wall. The head table remained firmly in place while Dean Thomas helped Lee Jordan set up his dee-jay equipment on the opposite end.

"Could the bride and groom unglue their lips long enough to open the dance," Lee called to the room. Blushing, Ron escorted Hermione to the dance floor hand-in-hand and took her in his arms as the first song began to play.

_They read you "Cinderella;" you hoped it would come true—_

_That one day your Prince Charming would come rescue you._

_You like romantic movies; you never will forget_

_The way you felt when Romeo kissed Juliet._

_All this time that you've been waiting—_

_You don't have to wait no more!_

_I can love you like that, I would make you my world,_

_Move heaven and earth if you were my girl._

_I will give you my heart, be all that you need,_

_Show you you're everything that's precious to me—_

_If you give me the chance, I can love you like that._

Ron began to sing softly in her ear as they moved around the dance floor. The rest of the bridal party had drifted onto the floor to join them while the guests applauded.

_I never make a promise I don't intent to keep,_

_So when I say forever, forever's what I mean._

_I'm no Casanova, but I swear this much is true:_

_I'll be holding nothing back when it comes to you._

_You dream of love that's everlasting; baby, open up your eyes._

_I can love you like that, I would make you my world,_

_Move heaven and earth if you were my girl._

_I will give you my heart, be all that you need,_

_Show you you're everything that's precious to me—_

_If you give me the chance, I can love you like that._

_You want tenderness, I've got tenderness,_

_And I see through to the heart of you._

_If you want a man who understands,_

_You don't have to look very far._

_I can love you—I can—I can love you like that, I would make you my world,_

_Move heaven and earth if you were my girl._

_I will give you my heart, be all that you need,_

_Show you you're everything that's precious to me—_

_If you give me the chance, I can love you like that._

As they moved about the floor, Hermione sobbed into Ron's shoulder. Harry held Ginny close and stroked her flaming hair, exchanging waves of love and silent words of devotion. Bill and Fleur gazed into one another's eyes, barely moving at all, while George and Angelina swayed, lost in their own little world. Hannah and Neville talked quietly as they danced, laughing at whatever private jokes they made. Joseph eagerly tried to emulate the adults on the floor and Emma was all too eager to help. Percy and Charlie danced with Erica and Patricia, respectively, making the girls blush as they flirted harmlessly with them.

Arthur and Molly and Richard and Helen joined them on the floor while Luna snapped photo after photo. When the next song began, the bride and groom changed partners, Hermione to dance with her father and Ron to dance with his mother.

"Happy, princess," Richard asked as he turned her around the floor in a waltz.

"Deliriously," Hermione replied. "Thanks for accepting all of this. I know it's overwhelming for you."

"At first it was, but once we got used to the idea that our baby girl is a witch, it got easier," her father admitted. "Arthur and Molly have been very helpful to us."

"May I cut in?" Arthur tapped Richard on the shoulder and grinned like a school-boy.

"Ah, speaking of the devil," Richard chuckled. "My dear, your father-in-law would like a turn, I think."

"I'd be honoured, sir," Hermione giggled and took the Weasley patriarch's hand. They waltzed away into the crowd, while Richard walked off in search of a glass of champagne.

Ron spun his mother to a seat and dragged Helen onto the floor. "No wallflowers at this party," he grinned. "Dance with me, Helen."

"My, you are a charmer, aren't you," she giggled. "But we must be careful. Richard is mighty jealous."

"Then I'll be on my best behaviour," Ron said, taking his mother-in-law into his arms.

As soon as the bride and groom took a break for a drink, Undersecretary Alastor Gumboil approached to pay his respects. "Weasley, Mrs Weasley, I'm afraid I must take my leave. I have a backlog of work to attend to. It was a lovely wedding. Congratulations."

Ron stiffened when the man approached. There was no way in this world he was going to allow that git to touch his wife, let alone dance with her. Hermione whispered something in his ear and he relaxed a little, still holding her hand tightly in his. "Thanks for coming," she said politely. We're sorry you can't stay."

"Thank you, but I really must be going. Once again, congratulations." He shook Ron's hand and turned away to stroll out into the chilly December evening.

Ron watched as he left the reception, secretly cursing the fact that his father insisted he invite the idiot at all. _It's Ministry protocol, son. He's the Undersecretary for our department. We can't leave him out._ The Assistant Head Auror was never happier to see a man's backside as he was Alastor Gumboil's as he left the reception.

"Ron? Ronald," Hermione said, stroking his red face.

"Yes, Love," he answered, releasing her hand and kissing it softly.

"How about we fire up that chocolate fountain and cut the cake," she asked. "I could use some chocolate."

"As you wish," Ron agreed, offering his arm. "Milady?" They cross the dance floor to the plinth that held the exquisite wedding cake Molly had made for them. Hermione touched her wand to her throat. "Sonorus. If we could have your attention, please?" The hall fell quiet and all eyes fell on Ron and Hermione.

"Um…Ron and I want to thank everyone for coming today. We'd also like to thank our parents, our friends, and especially Harry and Ginny Potter for helping us make this dream of ours come true," she said. "Are you having a good time?" The guests all clapped and cheered in response.

"Wonderful! So are we, but I'm having a bit of a chocolate attack and Ron's stomach's growling again. He needs cake," she announced, pausing to allow their guests to laugh. "So Ron, dear, shall we?"

He nodded in response and handed the knife to her. Covering her hand with his own, they sliced into the bottom tier and removed a small piece to feed one another. They'd promised from the outset that they would not smash it into one another's faces, but place it gently and lovingly into one another's mouths.

Eyeing each other closely, they raised a bit of cake to one another's lips. Hermione gently took the offered sweet from Ron's fingers and then licked them clean. She could see the pleasure-pain in his face as she held his fingers in her mouth. Ron, not to be out-done, sucked the icing from Hermione's fingers and then began to kiss up her arm to her neck while the onlookers laughed and applauded their approval.

Helen and Molly stepped up to them and served them each a full slice of cake and then Molly magically sliced it, saving the top tier, and filled up trays for Sam's staff to distribute to the head table and then to the rest of the company.

The party rolled on into the evening. Seamus and Fiona danced a few dances together, chatting about their New Year's Eve plans and teasing one another with wisecracks and mild flirting. At around 9PM, Ron and Hermione began to make the rounds to the tables, thanking everyone once again for coming to their wedding, as they were ready to leave. Their parents had gifted them with a few days of peace and quiet at the hotel they'd stay at in Normandy last July.

Arthur had charmed the key card into a Portkey that would take them straight to their room. At precisely 10PM, the Portkey glowed blue and transported them to their hotel room where they found several fragrant winter flower arrangements and a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. A suitcase lay at the foot of the bed and garment bags hung in the closet to protect their wedding clothes.

Ron lifted Hermione's tiara and veil from her hair. With a soft growl, he then took her in his arms and kissed her gently, his fingers working free the pearl buttons that ran down her back while she gently unhooked his robes. Gown and robes fell to the floor, pooling at their feet, followed by shirt, trousers and crinoline. Still joined at the lips, Ron ran his hands through her hair until he found the pins that held it in place. One by one, he removed them until her wild curls fell over her bare shoulders and down her back.

"So beautiful," he murmured. "I love you so much, Hermione Weasley."

She lifted his undershirt and pulled it over his head, revealing his muscular chest and patch of soft red hair that ran from his navel south. She kissed him again, removing the gold band that held his ponytail in place. His thick, red, locks fell to his shoulders and she moaned into his mouth.

"Make love to my, my ginger god," she whispered. "I love you."

Ron picked up his wife and carried her to the bed, where he laid her down gently and then climbed over to join her. "_Incendio_, my goddess," he breathed and crushed his lips to hers.

_A/N __The three songs in this chapter are "I Swear" by by Gerald Baker and Frank J. Myers as recorded by John-Michael Montgomery on Atlantic Records; "You Needed Me" by Randy Goodrum as recorded by Anne Murray on Capitol Records; and "I Can Love You Like That" by Steve Diamond, Maribeth Derry, and Jennifer Kimball as recorded by John-Michael Montgomery on Atlantic Records._


	29. Chapter 29 Molly's Triumph

**Chapter 29 – Molly's Triumph**

The frosty December winds of western England cut through Alastor Gumboil as he stepped from the marquee where the Weasley family and their friends celebrated into the night. _She's too good for that red oaf—too pure, too fine._ He hurried to the Apparition point and vanished without as much as a pause, reappearing on the square at Hogsmeade.

Tonight, he and the executive board of ELF had business. Antrim had been a disaster and there was trouble at Hogwarts. ELF, though growing, needed to keep up appearances if they hoped to make changes for Muggleborn equality. The warmth of Three Broomsticks allowed him to shake off some of the cold. It had begun to snow in Scotland, which only fuelled to his foul mood. "Rosmerta, I'll have a bottle of Old Ogden's and a glass," he growled.

"Alastor, you'd better behave yourself tonight. I won't have any disruptions here," she warned.

"Have I ever caused you any trouble," he asked, hoping to charm the formidable innkeeper. "I'm just here to have a few drinks with my friends. Nothing more."

"I'm surprised you're not at the wedding," she said suspiciously. "I know you were invited. I'd have been there myself, but…" she lamented, gesturing widely around her almost-empty tavern. It was just too cold and nasty for anyone to be out, not to mention the Galleons spent on Christmas, which was just a week away.

"I just came from there," he admitted. "They had Chinese food, for Merlin's sake. Who serves Chinese food at a wedding? Weasley—"

"Alastor, don't even go there. I don't know what you have against that family. They're fine people and have been more than kind to Harry Potter. We owe them our lives, you know," she snapped, handing him the bottle and glass. "Five Galleons."

The man tossed her the coins and shuffled off to his customary table. There was no point in arguing something as complex as his problem with the Weasleys, particularly the youngest son. Rosmerta, lovely woman that she was, just didn't have the head for such abstract concepts. _But _she_ would understand_.

Gumboil poured himself a drink and threw it back in one go, following it with two more before the warmth of the amber drink melted the ice that had formed in his veins. Stiles, Waldheimer, Stormer, and the surviving Dearborn, Ernie, filed in, brushing the heavy snow from their cloaks. Peasegood, so far, was a no-show. In fact, it seemed to Gumboil that the veteran Obliviator had been avoiding him lately, even at the Ministry.

"Alastor," Waldheimer intoned, taking his seat across from the Undersecretary. "Vy aren't you at da vedding instead of dragging us out on a night like dis?"

"We have business, Magnus," Gumboil growled, taking another drink of Firewhiskey.

"Vaht business do ve haff dat can't vait until after da holidays," Waldheimer asked once again. He and his family had to rush their tree trimming for this necessary meeting and Greta was not pleased.

"What business? I'll tell you what business," Alastor snarled, slamming the side of his right fist on the table. "That godsdamned Ron Weasley! That's what this meeting is about!"

"Vy do ve haff a meeting about an Auror," Waldheimer asked, still not understanding.

"Don't you understand? It's his fault! I'm on a ruddy _holiday_ because that red bastard fingered me as the inciter at Antrim," Gumboil snarled again, his voice rising.

"But Alastor, Weasley was just doing—" Ernie began.

"Shut it, Dearborn," the ELF leader barked, rounding on the man. "If he'd kept his nose out of Antrim, we could've handled it!"

"Handled it? You call that _handling _it," Dearborn argued, his face reddening. "My brother is dead, Alastor! My nephew is an orphan and his mother a widow because of how well we _handled_ it! Potter—"

"Keep Harry Potter out of this, Ernie! I mean it," Gumboil snapped. "He—"

"He masterminded the bust," Stiles interjected. "He's ruddy Head Auror isn't he?"

"Rubbish! Weasley's the tactician! That red bastard set me up!" Alastor had come to full Gumboil at this point. His companions stole worried glances at one another, wondering if their esteemed leader hadn't taken leave of his senses.

"Rosmerta," Waldheimer called. "A round of your best mulled mead, _ja?_

"Sure, Magnus," she replied, just as Arnold Peasegood stumbled through the door, brushing the snow from his cloak. "Oh, hello, Arnie? How's the obliviation business these days?"

"Rosmerta, hello. Not too busy in our department, I'm afraid. Our dedicated DMLE has kept things mostly under control," the kindly man replied. "Ah! I see my friends are here already."

"You're late," Gumboil growled, having calmed a little with Magnus' order.

"Sorry, Alastor. I had a little kip after my supper and I overslept. What have I missed," he asked innocently, looking about.

"We were discussing Antrim," Frank Stiles murmured.

"And how that thrice-damned Ronald Weasley…"

"Alastor, come on," Ernie interrupted. "You're not serious about blaming him for doing his job, are you?"

"His _job_ is to fight dark wizards. Were there any dark wizards in that pub," Alastor barked, his ire rising again.

"Alastor, I can't imagine there are any dark wizards left, but if there are, I don't expect they're going to be jolly likely to show themselves. Potter's people—" Arnold said, nodding to Rosmerta as she set a warm mulled mead in front of him.

"Ahnie is right, Alastor," Magnus agreed. "If anybody set us up, it vas you."

"I most-certainly did not do anything to sabotage our rally," Gumboil countered. "How could I?"

"Yes you, Alastor," the German insisted. "You insisted upon dat madness after Finnegan varned you against it! Ultimately, all Potter's people—including Veasley—did vas dere damned job! Finnegan must've tipped dem off!"

"Of course Finnegan tipped them off! He's a bloody Auror, you Teutonic git," Gumboil snarled. "He smelled trouble and alerted Potter and Weasley! Weasley probably forbade Hermione to attend, damn him!"

"And it's a damned good thing he did, Alastor" Ernie said, trying to remain calm. "If he hadn't, who knows what might've happened! If Granger had been there—"

"You leave her out of this, Dearborn, I mean it," Alastor snapped again and then all but bit his tongue to avoid saying more. "She's got nothing to do with it."

"You brought her up, Alastor," Stiles said defensively.

"Now, everyone just calm down," Arnold said quietly, his hands battening them down. "If Hermione had been there, she might have been able to keep the peace! She has a way with that. She can talk her way into and out of just about anything. She's famous for it."

"She might have been killed," Alastor said in a tone that indicated he might have just given some thought to his complaint about her absence.

"Eldon _was_ killed, Alastor! Finnegan...we nearly lost him too. It's a damned good thing Potter sent him to Hogwarts so Pomfrey could see to him special," Ernie reminded him, his voice beginning to break.

"Well, that's different," Gumboil mumbled.

"How, Alastor? How is dat different," Magnus asked. "A life is a life."

"Hermione's a witch, dammit," Alastor argued fervently.

"Dere vere vitches in dat pub. Dat barmaid—"

"Hermione Granger isn't a ruddy barmaid," Alastor reasoned. "She's a-she's _brilliant!_"

"Brilliant or not, a life is a life, Senior Undersecretary," Ernie repeated sadly. "Why can't you see that?"

"Hermione Granger is far more valuable than some Mick tart," Alastor shouted.

Arnold Peasegood's stomach turned and his heart sank. He realised ELF might be headed down a path he wasn't so sure he wanted to walk but hoped it was Ogden speaking, or his friend simply blowing off steam. "Alastor, did you call us here to rant about how wonderful Hermione _Weasley _is—yes, _Weasley_,as of this afternoon—and how your troubles are someone else's fault?"

"Sure sounds like it to me," Stormer said. "I've kept my peace up to this point, but I have to admit we made a ruddy big mistake in Antrim. We should never have gone there. It caused you a lot of personal embarrassment, Alastor, and we all appreciate that. But there's nothing for it now but to call the whole debacle a lesson learned and move on if we want ELF to succeed."

"Agreed," Stiles said, as did the others.

"I moof we adjourn for da holidays," Waldheimer suggested.

"Seconded," Dearborn added.

Alastor Gumboil eyed his companions icily and decided there was no point in arguing. The weather had turned for the worse and he wanted to just go home, sink into his easy chair in front of a warm fire and drink himself into oblivion. "All in favour?"

"Aye!" The vote was anonymous.

"Good night, gentlemen. I'll be in touch after the first of the year. And I suggest you have heartfelt chats with those boys of yours. Happy Christmas," Gumboil sighed. Leaving his empty glass on the table, Gumboil stowed the remainder of his bottle of Old Ogden's in an inside cloak pocket, nodded to Madame Rosmerta, and stepped out the door into the snow.

Ron lay awake as the late-Sunday-morning sun streamed through the plate-glass window that overlooked the hotel gardens. His wife lay peacefully in his arms, her hair falling in cascades of curls across his chest, sound asleep. He smiled broadly. _My wife. This beautiful creature is my wife_.

Pictures of the day before play like a slideshow through his mind—especially the wedding night. He wondered how it could have been possible, but last night's bouts of lovemaking far-surpassed any other—and that was saying something if he said so himself.

As he replayed his wedding day in his mind, Hermione began to stir. She was so beautiful it broke his heart. Ron turned his head gently and left a tiny kiss on her forehead. She opened her cinnamon eyes and gazed into his sapphire ones. "Good morning, Mrs Weasley."

Hermione's eyes widened in horror. _Mrs Weasley!_ She yelped and pulled the covers over her head, her entire body scarlet with embarrassment.

"'Mione, baby," Ron said worriedly. "What's wrong?" Then it dawned on him. Hermione was still half-asleep and mistook _Mrs Weasley_ for his mother. With a chuckle, he joined her underneath the blankets and kissed her shaking hand. "I was talking to you, Love."

Hermione shook her head at her own stupidity. "Oh Ron! For a moment, I thought your Mum had walked in on us," Hermione said, breaking into giggles. The two of them lay there in one another's arms under the covers, sharing in the humour of the situation.

Their eyes locked again—the ginger god and his cinnamon-eyed goddess. She gasped as the realisation hit her full-force. "We're married!"

Ron's grin returned and his eyes twinkled. He nodded, as though helping her wrap her head around the fact that _she_ was the Mrs Weasley in question.

"I'm Mrs Hermione Jean Weasley," she said giddily, speaking her new name.

"Well spotted," Ron replied softly, drawing her into a passionate, yet tender kiss.

Fiona rose early Monday morning and crept down to the kitchen to start breakfast for her aunt and uncle. She didn't get to cook very much, so she jumped on the chance to do it. She rifled around in the cool cabinet and found some leftover ham. She checked the pot on the stove and found a bit of cold coffee, which she poured into a cup to use for red-eye gravy.

In the larder, she found a few potatoes and onions. "Perfect. Now let's hope them chickens laid a few eggs for me." She threw on her aunt's cloak and quietly slipped outside, the egg basket hanging from her arm. She unlatched the door of the coop and stepped inside. She blinked a few times to allow her eyes to adjust to the low light inside. "Good morning, ladies."

Fiona checked each box and found at least one egg in each one, with a few boxes yielding two or three. She thanked the chickens, scattered a few handfuls of feed and left the coop, latching the door behind her. Dealing with chickens came as nothing new to her. Granny kept dozens of them back in Rook Holler. Growing up, chicken-feeding and egg-collecting was one of several chores that were her and Taya's responsibility.

Once she slipped back inside the house, she lit a candle and began to check each egg for chicks. Finding none, she moved the basket to the side board and proceeded to mix up a batch of buttermilk biscuits while the potatoes and onions peeled and sliced themselves into home fries. As she worked, she hummed an old mountain hymn. It was one Granny had taught her when she was about seven years old. She and Granny and Momma always sang when they baked together.

Within a half-hour, Fiona had a nearly-complete southern-American breakfast working, less a pot of grits. She hadn't thought to bring any along and it was too early to Apparate to a market to find any. While the biscuits baked, she filled the sink with soapy water and set the prep dishes to washing themselves, beginning with the battered old coffee pot. She rinsed it and started a fresh pot.

Arthur Weasley slowly came to life. Wonderful smells wafted up the stairs into the Burrow's master bedroom. _Molly's up early_. He rolled over and to his surprise, he found his wife lying there, still fast asleep. _Of course. Fiona_.

He smiled to himself and slipped out of bed as quietly as he could. Molly had worked herself to exhaustion the week leading up to the wedding and beyond, so he intended to let the poor woman sleep as long as she needed to. He pulled on his robe and stepped into his slippers. The floors were quite cold on the bare feet this time of year.

"Good morning, Fiona," Arthur said, scratching his head. "Smells wonderful."

"Mornin' Uncle Art," she replied, her humming interrupted. "Have a good sleep?"

"Ah, yes. Molly's still out," he smiled. "Is that your lovely biscuits in the oven?"

"Yes sir, it is. They're almost done, too," she said, checking them for colour and texture. "Coffee?"

"Please," he answered. "I think I'll get a fire started, though. It's a bit cool down here." Arthur threw some kindling into the grate and pointed his wand. "_Incendio_," he murmured and the grate sprang to life. He then levitated a few larger pieces of wood and then finished off with a couple of logs once the fire had really taken off.

Arthur took his customary seat at the head of the Weasley table. "You did a fine job at the wedding—with Ronnie and with your own song. The string quartet was a nice touch."

"Thanks," she said blushing. "Ronnie wanted ta do that fer Hermione. He oughta use that voice o' his more'n he does."

"Yes, I know. He and Ginny used to play singing games when they were very small, but the twins gave him so much grief over it that—well, we couldn't coax a note out of him after a while," he said. "And when Ron stopped, so did Ginny."

"Kids can be so mean," Fiona observed.

"I don't think it was so much meanness with Fred and…Fred and George, rather their mischievous nature. I think if they'd really known what they were doing, they wouldn't have done it. But you've brought him out of that shell, Fiona. Perhaps he'll be more forthcoming, now," Arthur said, hopefully.

"Well, if he wants ta keep up the singin' lessons, I'll teach 'im," Fiona said, removing the pan of light golden-brown biscuits from the oven. "I'm sure Hermione'd be all for that. He was even eyein' Mokey there at the end." She stood on tiptoe so she could reach into the cupboard for plates and then dug through the drawers for forks, knives, and spoons so she could set the table.

Arthur didn't answer, but smiled to himself. His youngest son had grown up so much since the war. He couldn't help but swell with pride when Kingsley presented him with that Order of Merlin, First Class and then again when he graduated from Hogwarts a fully-fledged Auror. Yes, their youngest son had made him and Molly very proud.

He sipped his coffee while Fiona finished preparing breakfast. She scrambled the eggs and warmed up the ham in a skillet. As soon as it had a little brown around the edges, she removed the ham and then poured the cold coffee and other ingredients into the same skillet, whipping up the gravy while the potatoes and onions browned off. She was just plating it all when Molly appeared at the base of the stairs.

"Onie, dear! You didn't have to do this, but it smells wonderful," Molly yawned with a crooked smile.

"Yer just in time, Aunt Molly," Fiona chirped. "Have a seat!" Fiona pulled out her aunt's chair and seated her before she sat opposite her at her uncle's left. "Tuck in!"

The three of them feasted on Fiona's fine breakfast, savouring every morsel. All that was left was a few biscuits and a handful of fried potatoes and onions. They lazed about the table, chatting and sipping coffee when a tap came against the kitchen window.

"I got it, Aunt Molly," Fiona said, rising from the table. "Y'all jus' set 'n' unlax a spell." She strode over to the window and opened it. A single tawny owl flapped its way in and dropped an envelope in front of Molly and then flapped out again.

Molly picked up the parchment envelope and read the return address. "It's from _Witch Weekly!_ Oh, dear. I don't think I can open it." Molly's hands began to shake. She'd waited on pins and needles for notification, but now she was too afraid to find out.

"Would you rather I opened it, Molly," Arthur asked, extending his hand to take the letter.

"Oh! Yes, please. Oh, I'm so nervous," Molly said nervously. "I can't look!"

Arthur carefully broke the seal. If Molly had won, she would surely want to keep the letter as a memento of her culinary triumph.

_Dear Molly Weasley:_

_It is our privilege and delight to inform you that you are this year's winner of Witch Weekly's Annual Holiday Cooking Contest._

Fiona jumped up and down and danced in circles, whooping like a madwoman. "Ya did it, Aunt Molly! Ya did it!"

"Shall I continue," Arthur asked, his eyes shining with pride.

"Oh yes, please do, Arthur," Molly gasped, still trying to catch her breath. Fiona fanned her with the envelope.

_We shall send a representative to your home at 3:00PM this afternoon, December 20, for a brief interview and to present your cheque for 500 Galleons, contract, and credentials as Culinary Arts Columnist for our publication._

_Congratulations, Mrs Weasley. We are looking forward to having you aboard._

_Lucretia Wellingford, Editor_

Tears flowed down Molly's face. For the first time in her life, she accomplished something wonderful on her own that had nothing to do with child-rearing. And to top it all off, she now had landed her first job, and a potentially lucrative one at that, doing something she loved to do.

"Congratulations, Mollywobbles," Arthur beamed. "Well done." He leaned over and kissed her face lovingly.

"Now ye'll really appreciate the peace 'n' quiet around here. Ye'll be able ta hear yerself think," Fiona said brightly.

"This is all so much," Molly gasped. "Oh I can't wait to tell everyone! Fiona, tomorrow night we fix a grand supper. Ronnie and Hermione should be home by then!"

"No ma'am," Fiona disagreed. "Tomorrow night, Ginny 'n' _me_ will fix that grand supper. _You_ are gonna set back 'n' be queen for a day."

"Fiona's right, my beauty. You've spent the last thirty years of your life cooking, cleaning, washing, and mothering me and our children with little more than memories and a few gray hairs to show for it. It's time we pampered you," Arthur insisted.

Molly set the cocoa on a heating charm and had just plated the gingerbread plated when the reporter and photographer from _Witch Weekly_ to arrived just before 3:00 that afternoon as promised. She and Fiona had scrubbed every square centimetre of the kitchen to a point that Petunia Dursley couldn't help but approve, although it was a magical kitchen, which would all but disqualify it altogether no matter how clean it was.

Although she raised seven children—eight, if she counted Harry—Molly Weasley wasn't used to being the centre of attention, so she felt a bit nervous about this interview. Furthermore, she realised that in the eyes of the reporter, she would be views as more than just the winner of the contest; rather, she was mother to the Golden Quartet, or in at least two cases, as good as mother. _I'll have to remind Hermione she's perfectly welcome to call me Mum or Molly, whichever she prefers, just like Harry.. and Fleur_.

Casting her gaze out the kitchen window, she noticed someone approaching the house—the reporter and photographer. Molly quickly conjured a mirror for a last look to make sure her hair looked all right. She had barely banished it when they knocked on the door. With a deep breath, she opened the door.

"Mrs Weasley. It's an honour to meet you," the reporter said, extending her hand. "I'm Prunella Booth of _Witch Weekly_."

Molly took her hand with a warm smile. "Molly Weasley," she replied and decided to take charge in her own kitchen "Please come inside. May I offer you some hot cocoa and fresh gingerbread?" Molly led them to the sitting room, as it was the most comfortable room for a chat.

"Thank you Mrs Weasley. Hot cocoa would be wonderful. It's rather chilly outdoors and I forgot to cast a warming charm on my cloak."

Prunella showed no signs of Rita Skeeterishness, so Molly allowed herself to relax. She served them each a steaming cup of cocoa and placed the tray on the end table between them.

Prunella bit the head off the gingerbread man she'd selected from the platter. She almost moaned. "Mrs Weasley, first of all, let me say that this gingerbread is wonderful." she declared "And let me also extend congratulations on behalf of the _Witch Weekly_ for winning the Holiday Cooking Contest."

"Thank you very much." Molly said and blushed slightly as the photographer snapped a few photos, the flash temporarily blinding her. "And it's Molly. Just Molly."

"I'll be writing an article about your recipes, Mrs—Molly, but today we're here to learn a bit more about _you,_" Prunella explained. "Now, unless you have any questions, let's crack on, shall we?" Molly simply nodded, feeling less nervous but still a bit tense.

"Could you tell us just a little about yourself, Molly," Prunella began.

The Weasley matriarch smiled and let out a small chuckle. "Well, there's not much to tell, really. I was born into the all-Wizarding Prewett clan, I went to Hogwarts where I met my husband, Arthur. After Hogwarts, we married and produced seven wonderful children. Our youngest son just married on Saturday."

Prunella smiled a bit before continuing. "I think you're being a bit modest, aren't you? We all know about your family's part in the war."

"We look after each other, and as for my war effort, it consisted mostly of cooking for the Order of the Phoenix," Molly admitted truthfully.

"And defeating Voldemort's right hand Bellatrix Lestrange," Prunella filled in, realising she should move on. "And of course you're known to many of our younger readers as the mother of record-breaking reign of the Most Beautiful Witch in Britain, Ginny Potter, and mother-in-law to Harry Potter. The first question will be the one asked by most of our readers: What is Harry Potter's favourite food?"

Molly smiled at the memory of serving Harry his first birthday cake at the Burrow, learning from Ron and the Twins about what type of cake she should make. "Harry's favourite food is shepherd's pie with a treacle tart for dessert. Actually, he prefers it over a traditional birthday cake."

"For his birthday," Prunella gasped. "But how do you make the candles stand up in it?"

"Magic." Molly winked, and the next moment the photographer took another picture.

"And what would Ronald's, Hermione's and Ginny's favourite desserts be?"

Molly set her cup of cocoa on the table. "Ron's easy. His favourite is the current one being served." Molly snickered. "His sister says his favourite food is food, but if Ronnie had a preference, it would be chocolate cake with several kilos of chocolate icing all over it. Ginny's favourite is strawberries—strawberry cake or Harry feeding her chocolate-dipped strawberries. It's all rather cute, actually.

Now as for Hermione… Hermione's parents are dentists." Molly paused for a moment to make sure she'd used the proper word. "Dentists are Muggle Teeth Healers, so she prefers desserts with less sugar. A salad of mixed fruit is among her absolute favourites."

As the interview continued, Molly felt more and more comfortable with the spotlight. Prunella made this a very pleasant conversation, shying away from any question that might be even remotely intrusive. "What is your own favourite food, Molly?"

"Oh my! There isn't much I don't like, but I'd have to say my favourite meal is roast chicken with carrots, onions, and potatoes, fresh yeast rolls with butter, and my niece's deep-dish apple pie," Molly gushed, trying to narrow down the list. It was a very rare occurrence indeed that anyone asked what she liked.

"And now I'm hoping for a revelation. We've heard that Harry Potter is, in fact, a very talented cook. Is that true," Prunella asked with a friendly grin.

"He knows his way around a kitchen far better than any other wizard I know. His best work involves breakfast."

"We've noticed some really ground-breaking ideas in your recipes, Mrs Wesley. How much influence have your American niece and French daughter-in-law brought into your cuisine?"

"Fiona and Fleur have brought wonderful things to our family, especially food-wise. Fiona was raised in the American south, so she brings loads of what she calls down-home stick-to-your-ribs comfort food to our pantry. Fleur's family is a bit more well-to-do, so we've become quite versed in the use and drinking of fine wine and how to pair it with specific foods. She's rather adept with seafood and beef, and her Bourguignon is to die for. Their traditions are working their way into our family dynamic. In fact, we celebrated an American Thanksgiving with Fiona in November."

Prunella scanned her parchment to make sure hadn't missed or misquoted anything. "At these family gatherings, knowing of George Weasley's special sweets, do you serve any sweets outside of desserts at all?"

"Oh yes! George and Ron came up with something last Christmas that was simply genius, called _Carol's Candy_. It's your basic hard sweet in many flavours, but each one causes the eater to break into song, whether he or she can sing or not. Harry's hopeless, but he gave us a lovely rendition of _Deck the Halls_."

"At least it sounds a lot nicer than a Nosebleed Nougat," Prunella giggled.

"I can't tell you how many times Arthur and I confiscated those ridiculous things while the twins developed them," Molly huffed. "Honestly, those two were responsible for at least half of my gray hairs on their own." She didn't notice it at that moment, but Molly had just talked about her twins sons as _The Twins_ without breaking down for the first time since the final battle.

"Another question our readers wanted us to ask is if it's the night before a Harpies Quidditch match and you're making dinner for your daughter, what would it be?"

"Well, Ginny doesn't like to eat too heavily the night before a match, or the morning of, so she likes some kind of cream soup-usually potato for the potassium-and a leafy salad with veg in-season or perhaps a bit of fruit. AFTER a match, she'd eat an entire Hippogriff if we cooked one for her."

Prunella studied her list of questions once again. "Now, for a final question: After your wand, what is the most important tool in your kitchen?"

"Love," Molly answered instantly.

"Love? Interesting answer. Would you care to elaborate," Prunella asked, truly intrigued by Molly's unusual answer.

"It's simple, really. Cooking is truly a labour of love, be it for a spouse, a child—any family member—friends, or just the sheer joy of doing it," Molly explained. "No matter what I do—be it in the kitchen, around the house, or with a pair of knitting needles—I pour my love for my family and friends into it. After all, if one doesn't love what he or she does or who he or she does it for, it's just going through the motions and the end product will reflect that."

"Molly Weasley, thank you again for taking your time to talk to _Witch Weekly_, and congratulations again on winning the Holiday Recipe Contest. I will be sure to owl you a transcript of the article for your approval before it goes to print on Friday."

"Thank you," Molly said.

Before they left, they asked Molly to start working in the kitchen to get some pictures of her in action. After that, they left the contract with her so she and Arthur could go over it and again promised to owl the article and interview within the next couple of days.

Ron's and Hermione's Portkey from Normandy activated at half-past ten, local time, Tuesday morning and deposited them outside the wards at the Burrow a few minutes later. "Back to grim reality, yeah," Ron said.

Hermione sighed. "I suppose. But in a few days, we'll be on our way to paradise," she giggled, snuggling into him. "Come on. Your mum's probably waiting breakfast for us."

Ron wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her up the path to the kitchen door. He opened it, allowing his wife to step through first. "Mum! We're home!"

Molly bustled from the sitting room with her arms opened wide. "Ronnie! Hermione! Welcome home, dears! How was France? Did you have a good time?" She took both of them in signature bone-crushing hugs. "Did you have breakfast? Are you hungry?"

"Thank you. Dunno. Yes. Just a croissant and tea. Starved," Ron answered, returning his mother's embrace.

"What do you mean you don't know," Molly asked with a sly glint in her eye.

"Well…we didn't see much of it," Hermione giggled, blushing. "We…um…stayed indoors most of the time."

"Well, of course you did. How silly of me," Molly scolded herself. "Sit, sit. Croissant and tea. That's not breakfast, that's a snack. A quick fry-up, I think."

"Molly, you really don't have to—" Hermione began in weak protest.

"I know I don't have to, but I want to," Molly replied, assembling ingredients. "How was your room?"

"It was a lovely room," Hermione replied. "The bed was enormous!"

"Yeah, but we didn't use much of it," Ron snorted.

"What do you mean by that, dear," Molly asked, not catching her youngest son's drift. "You either used the bed or you didn't."

"Mum, think about it. A bed with two time zones, wedding night…" Ron chuckled, trying to lead his mother to the right conclusions.

Molly paused for a few moments, trying to make sense of Ron's explanation. "Oh. OH," she cried, her face turning bright red.

Ron and Hermione burst into peals of amused laughter while Molly processed the discussion. "Mum, if you could see the look on your face," Ron howled. "What did you expect?"

"This conversation has gone quite far enough," she huffed.

"You asked," Hermione replied through her laughter. "But seriously, can I help?"

"No, no, dear. You just relax. It's been so quiet around here with just Fiona, Dad, and I," Molly said, waving her off. "I'm sure you're a bit…knackered."

You have no idea. "Well, a little, but you really don't have to fuss," Hermione said, collecting herself.

Twenty minutes later, Molly set two heaping plates of traditional English fry-up in front of the newlyweds. "Tuck in, you two."

Ron dug into his plate with gusto. The croissant and jam barely held off the hunger pangs, and the aroma of one of his mother's delicious fry-ups set his stomach to roaring. Hermione was hungry too, but not as hungry as Ron. He had finished his breakfast in record time and even began to eye the half of Hermione's still on her plate.

"Are you still hungry, my love," she asked, already knowing the answer. "I'm very nearly full."

"Are you sure," Ron asked. "I don't want to deprive you of your breakfast."

"I'm quite sure I've had enough," she giggled, sliding her plate to him. "Go ahead and finish it. I'll go up and put our things away." If she was honest, she somehow felt that Ron needed a few minutes with his mother and she was more than happy to give them.

"Don't be too long," Ron murmured, brushing his lips against her. "Love you."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she purred. "Love you too." Reaching into his pocket for their shrunken bag, she withdrew it and ascended the stairs to their room.

"Happy, Ronnie," his mother asked, joining him at the table.

"Mum, there's no words to describe it," Ron admitted. "She's amazing, really. It's like she knows just what I need, you know?"

"I'm sure that's not much of a stretch, dear," Molly said, grinning wickedly.

Ron blushed hotly. "That's not what I mean. Last night, she reached over and scratched my back right where it itched without a single word. That's never happened before."

Molly didn't know what to make of that. Even after thirty years of marriage, she couldn't scratch Arthur's itches on pure instinct. "Are you sure you didn't try to scratch it yourself and she saw it?"

"No, Mum. I was barely aware of it before she scratched it," he insisted. "It was really strange."

"Ron, it might have something to do with the wedding charm. It creates a sort of bond between the bride and groom that can be a bit intense until it settles," Molly advised him. "Your father and I felt especially close for the first few months of our marriage."

"I knew that, Mum, but this is different. I know it is," Ron said, swallowing his last bite of breakfast. "I mean, it's not like I know what she's thinking or anything, but it's more like what she's feeling. Like right now—she's a little miffed."

"Miffed? Why, dear," Molly asked.

"Because I'm not up there with her." Ron snickered while his mother shook her head, trying to keep from giggling.

"Then I suggest you get up there, young man."

Ron didn't need to be told twice. With a peck to his mother's cheek, he bounded up the stairs to his fifth-floor bedroom, passing a snickering Fiona coming out of Ginny old bedroom. "Hi, Ronnie," she giggled and descended the stairs to the kitchen. _That is one happy boy_.

_Dear Gin-Gin:_

_Could you and Harry come to my flat Wednesday night? I thought we'd have a few drinks and have a spot of supper. Bring Ron and Hermione with you. It should be fun._

_Love,_

_Georgie_

Ginny stared at the letter from George that Mr Deeds brought to her at Ionúin Bhaille. _Gin-Gin? Georgie? Must be serious if he's resorted to our childhood nicknames._ Oh well. Shouldn't be a problem.

Ginny left the sofa in the den and crawled to the fireplace. She grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the grate. "The Burrow," she called and the flames turned green. In moments, she could see the sitting room at her parents' home.

"Ginny, dear! What's on your mind," Molly asked. "Are you all right? Is Harry all right?"

"Yes, Mum. We're fine. Is Hermione there," Ginny asked.

"Yes, she's right here," Molly replied, motioning to her right.

"What's up, Ginny," Hermione asked cheerfully.

"Are you and Ron busy Wednesday night? George owled me and wants the four of us to come over for drinks and dinner," she explained.

"I don't think anything's going on Wednesday. I'm sure we can make it. Did George say what this was all about," Hermione asked, knowing George rarely did anything _just because_.

"No, not really. Here, read it," Ginny said, handing the note through the flames with the tongs.

Hermione took the note and looked it over. "Hmm. Oh well, who am I to decline an invite from our dear brother?"

"Yeah, and I'm sure we'll be safe with our two big, strong, scary Aurors by our sides," Ginny giggled. "Oh by the way—Harry and I are going to the Alley for some Christmas shopping on Thursday and we may even hit Hogsmeade while we're at it. You and Ron want to come along?"

"Sounds like fun, but let me check with him first. You never know if he's got something planned. He's so cute when he's being…cute," Hermione giggled. "In fact, he's with Harry right now. Something about a quick meeting with Kingsley."

"A meeting with Kingsley? I wonder what about," Ginny mused. "Oh well. I'll ask Harry about it when he gets home."

"I wasn't happy, but I guess that sort of thing comes with the territory," Hermione said, nodding into the flames. "Anyway, I'll see about tomorrow and Thursday and let you know."

"Great! See you then. Give my darling brother a squeeze for me!" Ginny pulled her head out of the fireplace, smiling to herself. Ginny was truly happy for her brother and her best friend. They'd been through so much and now they could finally be as happy as she and Harry were.

"Harry! Ron, what a surprise," Kingsley boomed. "I didn't expect to see you for a few weeks!"

"I didn't expect to see you for a few weeks, but my brother here asked me to come in today to see you," Ron replied.

"Yes, quite. Harry, what's on your mind," Kingsley asked, appearing to put something in his desk drawer.

"Well, I've had an idea," Harry began. "I've been thinking about a little activity for DMLE that might be fun, but more importantly, give us a chance to evaluate the department."

"Oh," Kingsley asked. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, when I was training the DA in '96, we used to stage practice duels to work on our shields and accuracy, among other things. It was fun and everyone learned a lot, as we all found out at the Battle of Hogwarts," Harry explained. "But we were really limited by how we could train."

"How so," Kingsley asked. "What limited you?"

"Well, there were about fifty of us practising at any given time. The room we practised in was plenty big enough, but we really didn't know quite how to use it properly then," Harry went on. "I mean, we do now, but that's beside the point."

"So what is the point," Kingsley asked, hoping Harry had one.

"The point is that we have a brilliant facility here. We all train in there, but it's just a lot of just that—training. What I was thinking is that it might be fun—and beneficial—to have an inter-departmental duelling tournament. Not the structured type like Filius Flitwick used to compete in years ago, but more like the real thing," Harry explained, becoming more and more excited.

"We were thinking about different levels in individual and team competition—Auror-class and Trooper-class—with maybe the best of each department to duel it out one-on-one for a DMLE trophy. Maybe include a purse," Ron continued.

"Harry, your Aurors would stomp the Troopers hands down," Kingsley argued. "But I like the idea of team and individual competition for each class. Do you have a judging and scoring structure in mind as well?"

"Not yet. I just wanted to put the raw idea to you and see what you thought," Harry admitted. "We could work out the particulars later."

"Fair enough. When would you like to put this on," Kingsley asked, clearly intrigued.

"I was thinking around the end of January," Harry replied. "That way, there'd be time to form teams and allow everyone time to train and practise."

"Any exclusions?"

"No. Anyone and everyone in DMLE can participate, even Undersecretary Gumboil if he wishes to," Ron said. _And I'll wipe the floor with his arse_. "You could even come and play, right Harry?"

"Of course! We could even do an invitational—all comers against anyone of us they choose," Harry added. "This tournament would also be an opportunity for Healers and Healer Apprentices to get some field-training in a battle situation."

"Battle situation! Harry, what do you mean by that," Kingsley almost shouted.

"I mean," Harry began with emphasis, "That we might find ourselves in the midst of a messy riot or even a real firefight. Take Antrim, for example. If we'd have had trained medi-wizards and witches on hand, we could've had our wounded patched up before we transported them to St Mungo's or in Irish's case, Hogwarts. We might not have lost that barmaid that night. It could save time which in turn, could save lives."

"So what you're saying is that this is not only something fun, but a training tool as well," Kingsley concluded.

"Absolutely. Our training room can be anything we want it to be. Ask Thompson. He's usually the _gamesmaster_ for the facility, but Ross and Dawlish love to work it with him, too. They're really good at creating scenarios of all types for us to work through," Ron exclaimed. "It's loads of fun! You ought to come down and try it out."

"Perhaps I will," Kingsley agreed with a toothy grin. "All right, Aurors. Plan your tournament and let the games begin."

"Thanks, Minister," Harry beamed, shaking his hand. "This will be spectacular, I promise!"

"I'm sure it will," Kingsley replied, showing them out the door. _But the games have already begun._ He returned to his leather desk-chair, folded his hands in his lap and began to laugh his low, rumbling belly laugh.

The moment the two Aurors stepped into the corridor, Ron turned to congratulate Harry for selling the Minister on the tournament. "Great Merlin, Harry! What have you done to yourself," he shouted.

"What," Harry asked, checking himself over. "What do you mean what have I done to myself? I'm in uniform."

"If you say so," Ron said, beginning to laugh. "Where and why did you get those clothes?"

"What clothes! I'm wearing my black uniform, boots, and maroon Auror's robes. I've been wearing this all day," Harry argued.

"Harry, I think you need to check your look in a mirror," Ron snickered. "There's a loo up here on the left."

Ron escorted Harry into the loo and stood him in front of the bank of mirrors that hung over the sinks. "Mate, you look ridiculous!"

"I'd admit I need a trim on the hair and maybe contact lenses, but—"

"You mean you can't see it," Ron asked in shock. Then it dawned on him. "Mate, I think Kingsley's got you back." He stood there and laughed so hard, tears fell down his cheeks. "Dare I describe it?"

"Shit! Let's get back to the office. We need to Patronus Gin and Hermione…_now_," Harry barked, his face turning red as beetroot. Harry tore out of the men's room and raced to their shared office, where he found Terry Boot, Lavender Brown, and Tony Goldstein turning in their reports for the morning.

"Bloody hell, Chief! Going to a masquerade ball," Tony Goldstein choked.

"Really, Harry. You could've asked me if you needed some fashion advice," Lavender giggled and then began to howl.

"Shut it, you lot," Harry growled, casting his Patronus. Prongs leapt from his wand and turned to face its master. Harry whispered to it and sent it on its way. "Ron, dammit, Patronus Hermione!"

"Oh, right! Expecto Patronum," he called, trying to keep from laughing. Ron's terrier leapt forth and sat up as if to beg. Ron whispered to it and sent it on its way.

"All right, people. That's enough," Ron howled. "The Minister got him back for the ballerina thing. Trouble is…Harry can't see what we see!"

"Well, should we try a few counter-jinxes," Lavender suggested, wiping her eyes.

"Knock yourselves out," Harry growled. "It sure can't hurt…whatever this get-up is."

Each of the Aurors in the room tried several reversal spells, counter-jinxes, and even a Glamour or two, but nothing seemed to work. Harry slumped down in his desk-chair swearing vengeance against Kingsley-You've-Gone-Too-Bloody-Far-Shacklebolt under his breath.

A knock came at the door, which Ron answered. "Ron? What's happened? Is Harry—oh my stars," Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

Ginny charged in behind her and screamed in horror. "What in the name of Merlin's crusted toenails happened to you?"

"Kingsley," Harry snarled. "The sod pranked me."

Ginny smiled wickedly. "He warned you this was war."

"And so it is," Harry growled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't know what this looks like because I can't see it, but it must be hysterical because everyone else has certainly enjoyed it," Harry complained. "What does it look like?"

"Well…" Hermione began uneasily. "You um…you have a huge afro that sticks out to here." Hermione gestured about 35 centimetres from her head. "Um…your robes are…well…some kind of animal fur. Mink, maybe?"

"And your suit is lime-green," Ron howled. "It'd go great with Fudge's bowler hat!"

"Harry, when did you learn to walk on platform shoes and why are you wearing shades indoors," Ginny asked, trying to hold it all in. "You look like a Muggle pimple!"

"Ginny, that's _pimp_, not pimple," Hermione giggled. "And you're right. He does!"

Harry groaned in utter embarrassment. Lime-green appeared to be the colour of war now and he was going to retaliate. At least he allowed his victim to know first-hand how ridiculous he looked, but this was right out. Oh, the Minister was going to rue the day he crossed Harry Potter.

Harry removed his glasses and turned sad puppy-dog eyes to his sister."Hermione, please, do something."

"Oh all right. Hold still," she said, drawing her wand. "_Finite_." Nothing happened. "_Diffindo!_" Nothing happened. "_Sectumsempra!_" Still nothing.

"Hermione, we've tried all that," Lavender said softly. "At this point, it looks like it'll just have to wear off."

"_Fidelius_, maybe" Harry asked hopefully.

"Harry, the Fidelius charm doesn't work like that," Hermione replied with a huff.

"Why not? I can't go about all day like this," Harry argued.

"Do I really need to explain why a Fidelius charm won't fix this," Hermione asked her brother peevishly.

"Mate, you'd need a Secret-keeper and I don't think anyone could keep _that_ a secret," Ron snorted, pointing to Harry's hair.

"Are either of you listening? You can't Fidelius a human being. Don't you think Professor Dumbledore would've done that if it were possible, instead of Fideliusing your home in Godric's Hollow or Grimmauld Place, which turned good people into literal prisoners," Hermione argued.

"So how do we fix this…this…whatever it is," Harry demanded. He'd been slowly losing patience. This had gone far enough. He'd heard about Muggle pimps, so he had a mental picture of what he must look like and it made him sick. _I just hope I don't have a gold tooth_.

Hermione though for a moment and then smiled brightly. "I'll be right back," she called as she jogged out the door.

"Ten Galleons says she's going for a book," Ron wagered, eyeing his sister.

"Oh no. This has her stumped. She'll bring three books: one on Transfiguration, one on Healing, and one on Curse-breaking," Ginny corrected her brother.

A half-hour later, Hermione returned with not three, but two books in her arms—one about Charms and the other a ponderous volume about Wards. "Okay, this is obviously a Charm of some kind with a few modifications. I'd say it's a Glamour protected by a ward. All we need to do is discover which they might be and how to break and dismantle them. Ginny, you might want to Patronus Bill at Gringotts. We're going to need his help."

An hour later, Bill Weasley arrived at the Apparition point at the Ministry of Magic. He cut an imposing figure and drew a lot of approving stares from the witches wandering about the Atrium, regardless of the scars Fenrir Greyback carved into his face more than two years before.

"Wand please," Eric the wand-checker said, laying down the latest issue of _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle_. Bill handed over his wand to register it. A slip of parchment shot out of a box. "William Arthur Weasley?"

"That's me," Bill replied.

"Have a good day at the Ministry, sir," Eric said, returning his wand. "Please wear this Visitor badge at all times while in the building."

"Thanks," Bill said, nodding to the young man who'd already returned to his comic book. _Merlin's pants! No wonder Harry and Ron are so frustrated._

Bill was no stranger to the Ministry, so he knew where to find his brothers' office. He approached the lifts, but noted the crowd waiting for the next car. He glanced to the left where he saw a door marked, STAIRS. With a shrug, he mounted them and climbed to Level Two. He realised just how out of shape he'd become since he took the desk-job at Gringotts. _I've got to lay off that crème brulee._

He turned right into the corridor toward Auror Offices. He met his father coming from the other direction. "So you've heard," Arthur said gravely.

"Yeah, Ginny Patronused me about some kind of prank Kingsley played on Harry," Bill replied. "She said Hermione suggested it."

"Yes. Ronnie says Hermione thinks it some kind of modified Glamour charm with a ward or something protecting it," Arthur said. "Harry's quite upset about it."

"Hey, Harry started this," Bill said honestly. "He got Kingsley right in front of the French Minister."

"Yes, but Harry's prank was easily lifted with a simple _Finite_," Arthur reminded his eldest son. "This is something else. Harry can't see what he looks like and nothing any of them has tried has reversed it. If you ask me, this isn't fair-play at all…but it sure is funny!"

"Well let's have a look," Bill said and opened the door. The moment he laid eyes on his brother-in-law, he fell apart in gales of laughter. "You're right, Dad. It's something else and it's funny!"

"Et tu, Bill," Harry growled. He'd had quite enough and wanted this over with. Ginny stood behind him, massaging his shoulders, sending waves of calm through their bond to keep him from falling into an all-out brood that would take her hours of cajoling to bring him out of.

"Okay, Harry, I need you to lie down on the conference table over there. The rest of you lot need to stand back," Bill commanded. "This might be a bit uncomfortable."

"What are you going to do," Harry asked, climbing onto the table, hoping that whatever it was would work.

"I've got to a sort of scan for a ward or wards like I used to do before we'd go into a tomb in Egypt," Bill explained. "I'm going to wave my wand over you and cast a few detection spells. I should be able to find out which one or ones he used."

"All right. Go ahead," Harry agreed, closing his eyes.

"Hold still. Here we go." Bill began to wave his wand over the Head Auror from head to foot, chanting incantations. Faint shimmers of a gold-coloured ward appeared around his body. Bill flicked his wand and it vanished. The veteran Curse-breaker continued with a new incantation revealing a second red-coloured ward. With another flick, it vanished.

"Okay, that's probably it, but I'm going to run a couple of more scans just to be sure," Bill told them all. "All right, Harry?"

"All right," he replied. "That last one stung a bit, though."

"Yeah, that was a sticking ward—a little stronger than your garden-variety sticking charm. It's usually used for security around valuables so they can't ever be stolen," Bill told him.

_Good thing Voldemort didn't know that one_. "So what's next?"

"Well, like I said, I'm going to check for a couple more just to be sure. I doubt the Minister would even know these, but anything's possible. Hold still," Bill said. "This'll only take a few more minutes." Once again, Bill passed his wand the length of Harry's body, chanting as he moved. Sure enough, a green ward appeared around Harry's head. With a flourish and a stabbing motion, it fell and vanished.

"Cheeky bastard," Bill murmured. "I can't believe he did that."

"Did what," Harry asked.

"You don't want to know," Bill assured him. "But you're all right. That was the last one. Now we just have to cancel this ridiculous Glamour." The eldest of the Weasley brethren tapped Harry on the top of his hair and muttered, "_Ostendo sum Potter!_"

Friends, co-workers, and family of Harry Potter gasped and applauded as their beloved Harry Potter returned to normal. Gone was the overgrown afro, oversized shades, ratty mink coat, platform shoes, and hideous lime-green suit.

"Harry, just lie still for a few moments. You're going to be a bit dizzy from those wards," Bill advised. "_Aguamenti_." Here, it's just water.

"Thanks, mate," Harry said gratefully, reaching for Ginny's hand. "I owe you."

"Not at all, little brother," Bill said, patting Harry's shoulder. "The brethren look after one another, eh, Ronnie?"

"That's right, mate," Ron agreed, pulling Hermione close. "You're brilliant, you know that, don't you?"

"Me? I didn't do anything," Hermione replied, a bit puzzled.

"Yes, you did," Ginny countered. "It was your idea to send for Bill."

"Well…I suppose…" Hermione agreed. "Sometimes it's best to call in the professionals."

"Dad, I think I'm going to pay a little visit to our esteemed Minister. Would you care to join me," Bill asked. "I don't think he realises that one of those wards was dangerous."

"Which one, son," Arthur asked.

"That last one he put on Harry's hair," Bill said. "The green one. It was once used to hold a Glamour in place, rendering it undetectable. The trouble is that it left a lot of wizards permanently disfigured over prolonged use."

"Harry, my love, you don't need to retaliate because I'm going to KILL HIM," Ginny snarled. "Of all the stupid, idiotic, childish things to do—"

"Gin. Gin, it's all right. Let Bill and Dad talk to him. I'm sure Kingsley didn't mean any harm," Harry soothed, kissing his wife's hand and wrist. "I'm fine. Here, help me up."

"Mate, I think it's time the two of you called this war a draw," Ron observed sagely, smoothing his red-orange mane. "It's not worth either of you getting hurt."

"Perhaps we should leave the pranks to the professionals," Hermione agreed. "None of George's jokes would have gone this far."

"I used Funny Floo Powder to get Kingsley," Harry argued. "He's the one who used his wand. That wasn't fair. He could've gone to George just like I did."

"Yes, he could have," Hermione agreed. "And I'm sure Arthur and Bill are going to make that clear to him.

"You ready to stand, baby," Ginny asked, running her fingers through his thick raven locks.

"I think so. Let's have a go, shall we," he replied, sliding off the table to his feet. His head swam a little for a moment, but the feeling passed and he felt fine. "I'm good. All right, you lot. Back to work. Show's over."

"Well, lunch hour's shot," Ron announced. "We could maybe order in."

"Ron, you three are off for the holidays. I'm the only one stuck here until five," Harry reminded him. "Why don't you and Hermione go have a nice lunch somewhere and Ginny and I can order in?"

"Yeah, this is supposed to be part of your honeymoon," Ginny agreed. "Go! Enjoy it! Eat, drink, shag! You've earned it!"

Ron grabbed hold of Hermione's hand and pulled her toward the door. "Hey, you don't have to tell me twice. I'm outta here. C'mon, 'Mione! You heard the woman!"

"See you tomorrow," Hermione said as Ron yanked her through the door.

"Tomorrow," Harry asked, taking his wife into his arms and kissing her delectable neck. "What's tomorrow?"

"George invited us over for dinner and drinks," she replied with a moan. "Harry, if you don't stop that—"

"What? Don't I get a shag for lunch," he asked into her neck with a nip.

Heat began to pool in Ginny's belly and her knees turned to water. "Where? There's not enough time—"

"We can Apparate home for a bit," Harry suggested. "I know a nice, soft bed in a cosy master bedroom with our names on it."

"But what about lunch," Ginny asked, resisting the temptation to unbutton Harry's robes and uniform.

"I have a tasty morsel right here in my hands," he murmured, running his thumb over her left breast.

"Harry, if you don't let me go long enough to Apparate us home, I'm going to take you right here in this office," Ginny purred. "And what a show that would be for the troops."

"We're gone," Harry growled, taking her hand and leading her into the corridor toward the staircase. "Stairs are faster! Come on!"

"Arthur, I swear I didn't mean any harm. I'd just found that spell in this ratty old book I found in the desk," Kingsley said defensively, producing a cracked, leather-bound volume without a title.

"Minister, with all due respect, you're a former Auror," Bill pressed. "You should know better than to muck about with spells contained in a book with no name!"

"May I see it," Arthur asked. Kingsley handed to book to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Arthur paged through it, noticing handwritten notes in the margins. "This looks like Cornelius Fudge's handwriting. Merlin, what would he be doing with this?"

"He used to be a Hit wizard, Arthur," Kingsley reminded him. "He led the team that brought Sirius down back in '81. Alastor Gumboil was with him that day."

"But this is hardly standard-issue for Hit Teams, King. It looks like something we might've found in the Black library," Arthur said.

"Or something that might've been taken in a raid—say…at Malfoy Manor," Bill insinuated. "It's common knowledge that Fudge and Lucius Malfoy were thick as thieves."

"And had just about as much honour between them," Kingsley agreed. "You're right, Bill. I should have known better than to use that. Arthur, I want it destroyed. I don't care how you do it, but I want it gone. If that were to fall into the wrong hands, Merlin only knows what could happen."

"Minister, I could destroy it right now," Bill offered.

"No," Arthur said flatly. "I don't think we should."

"Why not," Kingsley asked. "That thing is dangerous!"

"No, the book is just a book. It's only dangerous if a wizard or witch uses it," Arthur said. "This belongs in the Wizengamot archive."

"Arthur, no," Kingsley argued. "There are too many idiots involved with that august body to put a book like this in their reach. It needs to be destroyed."

"Minister—"

"Bill, destroy it. Now," Kingsley commanded. "I nearly disfigured or even killed a friend with the information in that book. I couldn't live with myself if one of those Wizengamot morons got hold of it and did something stupid. Bill, do it!"

"Yes, sir," Bill agreed, conjuring a deep stone basin and dropping the book into it. "Dad, it's for the best. _INCENDIO MAXIMUS!_" The book burst into flame and curled and writhed as it burned, as though in agony of pain. In minutes, the no-name spell book collapsed into a pile of gray-black ashes.

"Now, I believe I owe my Head Auror an apology. Arthur, Bill, thanks for bringing this to my attention. I shudder to think what might have happened if I'd used that book again," Kingsley said gravely. "Bill, thanks for seeing to Harry."

"You'll be coming round for Christmas dinner," Arthur stated rather than asked. "Molly's counting on you."

"I wouldn't miss it," Kingsley said with a smile. In all honesty, he wasn't sure if he'd still be welcome after what just happened. _I hope I haven't lost Harry's trust after this and that thing with Miss Babbleham. Speaking of Babbleham…_

"Yes, sir," Babbleham said with an enthusiastic nod. "Chief Potter has completed all of his lessons and is eligible to take his exam whenever he's ready."

"Excellent. Please schedule him for Thursday morning," Kingsley instructed. "That's all."

"Um…sir," she began softly.

"Yes, Desirée?"

"I…I want to thank you again for giving me a second chance after…well, you know. By rights, I should've been sacked," she admitted.

"You're welcome. Percy Weasley says your lessons were most-informative and he feels as though he's ready to take the exam himself. Is that possible," Kingsley asked.

"Uh…well, I suppose. If he knows the material and can cast the charm, I don't see why not," she replied.

"Fine. If he'd like to take the exam, he can take it with Harry. The more people licensed to cast the charm, the less headaches for me," he observed.

"Yes, sir. I'll stop by his desk and offer to test him," she said. "If I don't see you before, sir, Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Miss Babbleham." He nodded to her as she left his office, thankful that there might be two others qualified to marry couples in the near future, which would take a lot of pressure off him.

"Mr Weasley?" Desirée Babbleham knocked on Percy's office door.

"Yes, Miss Babbleham? What can I do for you," Percy replied.

"Minister Shacklebolt said you might be interested in taking the Officiator's exam with Chief Potter. Is that true," she asked.

"Well, your lessons were most enjoyable," he said uncertainly. "But do you think I could pass?"

"I don't know. Would you care to have a go and find out," she suggested. "We can use this empty space."

"All right then," he agreed, following her to an empty cubicle. She put Percy through his paces, quizzing him on procedure and the charm itself. "I think you could pass it easily, Mr Weasley. Would you like to take the exam, then?"

"Sure. When," Percy asked, reaching for his pocket planner.

"We have Chief Potter scheduled for 9 AM on Thursday. Is that all right," she asked, peeking at his notes.

"I'm open. See you then, Miss Babbleham," Percy agreed, shaking her hand. "And thank you."

"See you then, Mr Weasley," she replied. She turned around and left Percy to his thoughts. _This was most-unexpected. Mother and Father will be so surprised when I tell them. I can't wait to see Harry's face when I show up to take that exam with him_. Percy chuckled to himself and returned to his paperwork, whistling a cheerful holiday tune as he worked.

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione Flooed straight to George's flat from the Burrow, as Ionúin Bhaille had yet to be connected. "Welcome to my humble abode," George greeted them with a flourish. "Please have a seat! Dinner should arrive shortly."

"You didn't cook," Ginny asked slyly, knowing George could barely boil water, let alone cook a meal. She thought it ironic that George could brew all kinds of odd potions for his products, but couldn't so much as cook a hard-boiled egg for a snack.

"Me? You must be joking, dear sister. I love all of you too much to place your lives in such peril as my awful cuisine," he chuckled, passing each of them Butterbeers.

"All right," Ron said. "You're being entirely too cordial. What's going on?"

"Going on? I'm sure I don't know what you mean, brother-of-mine," George asked in mock-indignation.

"Cut the bull, George. What are you up to," Ginny laughed. "You and F-fred only ever acted polite when you were up to something."

"Dear sister, you cut me to the quick. But if you must know, I do have an ulterior motive which I shall reveal as soon as our dear cousin arrives with dinner," George admitted.

"Fiona's coming too? Oh cool," Hermione squealed. "She's so much fun!"

"Yeah, Onie's down at the Leaky picking up fish and chips. I don't know what Hannah does to them, but they're fantastic," George gushed. Just then the fireplace whooshed and Fiona stepped through with a couple of covered boxes emitting a mouthwatering aroma. "Ahh and here she is, the witch of the hour."

"George, cut the crap and help me with these," Fiona giggled. "An' d'ya think ya c'n stop bumpin' yer gums long enough fer us ta eat our supper 'fore it gets cold?"

"Just set it down over here," George said, leading her to the coffee table. He opened the bags and distributed the fish dinners and napkins. "Oops! Be right back!" George disappeared into the kitchen for a minute and then returned with a bottle of malt-vinegar and a shaker of salt.

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about," Fiona said, grabbing the vinegar. "Y'all done hooked me on this! Back home, it's tartar sauce 'n' ketchup!"

"Sacrilege," Harry snickered, lightly salting his chips. "Vinegar please."

"Wait your turn, Potter," Ron said, liberally dousing his fish with the dark liquid.

"Ron, the fish is dead. It doesn't need anything to swim in," Hermione giggled. "Besides, if it were alive, the vinegar would drown it."

"Cheeky witch," Ron muttered, kissing her temple. "You'll get yours."

"All right, you two," Ginny said, passing the vinegar to Harry. "Talk now, sex later."

"Spoil sport," Ron grumbled, stuffing three chips into his mouth. "Damn, this is good! I wonder what she did to it!"

"I think it's the batter," Fiona suggested. "Beer batter."

"Beer batter? What's that," George asked, swallowing his bite of fish.

"It's jus' batter fer fish or chicken. But instead o' usin' club soda or milk or water, ya use beer," Fiona told them. "It's really popular in the States."

The six of them chatted while they ate, talking about the wedding, praising Ron for his singing and Hermione for her gown and all the trimmings. When they finished eating, George collected the trash in a bin and brought out a dusty bottle of deep-red wine and six glasses. He tapped the bottle with his wand and then poured a half-glass for everyone, the level in the bottle dropping barely an inch.

"So…George, you said you had an ulterior motive for inviting us tonight," Harry said, leaning back on the sofa and draping his left arm around Ginny.

"Well, mate, it's about you and Ginny, actually," George said, looking to Fiona for support.

"That's right," Fiona added. "We got somethin' we wanna tell ya about. Remember last fall when ya collapsed, Harry?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, I don't know much about this, but it sounds like you 'n' Ginny have a…soul-bond," she said. "Is that right?"

Harry and Ginny turned to each other with wide eyes. "George, did you—"

"Ginny, George told me yer story the night Harry collapsed," Fiona explained. "I suspected y'all had some kind o' bond because Harry ran a dangerously high fever that should-a killed 'im."

"But you knew what to do," Harry argued.

"Yeah, I knew what ta do 'n' it's a damned good thing, but there's more to it than that," she said, trying to head off an explosion. "You 'n' Ginny got more'n just a soul-bond. Y'all share a magical core."

"What? How is that possible," Ginny asked. "Nobody can share—"

"Y'all do. It's the only thing I c'n think of. That fever should-a killed Cousin Harry or at least damaged his mind," Fiona told them. "Now, I know y'all're wonderin' why we're talkin' about this, so I'm gonna tell ya: this has got to stay in the family."

"Fiona, we appreciate your concern, but we're well aware that our bond has to stay in the family. We know full-well how the Ministry works—" Harry tried to say.

"That's wonderful, but it's more'n that. You share a magical core, which means you two're twice as powerful as ya would be on yer own. Dangerously powerful if one o' y'all feels the other's in trouble," Fiona said nervously.

"We're talking—how did we say that, Onie—holy-shit-stay-in-the-family-big," George said, looking around at everyone in the room. "You and Harry together in a duel—"

"Could make trees fall," Ron finished. "The Forest of Dean, remember?"

The Quartet went on to explain what happened the first night they spent together in the tent in September. "And when we stepped out of the tent the next morning, the trees inside the wards of our camp lay on the ground, little more than kindling and cord wood," Ron finished.

Fiona nodded to George as if to confirm what she'd told him last summer. "That tears it," she said, leaning forward. "Harry, you and Ginny have got ta be careful. A shared core means more power and that's fine, but it also means you're so connected—"

"That if one of us dies, the other follows, right," Ginny finished for her, a tear sliding down her face. "Well that's just fine because if I lost Harry, I wouldn't want to live." She began to sob into his shoulder.

"Shh, Ginny, it's all right, baby. Nothing's going to happen to me, okay? I share a magical core with you," Harry said, drawing her into his lap. "Fiona, is there anything we should do?"

"Yeah, you might want to check into meditation, which brings us to the two of you," she said, pointing to Ron and Hermione.

"Us? What about us," Hermione asked.

"Two words, Hermione," George said. "Blue glow."

"What blue glow," Ron asked, looking around and noticing Harry and Ginny nodding at them.

"The one that appeared while you were taking your vows and then flashed bright once Kingsley pronounced you and you kissed," George told them.

"Y'all notice anything different lately," Fiona asked.

"I sure have," Harry volunteered.

"Me too," Ginny added.

"What didja notice, Ginny," Fiona asked pointedly. "What's different?"

"Ronnie's a sensitive new-age wizard," she giggled.

"Yeah, he is. At the Stag-party, we played a little game designed to take the Mickey out of Ron," Harry explained. "We asked Hermione a few questions we didn't think Ron would know the answer to. He got them all right."

"So I know my witch. What's the big deal," Ron asked, becoming a bit irritated.

"You got them all right," Hermione asked her husband, deeply touched.

"Of course. What did you expect? Harry, do you think we could nick up to Minerva's office," Ron asked with bright eyes.

"Erm…I guess so. Why," Harry asked. "Wait. I think I know—the Pensieve?"

"Yeah. 'Mione, Love," Ron said, standing to his feet and offering his hand to his wife. "You need to know how that game turned out."

Fiona stole a few glances at George. If those questions were designed to trip Ron up, but he got them all right, her suspicions about that blue light were confirmed. Ron and Hermione had some kind of bond as well and it matured at the wedding.

"Ron, you go ahead and Floo Minnie McG. If she's agreeable, Harry and I can fill Onie and Ginny in on the game while you're gone," George suggested.

Ron Flooed Hogwarts and had a short chat with the headmistress about using Dumbledore's old Pensieve. "Of course, Ron. You'll find it on my desk. Just leave it there when you're finished."

"Thanks, Headmistress," Ron replied politely. "I really appreciate this."

Ron stood and extended his hand to Hermione once again. "Come on, Love. We'll see you lot in a bit." With a nod, the two of them disappeared in a whoosh of green flame.

"She's in for a big surprise," George said sagely, and then launched into the tale.


	30. Chapter 30 Have Yourself A Harry Little

**Chapter 30 – Have Yourself a Harry Little Christmas**

_A/N: Thanks to theelderwand for guilting us into writing the opening scenes of this chapter. And now…on with the show._

"You know how a Pensieve works, right, 'Mione?" Ron had a basic understanding of how one worked because Harry had told him about his trips down Memory Lane with Dumbledore.

Hermione studied the stone vessel and took in the runes that covered it. It was beautiful in its simplicity, which fascinated her because it was so magical. She'd read about them in several books. _Moste Powerful Magical Devices_ was a book that provided detailed descriptions, and some claimed the knowledge in that book dated back to Rowena Ravenclaw herself. She had to consciously resist launching into a diatribe about what she'd read.

"Of course, but why—" Hermione had no idea why Ron wanted her to use a Pensieve, or what he might want to show her, but judging by the intensity in his eyes, it was important.

"I want you to see this," he said softly. "You need to know."

"Ronald, what—"

"Just trust me, Love," he insisted, placing the tip of his wand to his temple. "I'm going to show you a memory."

Hermione watched as Ron slowly drew his wand away from his temple, drawing out a silvery thread of something that looked like a thick strand of a spider's web. Once it fell away from his skin, he carefully dropped it into the stone basin on McGonagall's desk. _I have rarely seen Ron so...what is it, exactly?_ _Eager? Giddy? But also…proud._

"Harry says you just touch your nose to the memory and it draws you in," Ron told her. "Take my hand and we'll go in together, okay?"

"All…all right," Hermione replied shakily, taking her husband's hand. Together, they leaned over the Pensieve and found themselves falling, falling, until they landed on a stone floor. Hermione looked around, a bit disorientated, and overwhelmed by the experience. A room began to take shape from what, for lack of a better description, looked like liquid smoke. Hermione was certainly intrigued, a little dubious, but quite lost because she had no idea where they were.

Ron picked up on her mild trepidation and took her hand. "This is the cellar at The Black Dragon. It's all right. Just watch," Ron said, holding tightly to her hand.

Hermione watched as familiar faces gathered around Ron and needled him about marrying Hermione, calling her sanity into question. It warmed her heart to know that her beloved husband had so many good friends and such a supportive family. "Neville's got quite a sense of humour, doesn't he?"

"He does. Just wait until later, though. It gets better," Ron chuckled.

Hermione gasped as Bill and Percy toasted her and sang her praises as courageous enough to marry into the Weasley clan and as the brightest witch of their age, and how Ron announced to the room that she was the most-beautiful witch in the world.

_Bill and Percy both? I'd never realised you thought so highly of me._ That simple revelation elicited several emotions that roiled within her. All her life she'd been the bookworm, the bossy know-it-all. Even after she'd formed her friendship with Ron and Harry, it had taken Ron four years to notice that she in fact was a girl. Even after all these years, Hermione was still struggled with her self-image—as far as she was concerned, she was little more than a witch with an above-average ability to memorize facts she'd read in libraries of books. _You're not only accepting of me as your sister-in-law, you're actually happy about it._

Soon, the scene changed to the dining room of The Black Dragon, where the Troglodytes had gathered once again for dinner and more drinking. She watched as Harry called them all to order for a game in which Ron was the only player. "Is this…is this the game?"

"Yeah, it is. Did you know what Harry and Ginny asked all those questions for," Ron asked her, his eyes sparkling in the dim light of the memory.

"All I knew is that they wanted to see if you could match my answers," Hermione replied. "I had no idea they were going to take the Mickey out of you."

"It backfired, you know. I knew all the answers," Ron replied huskily. "There was nothing they could ask me that I couldn't answer."

Hermione looked on as the questions and answer game wore on. Tears coursed down her cheeks as practically every man present toasted her. "I didn't know Neville attributed his successes to me."

"Hermione, love, you have no idea how many lives you've touched and how much people love you. Just listen," Ron said, nodding toward the scene.

As Hermione watched, the Stags made joke after joke at Ron's expense, but she beamed with pride as he gave a good as he got without becoming angry or defensive. She smiled as the game progressed because it confirmed to her that their bedtime chats really strengthened their relationship. Ron had grown so much in the past year, but she noticed a change in herself as well. She found herself more open to frivolity and less-inclined to analyse every situation. She allowed herself to giggle, which was something she'd never been inclined to do.

"So you think my Bluebell Flame is sexy," she purred, running her hand over his bum.

"Oh yes, very," he murmured. "I also love your swish and flick."

"_To Hermione Granger, without whose help and encouragement I would be little more than a Squib!"_

A tear streaked down Hermione's face as Ron confessed to their friends and family what drove her to be the best. "Ron, I—"

"It's all right, Love," Ron said, wiping her tears with his thumbs. "Just watch."

"_Little brother, I surely hope you worship the ground that woman walks on and treat her accordingly, because if you don't, I'll kick your freckled arse all over Britain, Auror or not."_

"_Hear, hear. She's the best."_

Hermione had to hold on to Ron for support because she was so deeply touched that she could barely stand up straight. Tears leaked from her eyes and rolled unabashedly down her cheeks. _William Arthur Weasley, I owe you one great big hug._

As the memory finally faded, Ron and Hermione reappeared in the Headmistress' office. Hermione clung to her husband, crying into his shirt, while he held her close and stroked her hair. "You see, Love? You'll never be lonely again. You have good friends and a family who love you and respect you for the amazingly brilliant person you are."

"Oh Ron, I had no idea. I thought everyone just considered me a bossy know-it-all. A nightmare," she sobbed. "What changed?"

"We did," Ron confessed. "We all realised that you bossed us around and nagged us about our homework because you cared—because you wanted us all to finish together and be somebody. Finally, somewhere in the middle of a war, cold and alone without my two best mates, I realised what a prize prat I'd been all along—and how much I loved you."

"I love you, too, Ronald Bilius Weasley," she wailed, throwing herself onto his body.

With a grunt, he stepped back with the force and then wrapped his strong arms around her, lifting her off the floor. He held her close, breathing in her lavender-and-vanilla scent, tears streaming down his face for love of the beautiful witch he married.

"Take me home," Hermione asked into his neck. "I need you so much right now."

"'Mione, the others are waiting at George's, remember? We need to at least check back in with them," Ron replied, reluctantly setting her down. He dipped his wand into the Pensieve and retrieved his memory, depositing it safely back into his head. "Ready?"

Hermione beamed up at her husband through the remnants of her tears and nodded. "Ready."

Ron tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and called out their destination. He wrapped his arms around his wife and they spun away in a whirl of green flame. Moments later, they tumbled out of the grate in George's flat.

Harry, Ginny, George, and Fiona cut off their conversation. They'd been discussing the finer points of the Potters' Soul-bond and all of the implications Fiona had discussed with George previously. Harry and Ginny assured their brother and cousin that they were acutely aware of and understood it all.

Harry decided that he and Ron would begin more-intensive training with their wives, but he also decided that he would approach Irish Finnegan about working with Fiona, since he spent so much time at Hogwarts.

"So…how'd it go," George asked, draining his bottle of Butterbeer. He'd only just spoke the question, when a fifty-four kilo freight train tackled him back into his chair and wrapped its arms around his neck. "Oi, what's all this then?"

"George, you're wonderful, did you know that," Hermione cried softly into his neck. "Thank you so much!"

"Well…I had an idea," George smirked. "And you're welcome…but what did I do?"

Ron stood in front of the fireplace with tears welling in his sapphire eyes. "I showed her the game, mate," was all he needed to say.

George Gideon Weasley had never been one to show much emotion other than mirth or anger—and grief following the death of his twin—but what he felt for his new sister-in-law at that moment was a wash of love and respect. Bookish Hermione, the girl who constantly admonished him and Fred for their lack of respect for school rules and attention to studies, just told him he was wonderful and thanked him for it.

"She gets emotional sometimes," Harry assured him. "You lot said some really great things about her that night—things she should've heard long ago. Things I should've said long ago."

"Oh Harry," Hermione cried, leaping from George's lap to her blood-brother's. She buried her face in his neck and wept freely and he held her close. "You n-never…had to s-say anything… because you're a-actions…s-spoke volumes. You and Ron…s-saved my life and…and defended me from Malfoy and…and his lot. You t-took me…f-for a sister and Ron t-took me…for his wife. What more…" She could say no more.

Ginny toppled over with the force and had to hold her hand over her face to keep from laughing. She'd never seen her best friend and sister like this, and while it may have appeared comical, she understood that something she'd seen in her brother's memory touched her deeply. "Hermione, how could you ever doubt any of us thought of you in any other way? You're our sister and best friend, for Merlin's sake."

"I…I know, Ginny. It's just that…well…it's nice to hear it sometimes," Hermione replied, wiping her face with trembling hands. "You have no idea—I had no idea—that I'm more than a human database to the people we grew up with."

"'Mione," Ron began. "That's part of what makes you, you. You have a talent for research and organisation, and without that, I know for a fact I'd not be where I am this very moment. Your brains and love for me allowed me to catch up with my Auror class and pass my exams. The practical stuff came naturally to me, but the reading and all—I couldn't have pulled that off without your help and support."

Fiona watched the four members of her family interact and realised just how much history existed between Harry, Ron, and Hermione, even aside from Ginny and George. She thought about how Granny Tyree might imagine a special quilt to tell their story. She made a mental note to ask Seamus about their Hogwarts days because she felt the sudden urge to create the biggest quilt in the history of Great Britain and America.

Once Hermione collected herself, George handed her a fresh Butterbeer, which she downed in literally one go and then let loose a resounding belch. Embarrassed as she was, having been raised better than that, she couldn't help but join the others' laughter.

"Who'd-a thought such a big noise could come outta such a little body," Fiona said over the guffawing. "You could give the Carver boys back home a run for sure!"

"A run? A run about what," Harry asked, wiping escaped Butterbeer from his nose.

"Ain't ch'all ever had a belchin' contest," Fiona asked. aghast. Judging by the looks on her cousins' faces, the answer was a definite _no_.

"Mum'd kill us! Fred and I—" George began. "Well, Fred anyway, let one go after supper one night and Mum nearly fainted."

"That wasn't a belch, George. We _all _nearly fainted," Ginny giggled.

"Had to open every window and door in the house," Ron added with a snicker. "Mum never fed Fred cabbage again."

"Mum never cooked cabbage again," George corrected his youngest brother. They all burst into laughter anew, and cracked another Butterbeer.

"Good thing. I hate the stuff," Harry said with a dramatic grimace. "So don't get any ideas, Gin."

"Me? I have to live with you. If cabbage does to you what it did to Fred, you're safe," Ginny replied, kissing him on the cheek.

Through the laughter, George had a small epiphany. There they all were, telling Fiona stories about Fred without a single stutter or stammer. _This is what you would've wanted for us, isn't it, twin-of-mine? Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought he heard the answer._

"_Live, love, laugh…and fart!"_

Lowly and slowly, George began to snicker and then chuckle. By the time he'd reached the howling stage, tears streamed down his face. Not tears of grief—no, these were tears of joy and fondness for Frederick Fabian Weasley, and in memory of a truly funny and loving human being.

He leapt to his feet and raised his bottle to the ceiling. "To our dear brother and cousin, Fred! May his next great adventure be…_aromatic!_ Sláinte!"

"Sláinte," they all replied and took a pull from their bottles. Moments later, a chorus of belches filled the air, followed by more howls of laughter. At that moment, George's brain spawned a new addition to the Skiving Snackboxes—Farting Fudge. _Fred, brother-of-mine, you're a mad genius!_

Later that night, Ron and Hermione lay naked in their bed in the top-floor bedroom of the Burrow. They'd taken to sleeping in the nude since their wedding and found that they slept much sounder without the constriction of nightclothes that tended to twist uncomfortably around their bodies. The newlyweds lay in one another's arms, saying nothing for a long while, both running the events of the evening through their minds.

"Ron, do you think Harry and Ginny will be all right? I mean, what Onie said about their bond and what we've seen—it's really scary," she whispered.

"Yeah, I think so. They're tough, those two. They've been through Hell and come out on the other side, bright as a new Galleon. I don't think anything could take them down, to be honest," Ron replied.

"I suppose you're right," she agreed. "But what about—what about us? What happened with that light Onie described? Did we—"

"'Mione, all I know about that was the feeling I got when I kissed you for the first time as my wife. There was something that felt like going home, you know? Like something was missing, but now it isn't. Does that make any sense," Ron asked, holding her closer to his chest.

"In an odd way, it does. It's like something here awoke," she said, covering her heart with her hand. "Something that was always there, but not until that moment. It's like we completed us, right?"

"Completed us," Ron repeated just above a whisper. "That reminds me of something Harry said about Ginny completing him. I didn't have a clue what he was talking about. I thought he'd gone mental or something, but I get it now."

"Perhaps the Greeks had the right of it," Hermione mused.

"The Greeks? You mean those old duffers who dressed like House elves," Ron asked.

"Yes, those old duffers in _togas and tunics_, Ron," she giggled. "House elves. Honestly."

"Fine. Togas and tunics, but what about them," Ron asked, truly interested in what the ancients had to say about completeness.

"Holy Cricket, that's it," she exclaimed. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"'Mione, what in blazes are you on about now," Ron asked, looking her straight in the face.

"The _Greeks!_ They have a legend that says something about the gods having become angry with people and condemning them to mortality on earth as punishment. In the process, they split the people's souls or hearts—I'm not sure which, now—and put one half in a man and the other in a woman. All their lives, the people would search for the other half of their soul or heart. It was a cruel game, really. In their pettiness, the gods wanted to see if each half could find and reunite with the other. If the people found themselves, they found joy and lived a long life full of love, whole and content; if not, they just drifted aimlessly through life and died lonely and miserable."

"Harry and Ginny. Their Soul-bond," Ron deduced.

"Yes, but I think it applies to us, too, if Fiona's right," Hermione added. "It's true we don't have an intense Soul-bond like Harry and Ginny, but I believe we might have a Heart-bond. Your half found my half just like Harry's found Ginny's, but under different circumstances."

"Different circumstances? I'm lost," Ron said with a heavy sigh.

"Remember what Harry told us happened in the Forbidden Forest," Hermione urged.

"Yeah. He said Voldemort killed him—or thought he did," Ron replied, still not quite comprehending.

"Ronald, what did Harry say his last thought was about just as Voldemort cast the AK," Hermione continued to urge.

Ron had to think back to that discussion for a few moments. "He said…he said he thought of Ginny. He died for Ginny, right?"

"Yes. If you think back through the whole time Harry and Ginny have known each other, what is the common theme," Hermione asked. "It's sacrifice. Harry put his life on the line in the Chamber when he rescued her and killed the Basilisk. If not for Fawkes, he'd have died that night. While we fought Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, he wasn't truly aware of it, but he worked very hard to keep her from being hurt worse than just a broken ankle."

"And then at Dumbledore's funeral—he broke up with her to protect her, even though it nearly killed him to do that. He was so miserable," Ron finished. "And then he took and AK with her in his heart and on his mind."

"Exactly. Their bond began to develop in the Chamber, and over time and with certain events—"

"It matured into what it is now," Ron said. "So what did we do that was so special?"

"Ron, you and I—and Harry—have had some harrowing adventures in our lives. You and Harry rescued me from a Mountain Troll, but it was you who actually knocked it out with your first successful levitation charm. You sat by me for hours in the hospital wing while I lay in hospital, petrified, in second year. I knew you were there—I could hear you talking to me."

"I held your hand, but you couldn't feel it, could you," Ron asked, his sapphire eyes turning cobalt.

"No, I couldn't, but I thought you might have been," she smiled. "Then in the Shrieking Shack—you swore Sirius Black would have to kill you to get to me and Harry. In fourth year, you went spare at the Yule Ball because I went with Viktor Krum. I know I said you spoiled everything when we rowed over it, but really you had just told me you had feelings for me beyond those of mere friendship. Then you tried to defend me from Grawp in fifth year."

"Then in sixth year, I made a complete arse of myself and broke your heart," he interjected. "I'll never forgive myself for that, you know."

"Ron, it hurt me, but don't do a Harry and beat yourself up over it. My heart is well-mended and safe and content in your hands, thank you," she assured him, kissing his chest tenderly. "But what you said in hospital after you were poisoned—you called for me. Not Lavender. Me. I was yours for good and all after that. Then at the Burrow—the day after that mess over Little Whinging—you kept your arm around me while we explained to Harry what I had done about my parents and that we were going with him."

"Yeah, a fat lot of good that did. I left," Ron huffed. "I abandoned you both when you needed me most."

"Yes, you did. But you manned-up, too. You admitted you were wrong and did something about it. You came back to us. If you hadn't…I'd have died at Malfoy Manor and Harry might not have been able to complete his mission. And don't forget last spring when you sat a week's vigil at my bedside while I lay in a coma after the explosion. You prayed for me, Ron. You prayed to gods you weren't even sure existed. I told you I could hear you, but I just couldn't answer you. And what have I ever done for you, Ron? Nagged you to do your homework."

"Yeah, but if you hadn't, I would've failed school. I said this at George's and I'll say it again—if you hadn't pushed, nagged, prodded, and tutored, I wouldn't be what I am now," Ron insisted. "I owe my career to you, 'Mione, plain and simple."

"And I owe my life to you," she countered. "So with all the life-saving and nagging, we formed our Heart-bond. It must've been building gradually like Harry's and Ginny's Soul-bond, and then matured with the Marriage-bond and your totally…mind-blowing…kiss. I'll have another, please."

"As you wish," Ron murmured, lifting her chin with his finger and capturing her lips with his. He couldn't resist her demure smile or the flames that seemed to appear in her cinnamon eyes. On contact, fire shot through their veins as the kiss intensified. She parted her lips for him and allowed his tongue to entwine with hers.

"Make love to me, my ginger god," she moaned beneath him. "I need you so much." She'd been burning since they left Headmistress McGonagall's office. The closeness of their bodies, while they explored their new bond, reignited what had been smouldering for hours. "I love you."

Ron sucked in a deep breath as Gryffindor's lion roared its approval in his chest. His heart pounded as never before as his tongue plundered his wife's mouth. He adored her and all but worshiped her, but something was definitely different tonight. Perhaps it was the awareness of their Heart-bond, or even an understanding of it, but it didn't matter. She wanted him and he wouldn't deny her. But he wouldn't just take her in the heat of the moment. He wanted to make love to her as she asked.

The pull to crush her in his embrace and plough his way into her was almost overwhelming, but he reined himself in and let his hands and lips caress her neck, collarbone, and breasts. Her keening whimpers filled his senses as he ministered to her need with little heed to his own. It was a beautiful thing, this heart of giving. It pleasured him to pleasure her.

With each pass of his tongue over her breasts, her breathing increased and her chest heaved. "Ron, please," she moaned. "I…I need you."

"Patience, my goddess," he murmured, trailing kisses down her belly as his hands caressed her thighs. "Patience."

Hermione's mind exploded when her husband's lips touched her centre. It was a good thing they'd made a habit of sealing and silencing their bedroom. Historically, their lovemaking was relatively noisy—a complete departure for Hermione, as she usually tried to maintain a low profile most of the time. But Ron was all Weasley—boisterous and exuberant in all things, but sweet and tender in the bedroom. "R-ron! Oh gods, Ron!"

Ron smiled to himself as he went about his labour of love. His own nether regions began to expand and stiffen with her every moan and cry. He knew she was close, but he also knew she wouldn't want to finish without him. That was just her way. It meant so much to both of them to fall into paradise together, rocking with the force of their mutual climax and then crashing into oblivion wrapped in one another's arms and essence.

"Are you ready, my goddess," he asked sultrily as he kissed his way from her centre back toward her neck.

"Yes, my love," she moaned, moving to accommodate him. "Take me, Ronald. Take me, now!"

"Gin, I want you and Hermione to train with me and Ron again," Harry said as he lifted a chocolate-covered strawberry to her lips. As soon as they returned home from George's, they changed into pyjamas and sat down before a crackling fire in their cosy sitting-room.

"I thought so. I got a little jolt through the link to that effect when Fiona told us what she did," Ginny replied, licking stray strawberry juice from her lips. "I agree. All this Quidditch has put me off my spellwork."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Harry smirked. "You held your own pretty well at Montrose. But that's not what I mean, Gin. You and Hermione are married to me and Ron and we're all public figures of some type."

"Yeah, I know, but what's that got to do with the price of tea in China," she asked, feeding him a strawberry.

"Ginny, as a sports-personality, you have fans, right?"

"I suppose so. And…?"

Harry had to choose his words carefully because if he were to give any indication that he might have thought his wife might be damsel in distress, she'd blow. He could already sense that reaction through their bond. "Have you ever heard the term, _stalker?_"

"Isn't that some nutter who follows someone around a lot," she asked, not sure what Harry was driving at.

"Pretty much, yeah. Victims of stalking are usually people in the public eye—entertainers, sports-figures, and even politicians," he explained. "Ginny, you and Hermione fit that role. You're a rising Quidditch star and married to The-Boy-Who-Lived, you're both war-heroes, Hermione's a Muggleborn sitting on the Wizengamot, a blood-sister to said Boy, and married to a prominent Auror. And no matter what you think about it, you're also _Witch Weekly's_ record-breaking beauty, which leaves you open to a whole other line of nutters wandering about out there."

"So you and Ron want to train us up a bit more, is that it," Ginny asked, already knowing the answer.

"And I want Seamus to work with Fiona. She's a Healer, not a fighter. With all this anti-Pureblood crap going around Hogwarts, I believe it's only a matter of time before she becomes a target—especially since her break-up with Rupert Watson." Harry didn't know for sure if the Defence professor had any affiliation with ELF, but he didn't want to take any chances. As soon as word got out that she and Seamus were dating—well, he didn't want to take any chances.

"Harry…"

"Gin, I want the witches in my life to be safe, and that includes Mum, come to that," Harry said. "She may have snuffed Bellatrix, but—I don't know how she'd fare in a real fight for her life."

"Why would anybody want to hurt—oh. She's a celebrity, too, isn't she," Ginny said. "She's a columnist for Witch Weekly now. I don't suppose you've talked to Dad about this, have you?"

"No. I haven't even talked to Ron, but I know he'll agree," he replied. "Tomorrow, while we're doing our Christmas shopping, we're going to pay a visit to old Ollivander."

"Harry, sweetheart, darling, love of my life—we have wands. Hell, you've got two! What do we need to see Ollivander about," she asked, searching the link for a clue.

"This is true, but you have only one, and it isn't even yours," Harry countered. "You need one that chooses _you_."

"Grandmother Prewett's wand works just fine for me, thanks," Ginny huffed. "I beat the pants off Hermione and Seamus with it, and I got through the war with it as well."

"I know that, Love, but imagine how much easier it might have been had you had your own wand—one that was made for you," he argued. "I want you to have a second wand anyway. Besides, I believe my parents each had two."

"Wh-what makes you say that," Ginny asked, dipping another strawberry to feed him.

"Just before first year when I bought my holly wand, Ollivander said he remembered selling my parents their _first wands_. That tells me they had more than one," Harry told her, accepting the fruit from her fingers. "There's no law that I'm aware of that states that a witch or wizard cannot own more than one wand."

"I don't know, Harry. Wouldn't that seem a bit suspicious? I mean, an Auror using more than one wand—sure, that's understandable—but a Quidditch player or a junior staffer in RCMC? There are liable to be questions, Harry. You have to admit that," Ginny reminded him.

"Maybe, but that's not the point. I want you to be as safe as we can keep you, and that means a second wand," Harry insisted. "No arguments this time, Gin. I'm dead serious on this. You are getting a new wand tomorrow."

"Fine, but I'm still perfectly happy with the one I've got," she agreed half-heartedly. "But if you make me carry both of them, you have to carry the Elder Wand, too."

"Gin, that's different. The Elder Wand is dangerous. They don't call it the Deathstick for nothing. It's a relic—a Hallow—a _Deathly_ Hallow. Besides, my holly wand chose me; your willow wand chose your gran."

"Harry James Potter, you are infuriatingly logical sometimes, did you know that," she huffed with a smirk. "But annoyingly charming."

"And you're infuriatingly stubborn," he laughed. "But annoyingly sexy." He tackled her to the floor and tickled her mercilessly until she begged for mercy. He then crushed his lips to hers and made love to her right there on the floor, chocolate strawberries and fear for her safety forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Harry and Ginny rose early on Thursday morning to meet Ron, Hermione, and Fiona for their shopping trip to Diagon Alley. Ginny wanted to arrive before Arthur left for work in order to ask again for a Weasley Inquisition to take place after supper on Christmas evening, since the whole family would be at the Burrow that day.

Molly had just served breakfast when her daughter and son-in-law stepped out of the Floo into the sitting room. "Good morning, Weasleys," Ginny called as she and Harry stepped into the kitchen. "Ooh, is that pancakes?"

"Good morning, dears," Molly replied, welcoming them with a kiss to the cheek. "I take it you two haven't had breakfast then?"

"Not a bite, Mum," Harry replied. "Gin wanted to be here early, so…"

"Sit, sit. There's plenty," Molly scolded good-naturedly. "We can't let you starve, now, can we, Daddy?"

"Certainly not," Arthur replied. "Our Head Auror and our Quidditch Star must be fed. How are you children this morning?"

"Fine, Daddy. We had a great time with George and Onie last night," Ginny replied. "Which brings me to the real reason we're here this early. Daddy, I want to call an Inquisition for Saturday night after supper."

"What do you need an Inquisition for, Ginny," Molly asked, setting plates of food in front of her and Harry. Ron, Hermione, and Fiona stole furtive glances at one another, all knowing exactly what Ginny wanted it for.

"It's something we need to talk to and with the family about. Something really important," Harry said, passing a pointed look at Ron over his glasses.

"Fiona needs to be there too, Dad," Ron added. "She knows what it is and has a few ideas about it."

Hermione kicked him under the table, eliciting a small yelp and a scowl from her husband. She cocked her head as if to tell him to stifle it before he said too much.

"Of course," Arthur agreed. "Fiona's family too. Molly, you might want to start the Chain so the others are prepared to stay a little later than they may expect.

"I'll do that right now," she said with a nod. "This way I won't forget." Molly bustled out of the kitchen into the sitting room to put in a Floo call to Shell Cottage to start the Weasley Chain. A few minutes later, she reappeared in the kitchen just in time to see her husband off to work.

"Molly dear, I'll see you around half-five. You lot have a good time in the Alley," the Weasley patriarch declared, donning his woollen cloak.

"We're having lunch at the Dragon if you'd like to join us," Hermione offered.

"No, no, thank you, Hermione, but I'll be joining Percy and company as usual," he said. "Kingsley has condescended to join us today." He leaned over and kissed his wife softly, then left with a backward wave.

About a half-hour later, Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Fiona Floo'd to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to begin their day of shopping. Ron and Hermione headed toward Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry and Ginny headed toward Ollivander's, and Fiona hung back at WWW until they were gone.

"Cousin Georgie, I need yer help. I don't know what to get fer Uncle Art 'n' Aunt Molly. Any ideas," she asked.

"That's easy. Dad likes anything Muggle and Mum likes anything that has to do with cooking or Potions-making," he replied. "But honestly, they'd be thrilled with anything you bought them."

"Thanks. I think I have an idea now. You're the greatest," she gushed, kissing him on the cheek. "See you at the Dragon?"

"Wouldn't miss it," he laughed, his blue eyes dancing merrily in a way they hadn't in over a year. He set to inventorying the shelves to ensure he had plenty of stock once the holiday shoppers began to arrive. Halloween and Christmas were his biggest money-makers and he was going to be sure to have plenty of stock on hand to meet the demand.

"Ron, why are we here," Hermione asked exasperatedly. "Nobody but Ginny plays Quidditch and she's got plenty of good equipment."

"Yeah, Ginny does, but we do have three Munchkins on the Gryffindor team, remember? A Beater and two Chasers. I thought we might pick up some good gloves and guards for them," Ron replied.

"Oh, good idea. I hadn't thought of that," she confessed. "I think we should be able to find something nice for Patricia at Flourish and Blott's—or perhaps a gift certificate from Scrivenshaft's. What do you think?"

"Scrivenshaft's is a great shop, but it's in Hogsmeade. She's a second-year, Love. She won't be able to set foot in Hogsmeade until next October—and that's only if Paul and Diana sign the consent form," Ron reminded her.

"Ooh, too right," she agreed, biting her lip. "Flourish and Blott's it is, then."

"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking," Ron asked slyly.

"What," she replied innocently. "What are you think I'm thinking?"

"Hogwarts: A History?"

"You're brilliant," she squealed. "What would I do without you?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Become an old maid, _dry as the pages of the books you so desperately cling to?_" He intoned that last with a grotesque impression of Sybil Trelawney, the farce of a Divination professor at Hogwarts.

"You are such a prat," she laughed, giving him a little shove. "Tell you what: you pick up the Quidditch things and meet me at F&B, okay?"

"That works. Then I want to make a stop at Gambol and Japes to see what's going on with the competition," Ron said.

"Fine. See you in a bit, then," she said, reaching up on tip-toe to give him a quick kiss on the lips. "I love you."

"Love you too," he replied. He watched as she left the Quidditch shop and turned left to make her way back to the book store.

"Harry, this really isn't necessary," Ginny protested as her husband all but dragged her into Ollivander's newly-redecorated shop.

"Ginny, we had this discussion. You're getting a new wand and that's final," Harry insisted.

"Mr and Mrs Potter," a familiar voice called from the rear of the shop. "What brings you into my shop this fine morning?"

"Hello, Mr Ollivander," Ginny said meekly. She'd met the man only once, and that was the day her parents bought Ron his new wand just before her second year at Hogwarts.

"Sir, we're here to buy a new wand for my wife," Harry told him. "She carries—"

"Her maternal grandmother's, yes. Willow and Dragon heartstring, eight-and-a-half inches. Very good for Charms work," the old wandmaker recited from memory. "I take it Mrs Potter is ready for a wand to choose her specifically, yes?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied.

"Well then, let's begin, shall we?" With a wave of his hand, he summoned his trusty tape-measure. Ginny giggled as it measured both of her arms, the span of her right hand, the circumference of her knees and the space between her nostrils. "That's enough of that. Silly tape-measure. Right then."

Mr Ollivander thoughtfully scanned each of the shelves in his shop, choosing only specific wands for Ginny to try out. "Here, try this one. Ash and Unicorn hair, ten inches."

Ginny attempted a simple lamination spell, but all she was able to produce was a weak light that faded almost as quickly as it appeared.

"No, that's not it," Ollivander said. "Perhaps this one. Mahogany and Phoenix feather, twelve inches."

Ginny tried the lamination spell again. Although the results were better, they still weren't optimum. After dozens more failures, she began to believe she'd been right all along—the wand she had was good enough.

For his own part, Ollivander wouldn't be denied a sale. He knew he had a wand for Harry Potter's wife—it was just a matter of finding it. He wandered the aisles some more, pondering the possibilities much as he had when Harry first came to his shop more than eight years before. "I wonder…" he said to himself.

"Please excuse me for a moment," the old man said. "I'll be right back. I have an idea."

"_What do you suppose he's up to?"_

"_I don't know, Gin, but he had a tough time with me, too. Maybe he's got something special set aside to try out on you."_

"_Why does that make me nervous?"_

"_There's nothing to worry about, Gin. He wouldn't hurt a Billywig if it stung him."_

"_No, he'd just float about laughing like a madman. In fact, I wouldn't doubt that he is a little mad."_

"_Of course he is. He's hundreds of years old and spends his days with wood and animal parts."_

The two of them held onto one another, chuckling quietly in the middle of the shop. They were startled from their mirth when they heard the sound of footsteps hurrying forward. "Ah, here we are," Ollivander called, waving a box over his head. "I finished this a few days ago, but I dare say I've never quite seen anything like it."

"What do you mean, sir," Harry asked. "You've made thousands of wands. What's so special about this one?"

"Well, before I tell you that, let's find out if Mrs Potter is meant for it." The box appeared to be shaking in his hands as he worked the lid off the box. Inside laid a work of wandmaker's art that appeared to be fighting its way free. As Ginny reached for it, it leapt into her hand and began to purr very softly.

"It feels warm in my hand," Ginny marvelled. "Mr Ollivander, are wands supposed to do that?"

"Oh-ho! Yes! Oh my, yes! Mrs Potter, I believe you're meant for this wand," Ollivander cried.

"Is…is that wand purring," Harry asked. "My wand doesn't purr."

"Purring," Ollivander asked, his eyes bright with glee, leaning in to listen for himself. "By Merlin, it is! Give it a wave, Mrs Potter! Go on!"

For some unknown reason, Ginny felt compelled to open the door before she tested it out. If the magic was too strong, she was afraid she might destroy the shop. She stuck her wand arm out and chose a random spell. "_Scourgify!_" A bright white light shot from the end of the new wand and cleaned every cobblestone in Diagon Alley, leaving them as bright and shiny as the day they were laid.

"Wonderful, wonderful! Oh, Mrs Potter, you are one very lucky witch," Ollivander said, clapping his gnarled hands together. "I wasn't sure this wand would ever find a home."

"Why's that," Ginny asked, still fascinated by the object in her hand.

"Because it's very special. That wand is fashioned from the wood of a very special tree and the heartstring of a very special Dragon," he said. "Come, sit down, and I'll explain."

Ollivander led the Potters into his workshop. Tools hung neatly from pegs on the wall to the right of a battered and gouged workbench, surrounded by shelves upon shelves of various woods, strands of Unicorn hairs, jars of Dragon heartstrings, a small crate of Phoenix feathers, and a few other things that could be used as cores. "Tea?"

"Yes, please," Ginny answered.

Ollivander conjured a full tea-service, complete with shortbread biscuits. He poured out and began his tale. "A few years ago, I received a call from Professor Sprout at Hogwarts. It seems there had been a little accident," he said, shooting a knowing glance at Harry. "She wondered if I might be able to make use of bits of wood she'd pruned from a rare and rather interesting tree."

"You can't mean—no. It can't be. Ginny's wand is a piece of the Whomping Willow," Harry asked incredulously.

"The same, Mr Potter," the old man grinned. "Of course, I couldn't pass on such an opportunity, so I paid a visit to Hogwarts and picked up that pile of twigs over there." He pointed to a shelf, apart from the others, where a quivering pile of wood lay.

"Wicked," Ginny gasped.

"Indeed. I dare say I had a devil of a time with it. It kept slapping my hands each time I picked it up and then fought me as I tried to trim and smooth it out. I had to put a stasis charm on it to get it to lie quietly. I was most unhappy when I split it to insert the core," Ollivander confessed, taking a sip of his tea.

"Do I really want to ask what kind of core you put in it," Harry asked rhetorically.

"Dragon heartstring, Mr Potter. More specifically, Hungarian Horntail. In fact, I believe you might be familiar with its donor," the old man chuckled lightly.

"Bloody hell! Ginny, let me see that for a moment," Harry said, holding out his hand for the wand. Ginny passed it to him, but as he reached for it, it jumped from her hand and slapped Harry smartly on the fingers and then returned to Ginny's hand. "Merlin! That thing's a menace!"

"Gee, Harry, I wonder why. You crashed a ruddy car into its branches and then outsmarted the Dragon whose heartstring lies inside. I don't think it likes you very much," she laughed.

"Indeed, but it certainly likes you, Mrs Potter," Ollivander said with a sly smile.

"Shall we try again, Love," Ginny asked sarcastically. "Go on, Super Auror. Give it wave."

Harry reached for the wand again, only quicker so as to avoid another hand-drubbing. The wand fought him, vibrating violently in his hand. "Lumos," he cast, producing nothing but a puff of acrid smoke. "Alohamora," he cast again, producing another puff of the smoke. "Wingardium Leviosa," he cast a third time. This time, it not only produced the acrid smoke, but made a sound like a raspberry and then leapt back into Ginny's waiting palm.

"_So the big-bad Auror can't control a widdle-bitty Whomping Willow wand?"_

"_Yeah well, the Elder Wand won't obey you, either."_

"_Care to test that theory, Potter?"_

"_Maybe, but you know you'll win because I won't fight you. I'll surrender to you unconditionally."_

"_I do have you trained, don't I, Love?"_

"_Witch."_

"_And don't you forget it."_

"Mr Ollivander, we'll take it. It's obviously a very powerful wand and it likes Ginny. How much do we owe you," Harry declared decisively.

"Fifty Galleons," the wandmaker replied. "Considering the materials and time involved to create it."

"_Fifty Galleons! Harry, Ron's new one cost only ten! That's too much!"_

"_Yeah well, my wand cost all of seven Galleons, but the Elder Wand cost Dumbledore his life. What's Fifty Galleons?"_

"_Hm, good point."_

"Are you sure? I mean, it's one of a kind. Surely it's worth more than that," Harry argued.

"No, no. Fifty Galleons and not a Knut more or less. I'm glad to be shut of it, to be honest. I shall never fashion another," the old man insisted.

"Done. And I'd like a dozen holsters if you have them," Harry added.

"Certainly," Ollivander said. "Would you like me to wrap it for you?"

"No, I think I'll just holster it so I can get used to it," Ginny replied. "Isn't that right, my darling?" She kissed the tip of the wand and cuddled it to her face, which elicited a disgusted look from her husband. She could have sworn the wand giggled a cooed against her cheek.

Harry paid for the wand and the holsters and guided her from the shop. "I'll show you how it works when we get to the Dragon. Meanwhile, keep that thing out of sight."

"Yes, sir, Chief Potter, sir," Ginny smirked, transferring her grandmother's wand to her left sleeve and sliding the Whomping wand into her right.

"Come on. I want to hit Twillfit and Tatting's. I noticed Dad's winter cloak is a bit frayed," Harry said, taking her hand. "Then it's off to Madame Malkin's for a new cloak for Mum."

"You're a man on a mission this morning, aren't you," Ginny laughed, leaning into his warm body as they walked down the newly-scrubbed cobblestone street.

After a satisfying lunch of Dinner for Eight, the shoppers returned to the business of shopping. Ron and Hermione spent some of the money they'd received as wedding gifts on presents for the entire family, the Munchkins, close friends, and their favourite staffers at Hogwarts. Harry and Ginny did likewise, but spent ridiculous amounts on Teddy and Victoire on clothes, toys, and sweets fit for tots their size.

Each couple had to switch shopping partners just before lunch to shop for their spouses. The Christmas trees at Ionúin Bhaille and the Burrow would be loaded with colourful boxes of all shapes and sizes this year.

Finally, with their purses considerably lighter and their feet screaming with fatigue, the five of them trudged back to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. With farewells and Christmas greetings to Verity, they Flooed to the Burrow for supper with the family, after which Harry and Ginny took their leave for home.

Hermione and Ron helped Molly and Arthur bring the Burrow's ever-growing collection of Christmas ornaments down from the attic, where the family Ghoul rattled around and shrieked at the disturbance. "Ruddy noisy git," Ron grumbled. "You'd think after all this time, it'd be used to us mucking about up there."

"It's a Ghoul, Ron. It's in its nature to moan and groan," Hermione giggled. "Besides, it's not near as noisy as it used to be."

"True. Anyway, it's going to be up to you ladies to sort through this stuff. We men are going out to find a couple of Christmas trees—one for here and one for Ionúin Bhaille. Harry's really excited. He's never done anything like this before and last year, Bill and Charlie did it themselves. Harry, the prat, even bought a couple of axes for the job," Ron told her. "Don't know why, though. A good _Diffindo_ works just as well and a whole lot faster."

"Ron, I don't think that's the point. You must remember that thanks to his horrible relatives, Harry missed out on a lot of things you and I took for granted growing up," Hermione explained. "This is really special to him. Let him enjoy it. Besides, a measly little axe is no match for strapping Auror like you." Hermione's fingers walked up his chest and up his neck to his chin, as she cooed to him.

"Careful, Mrs Weasley. You might get caught with your tinsel down," Ron warned playfully, drawing her close to him.

"Promises, promises, Mr Weasley," she giggled. "By the way—we're invited to Harry's and Ginny's for a quiet evening together tonight."

"Oh yeah. That's right. Aren't Andy and Teddy coming sometime today too," Ron asked.

"I believe so. They're spending the night here tonight, too. I can't wait to see Teddy and Victoire play together with their new toys. She can't quite sit up yet, but she can roll about on the floor," Hermione said wistfully.

"Yeah, this is going to be the best Christmas ever," Ron agreed, kissing her temple. "Now let's bring the rest of that stuff down so you and the other ladies can get to work."

Soon, the Burrow sang with activity. Celestina Warbeck filled the air with her renditions of popular Christmas carols, which set Fleur's teeth on edge and caused the baby to fuss. "Zat woman cannot sing," she huffed. "Why she is so popular is a complete mystery to me."

"Fleur, the world is full of unsolved mysteries," Ginny said, sorting star ornaments from bell ornaments. "Onie, why don't you give us a few ditties?"

"Ah, oui! Yes," Fleur agreed enthusiastically. "You have a beautiful voice. Geeny, turn zat woman off!"

Ginny flicked her wand at the wireless set as Fiona pulled Mokey from his case and began to tune up. Moments later, Fiona's rich alto filled the air.

_I wonder as I wander out under the sky how Jesus the saviour did come for to die_

_For poor ornery people like you and like I—I wonder as I wander out under the sky._

_When Mary birth'd Jesus, t'was in a cow's stall with wise men 'n' farmers and shepherds 'n' all._

_But high from the heavens, a star's light did fall and the promise of ages it then did recall._

_If Jesus had wanted for any wee thing—a star in the sky or a bird on the wing,_

_Or all of the angels in heaven to sing, then surely he'd have it, 'cos he was a king._

_I wonder as I wander out under the sky how Jesus the saviour did come for to die_

_For poor ornery people like you and like I—I wonder as I wander out under the sky._

"Zat was lovely, Fiona," Fleur said into the peaceful silence. "Is zat an American song?"

"Yeah it is. It's an old mountain hymn folks since around this time o' year," she replied. "Folks around home are pretty religious. Even a few of the magic ones."

"Mostly Christian, of course," Hermione added. "Most of the southern United States is populated with fundamentalist sects."

"That's right—Baptists, Pentecostals, and Non-denominationals, mostly," Fiona said. "Any requests?"

"I remember how zose silly suits of armour tried to sing Christmas carols at 'ogwarts zat year I was zere," Fleur giggled. "But zey couldn't remember ze words. 'ow about Ze Wassail Song?"

"Sure. I know that one. Momma used to sing it," Fiona said nostalgically. "Let me see, now." Fiona moved her capo up a couple of frets and strummed a test chord. Satisfied, she began to sing once again, with the others joining in on the familiar carol.

_Here we come a-wassailing among the leaves so green;_

_Here we come a-wand'ring so fair to be seen!_

_Love and joy come to you and to you your wassail too—_

_May God bless you and send you a happy new year:_

_May God send you a happy new year!_

_We are not daily beggars that beg from door to door,_

_But we are neighbours' children whom you have seen before!_

_Love and joy come to you and to you your wassail too—_

_May God bless you and send you a happy new year:_

_May God send you a happy new year!_

_Good Master and good Mistress as you sit beside your fire,_

_Pray, think of us poor children who wander in the mire!_

_Love and joy come to you and to you your wassail too—_

_May God bless you and send you a happy new year:_

_May God send you a happy new year!_

_God bless the master of this house, likewise the mistress too,_

_And all the little children who 'round the table go!_

_Love and joy come to you and to you your wassail too—_

_May God bless you and send you a happy new year:_

_May God send you a happy new year!_

The women of the Burrow laughed and clapped, congratulating one another on a song well sung. Fiona started up another carol they all sand together while they worked. Victoire giggled and cooed, fascinated by the colours and sounds of her first Christmas. As they sang, chatted, and worked, they began to wonder what could be taking their men so long. It wasn't like they had to trudge far through great snowdrifts to bag their quarry. The woods stood just at the edge of the Weasley property, with a great stand of pines to choose from.

Suddenly, Angelina chanced a look out the frost-trimmed window to see the Weasley/Potter men working their way up the path, dragging a great evergreen behind them, singing at the top of their lungs, with Bill and Charlie bringing up the rear with a pair of axes slung over their shoulders like broomsticks. "They're back! Molly, they're back!"

The women dropped what they were doing and raced out the door to greet them, joining them in a rousing rendition of _O, Tannenbaum_. Once their song was finished, they held the door open so Harry and Ron could wrestle the aromatic pine into the house to its place in the corner by the hearth.

"Merlin, that was fun," Harry laughed, brushing snow and pine needles from his Muggle winter jacket. "I never imagined cutting down a tree by hand and then dragging it a click or two through snow could be so exhilarating!"

Ginny threw herself into his arms and kissed him soundly on the lips. "So you had a good time, then?"

"Oh the best, Gin," Harry said, still catching his breath. "What have you lovely witches been up to while we were gone?"

"What took you so long," Hermione asked, helping Ron with his jacket.

"We cut two trees, Love," Ron replied, re-tying his ponytail. "We had to set one up at Ionúin Bhaille first."

"Yeah, that was an adventure," Charlie added, handing his mother his cloak. "Harry couldn't decide where to put it."

"I do hope you stood it up next to the hearth," Ginny said warily.

"Yes, Gin-Gin," Bill assured her. "After a half-hour of hemming and hawing, we finally convinced the green-eyed git that that's where you'd want it."

"So how goes it with the decorations," Arthur asked, grinning brightly at his extended family. "Percy's ready to orchestrate, as always."

The company shared a laugh again at Percy's expense, but gathered around him for instructions. "All right, you lot. You should know the drill by now—small ornaments to the top, medium-sized to the middle, and large ones to the bottom. And don't forget to decorate the _whole_ tree, not just the front. Once you're finished, I'll set the fairy-lights," he called. "Go!"

In a mad rush, a dozen adults-gone-juvenile created an ever-shifting assembly line to trim the 1999 Weasley Christmas tree. Two hours and a lot of bad jokes later, the tree stood ready for Percy's final expert touches. While the couples stood together and Fleur bounced baby Victoire on her hip, the middle Weasley son chanted and moved his wand in intricate patterns. With a final flourish, the tree began to glitter and glow.

"I think Harry should place the topper on the tree," Ron said. "How about you lot?"

"Well, Ginny did it last year as the youngest Weasley, but since Harry's the youngest Weasley son, I suppose that's appropriate," Arthur declared. "Harry? If you please."

Harry's heart just about burst. This was his first real Christmas as a real member of a real family and he had just been bestowed with a great honour. "All right then," he agreed with a husky voice.

The first Christmas he spent at the Burrow was in his sixth year. The twins had captured a Garden Gnome that had bitten Fred on the ankle. They painted it gold, dressed it in a tutu and glued wings to its back. To add insult to injury, they perched it atop the tree with a sticking charm, where it glared and gnashed its tiny teeth in its rage. But not this year.

Carefully and gingerly, Molly opened a modestly-jewelled box. Inside laid a five-pointed star made of purest silver filigree. "This has been in my family for generations," she said, blinking back a tear. "Harry, please—finish our tree."

The room fell silent as if holding its breath while Harry lovingly lifted the star from its casket. With a silent prayer for luck, he levitated it to its place with little more than a lift from his hands. He didn't even draw his wand. The star floated softly to the top of the glittering evergreen and settled gently over the top and magically took hold. The room released a collective breath and applauded Harry's fine handiwork.

Through the bond, Ginny could feel Harry's relief and humble pride for having been afforded this special task. She stepped into his embrace and allowed him to weep into her hair while she sent wave after wave of love and calm to his heart.

"_Happy Christmas, my sweet Harry. I love you."_

"_Happy Christmas, my heart. I love you more."_

Later that afternoon, Andromeda and Teddy arrived to join the festivities bearing a pile of gifts that she resized before they could be placed under the magnificent tree that graced the sitting-room of the Burrow. "Molly, it's lovely," Andy gasped. "It must have taken hours to do that!"

"Oh no, not with this crew. It took longer to sort the decorations than to put them up," Molly told her. "Harry topped it off, though. Why don't I show you upstairs. I had the boys dig out Ginny's cot for Teddy. You'll be in Ginny's room."

"What about Harry and Ginny," Andy argued. "Where will they sleep?"

"At home, I'd imagine. They're having Ron and Hermione overnight," Molly said. "They wanted a little time to themselves—just the four of them—before the insanity tomorrow's going to bring."

"Teddy," Harry cried when he saw his godson playing on the floor by the tree. "How about that broom ride, Champ?" He scooped the boy up and swung him over his shoulder and then settled him on his hip.

"Hawwy! Bwoom," Teddy giggled, jumping up and down his Harry's arms, his hair turning from turquoise to jet black and his eyes from golden brown to green. "Fwy!"

"That's right, Teddy. Fly," Harry laughed. "Oh and look who's here, mate!"

Teddy's eyes lit up and turned chocolate-brown while his hair phased from black to Weasley-red. "Geenee! Fwy, Geenee!"

"All right, all right, then," Ginny laughed, taking him into her arms. "Let's find your broom and have a go, shall we?"

"Uh-uh," Harry countered. "I promised him a ride with me and a ride with me he shall have. Right, Teddy?"

"Hawwy! Fwy," Teddy repeated. "Bwoom!"

"Harry, so help me Merlin, if he falls…"

"Andy, no worries. I'll have a sticking charm on his bum and his back," Harry assured the boy's grandmother. "He's safe as Glumbumble on a nettle."

"But not near as annoying," Ron grumbled from behind. "Hey, Teddy!"

"Wahn! Bwoom," Teddy cried. "My-nee! Fwy!"

"Oh no, Teddy," Hermione said, tickling his belly. "Mi-nee doesn't fly."

"My-nee! Fwy," Teddy insisted. "Fwy! Wahn!"

"Looks like there's nothing for it, Love. You're flying with us today," Ron said with mock gravity.

"You can't—I—oh bother," she huffed. "You'd better have a sticking charm on my bum and chest as well, Weasley!"

"As you wish, Milady," he said with a curt bow.

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione bundled the toddler up warm and snug. Hermione carried him outside to wait while the others retrieved their brooms. "Mount up, people," Harry chirped, taking Teddy from Hermione. With a couple of flicks and a muttered incantation, Teddy's body firmly glued itself to the broomstick and Harry's belly. "Ready, troops?"

Hermione mounted Ron's broom and wrapped her arms around his waist. She felt a sucking sensation as she felt herself pull closer to her husband's back and stick fast. "Let's go," Ron called and kicked off hard.

Hermione screamed and nearly crushed Ron's ribs in terror as they climbed above the frost-covered treetops. She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes tightly as the wind whipped past and through her wild curls.

"Relax, Love. It's right gorgeous up here," Ron called to her. "Come on, Hermione. I know you've got your eyes closed. Open up and have a look. Teddy's having a ball!"

Sure enough, Teddy squealed with laughter as Harry dipped and banked around the orchard, but not wildly enough to scare the lad. "Fwy, Hawwy! Bwoom! Boods!" A flock of winter geese passed overhead, honking and flapping on the breeze.

"Yes, Teddy. Those are birds," Harry laughed. "Oh look, Champ! Ginny's flying too!"

"Geenee, fwy! Boods," he cried. "Fwy fast!"

"Yes, she does fly fast, doesn't she," Harry agreed, pride filling his heart for his beautiful Chaser. "She plays Quidditch, remember?"

"Kitch," Teddy repeated. "Pay kitch, Hawwy!"

"Come on, 'Mione. Look at Teddy," Ron pleaded. "He's not afraid at all!"

"I…I can't, Ron. I…I'm afraid of heights," Hermione confessed, still holding tightly to her husband.

"Then it's time to face that fear, Love. You've faced down a Mountain Troll, a Hippogriff, a Giant, and a load of Death Eaters," he reasoned. "A little altitude should be no match for you!"

She had to admit he was right. She had faced much greater danger, so why should a few metres make any difference. With a deep breath and the resolve she was famous for, she slowly opened her eyes and looked around. _Okay, Granger... um... Weasley..._ _Don't look down—just watch Teddy_.

"Are you all right, Love," Ron asked.

"Yes, I'm all right. Teddy really is having the time of his life, isn't he," she said. "It really is lovely up here."

"I told you so," Ron chuckled. "Hang on, now. I'm going to turn right. Just lean with me and don't fight it."

"O-okay. I'm ready," she said, still holding tight to his waist. She stifled a scream as her husband leaned and banked right over the family pitch toward one set of rings.

"All right, 'Mione," Harry called over a squealing Teddy.

"N-never better," she replied shakily.

"Mi-nee fwy," Teddy giggled. "Fwy Wahn!"

The five of them flew about Weasley airspace for the better part of an hour before Teddy began to fidget. It was time for his snack and he wouldn't be denied. "Nummy," he called. "Nummy, Hawwy! Nana!"

"Okay, Champ. Down we go," Harry consented and began a smooth descent to the clearing before the orchard. He released the sticking charm and handed the boy over to Ginny, who stood waiting for them.

Ron and Hermione landed just after Harry and Teddy, and dismounted. Hermione's legs shook beneath her as she clung to Ron for support. "Going to make it, 'Mione?"

"Oh yeah. I just need a minute or two to adjust to gravity," she assured him with a weak smile.

"Nonsense," Ron laughed, handing his broom off to Harry. He scooped his wife up in his arms and carried her bridal-style into the house. Harry carried his and Ron's brooms to the shed, levitating Ginny's before him while she took the squirming boy inside to his grandmother for his snack.

"How was he," Andy asked, helping remove his coat, hat, and mittens.

"He was wonderful," Ginny replied. "He had a blast with Harry."

"He didn't take him too high, did he," Molly asked suspiciously.

"Of course not, Mum! He's a baby! He just took him about a metre above the apple trees," Ginny assured her. "You should have seen him go mental when a flock of geese flew over!"

"Boods, Nana! Fwy," Teddy cried as he chewed on his biscuit.

After a supper of beef bourguignon, crusty bread, and hot wassail, Andromeda dressed Teddy in a clean nappy and a pair of pyjamas and carried him upstairs to bed. "Good night, my little Seeker-baby," she whispered with a kiss to the forehead, handing him his plush wolf. He had already dropped off to sleep before she left the room.

The Quartet left for Ionúin Bhaille soon after. Ginny mixed up a steaming pot of hot cocoa with a peppermint sticks for stirrers. They all settled on poufs in front of the fire, revelling in the peace of a Devonshire winter's night.

"Ron, Hermione, we have something we want to show you," Ginny said. "While we were shopping yesterday, Harry and I stopped by Ollivander's."

"Ollivander's? Why," Ron asked.

"I wanted Ginny to have a wand that's exclusively hers," Harry said. "She does fine with her old one, but it really isn't hers—it's your gran's. Now Gin has her own."

"Okay, so what's so special about that," Hermione asked. "I mean, the wand does choose the witch or wizard, but didn't you do just fine with the one you had?"

"Yeah, I did, but Harry insisted I should have one of my very own," Ginny explained. "I wasn't crazy about the idea, but once a wand chose me, it just seemed right."

"Besides, there's another reason I wanted her to have her own wand," Harry admitted. "Ron, we need to train the girls."

"Yeah, I was thinking that myself. Especially with 'Mione involved with ELF," Ron agreed.

"Yes, and the fact that she and Gin are public figures, it's just a good idea for them to be best-able to defend themselves if they need to."

"Right, so what did you want to show us," Hermione asked.

"Show them, Gin," Harry prompted. "It's her new wand."

Ginny flicked her wrist and produced the Whomping Willow wand. It vibrated and purred in her hand as she showed it to her brother. "Go ahead. Take it."

Ron reached for the wand, but it leapt from Ginny's hand a whacked him solidly on the wrist. "OUCH! Ginny, why did you do that?"

"I didn't do it, brother dear," Ginny giggled. "The wand did. It's willow—_Whomping_ willow. It doesn't like Harry either."

"Yeah and the core is Dragon heartstring—Hungarian bloody Horntail, to be exact. The same beast I faced in that thrice-damned tournament," Harry growled. "It slaps everyone but Ginny, it seems."

"That's never the one at Hogwarts, is it," Ron asked with a gulp.

"The same, mate. It knows we flew the car into it," Harry snickered. "The damned thing's alive!"

"Nonsense," Hermione huffed. "Wands aren't sentient!" She reached over and tried to grasp Ginny's wand, but it fought her off, also slapping her wrist. "OUCH! Blasted thing!"

"What's more, this _blasted thing_ cleaned the streets of Diagon Alley, too. Did you notice how clean the cobblestones were," Harry chuckled. "She did that with one _Scourgify_, I kid you not."

"Bloody hell," Ron gasped. "Irish doesn't have a fire-crab's chance in a deep-freeze against you now! Gin, if he challenges you again, I'll sell tickets!"

"Come one, come all to the magical arse-kicking of the century," Harry called like a sports-announcer. "In the corner to my left, weighing in a fifty kilos soaking wet, Ginny I'll-Wipe-the-Floor-With-Your-Carcass Potter!'

"And in the corner to my right, weighing in at seventy-five kilos bone dry, Seamus It's-a-Matter-of-Honour Finnegan," Ron announced in reply.

The four of them rolled on the floor in fits of laughter, imagining the pounding Ginny could give their Irish comrade should he ever challenge her to another duel. Two more pots of cocoa and a couple of shots of Firewhiskey later, they bid one another good night. Christmas morning would dawn bright and early and they didn't want to be late for Christmas breakfast and the plundering of the tree.

_A/N: "I Wonder as I Wander" is a traditional Appalachian hymn written by John Jacob Niles in 1933 in Murphy, North Carolina. "The Wassail Song"or "Here We Come A-wassailing" is a traditional English carol, usually sung during Christmas and New Year's. Fiona's version is one of many. "Wassail," a traditional English holiday brew, is a spiced-cider concoction which is usually served hot and can be enhanced with a bit of rum or brandy._


	31. Chapter 31 Presents and More Presents

**Chapter 31 – Presents and More Presents**

"Here it is," Emma exclaimed brightly to her family.

Desmond eyed his daughter dubiously. "How do you know that? Every house on this street is identical to the next."

The Prewett family had Apparated to a concealed corner of a park not far from the Templeton home, and would spend Christmas Eve with them. The four parents had met during the autumn a couple of times since the Templetons visited the Prewetts the previous summer, but this was the first time the Prewetts had the opportunity to visit the Templeton home. After searching for a while and having consulted the detailed map Patricia sent along with her last letter, they found the street. After that, the map simply said 47, which made no sense to the Prewetts whatsoever.

"Because the name on the letter box is _Templeton,_" Emma explained. "And there's also the number 47 on it."

"Letter box," Heather mused curiously. "I think we read about them once in Muggle Studies."

"Yes, we did," Desmond remembered. "Muggles doing an owl's job deliver the post. They're called _postmen_."

Desmond shook his head in wonder at the thought that there were people who made their living serving as owls. But on second thought, trustworthy owls were held high in regard, sometimes carrying very important parchments. Desmond decided that postmen were just another of the Muggle world's oddities. He decided to ask the Templetons about it, since they had experienced both ways of sending and receiving their post.

"Well then, we're not getting any warmer." Heather urged them all forward, approaching the front door to knock. A few moments later, Diana opened, with Patricia right behind her, eager to greet her friends.

"Welcome! Come on inside before you catch your death! No problems finding us," Diana asked, aware of the temperature being just around freezing and no weather to drive in.

"We took a twin each Side-along," Heather replied returning Diana's warm hug. "And Patricia's map was spot-on. We stalled a bit with what the 47 was all about, but Emma noticed your name on the letter box."

Diana was confused for a few moments. "Oh, silly me! I forgot you didn't drive here all the way from Somerset," she confessed. "I'm assuming you Apparated to the park, then?" Heather nodded and was about to answer when Paul showed up in the entryway to welcome their guests.

"Des, ol' man! And Heather! Emma and Erica, welcome, welcome! Happy Christmas," Paul boomed. "Well, don't just stand there. Take your coats off and stay a while." He led them all to the closet and he and Diana helped them hang their things.

Emma and Erica looked at the house. It was so different from their home. "Thank you Mr Templeton." the twins replied in chorus.

"Erm, Rica, let me show you around. You've never been in a Muggle home before, right," Patricia asked.

"Never," Erica said and the girls headed for Patricia's room.

The four adults sat down in the living room. Heather and Diana caught up on their female news while Paul explained Muggle postal addresses to Desmond. Soon enough, Paul fetched a bottle of whiskey. "This is Muggle whiskey from the proud Scottish island of Islay," Paul said as he served a glass each.

"Muggle whiskey! How interesting," Desmond said and inhaled the scent. "Smoke and seaweed."

"It's not Firewhiskey, but I think you'll like it," Paul declared. "Friends, a Happy Christmas. Cheerio!"

Desmond seemed to enjoy his first Muggle whiskey. Paul's face turned serious and turned his gaze to his magical friends. "Des, Heather—we want to ask you, because we don't really understand what little we learn from Patricia, but what's happening in the Wizarding world?"

"What have you heard," Heather asked guardedly.

Diana collected her thoughts. "Well, we heard there's been trouble at Hogwarts—serious enough to have Aurors posted there, practically round the clock," she said.

"I think you need to know a bit about the Wizarding world to understand the current situation," Desmond suggested. "I believe you've heard about Voldemort and Harry Potter, but do you know what the war was all about?"

The Templetons shook their heads. Desmond and Heather explained about the blood supremacy ideals, the powerful old Wizarding families, the Half-bloods, the Muggleborns, and how it all had been used by the Half-blood fraud, Voldemort, to throw Wizarding Britain into two wars. In the middle of it all, the three girls joined their parents and listened to the account, too.

When Desmond recounted the latest events—the riots and the significance of Hermione sitting in an inherited seat at the Wizengamot—the room fell silent. So much so that the ticking of the Templetons' heirloom mantle clock sounded like the pounding of a gavel. Patricia glanced worriedly at her parents, a bit apprehensive about being taken out of Hogwarts, but she chose to say nothing.

Finally, Paul spoke analytically. "If I understand this right, the war was really about power over Wizarding Britain, and possibly the Wizarding world, under the pretext of Pureblood supremacy. And now, a few Muggleborns hope to gain the same type of power under the pretext that they want an equal community?"

"Essentially, that's right," Heather replied. "The whole Pureblood ideal, which several Pureblood families—the Prewetts and the Weasleys included—consider complete and utter rubbish, deflated as it turned out that Voldemort wasn't a Pureblood, but a Half-blood born of a near-Squib mother and a Muggle father. And it seems it's a small number of people using the power vacuum left after the fall of many powerful families to provoke the riots."

"What holds us together right now is Minister Shacklebolt's fine leadership, and the fact that the Aurors are loyal to him," Desmond added.

Paul nodded thoughtfully, but didn't comment.

"I understand Aurors are some kind of an elite force," Diana said. "Or so Patricia tells us."

"The Aurors have always been the cream of the crop in DMLE—the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—but with Mr Potter leading them now, they seem stronger than ever. I must say that I believe that anyone with the Aurors on their side controls Wizarding Britain," Desmond said.

Paul hesitated before asking the next question. "Would you say that the Wizarding world is safe? Is Hogwarts safe?"

"I have no hesitation about sending the girls to Hogwarts. Yes, there were a few very serious incidents, but Headmistress McGonagall has arranged for an Auror guard and those involved in the incidents have been severely punished," Heather assured him.

Diana relaxed at this, and Patricia did too, grateful for the knowledge that her parents would allow her to continue at Hogwarts. Diana looked at her guests, clapped her hands, and broke into a wide grin. "Well, now that's settled, let's have a pleasant evening together, shall we?"

"Too right! To the kitchens," Paul boomed once again, warmed by the whiskey and the general magic of the Christmas season. "Diana and Patricia have prepared a wondrous repast!"

"That's it," Patricia giggled to her best friends. "He's gone off!"

"Aw, Pats," Emma began. "He's just happy. I mean, he's in the Royal Navy, right? He could be at sea right now."

"That's true. Last Christmas, he was," Patricia confessed. "Mum and I had a nice Christmas, but it's always better when Daddy's here."

"Pattycake," Paul called from the kitchen. "Are you girls going to come and eat or are you going to stand there like statues all night?"

"Coming, Daddy," Patricia giggled. "Come on, before they eat it all!"

The girls chattered away at the table between bites of Diana's magnificent ham dinner, while the adults discussed the possibility of a summer holiday together with the Templetons' stereo emitting sounds of the season in the background. Paul explained that he wasn't scheduled for sea-duty for another year and that he was due for a nice furlough.

"Capital idea, old man," Desmond replied heartily. "I know a lovely camping area near the Forest of Dean. There's a lovely pond there for swimming and lots of woods to tromp about in."

"My, I haven't been camping in years," Diana laughed. "Paul, what do you think? Camping in the Forest of Dean next summer?"

"Camping it is, mates," Paul replied jovially. "Tents or caravans?"

"Carvans," Heather asked. "What's that?"

"It's a bus-like vehicle that one drives to one's campsite. Instead of pitching tents, one lives in the vehicle. It has all the comforts of home," Paul explained.

"And they call that camping," Desmond chuckled inquisitively. "I take it these campers you speak of are Muggles?"

"Yes, quite, but not all of them camp that way. Caravans can be rather expensive to run," Paul replied. "I'm a tent-man meself. Nothing like roughing it, I say."

"Oh, then I take it our big, strong, burly husbands will go forth into the wilderness hunt for our food while we, the fairer sex, gather berries and roots from the earth," Diana teased.

"I said rough it, not starve to death," Paul teased back. "We'll be bringing plenty of provisions for the adventure."

"Translation: junk food," Diana laughed.

Once the meal was finished, Desmond and Heather insisted upon helping clear away. "Just tell us where you want it and we'll put it there," Heather said.

"All right, then," Diana said cheerily. "Dirty dishes go in here." She opened the dishwasher and explained how to load it. In a trice, leftover food found its way into plastic storage containers and settled into the refrigerator. Plates, glasses, silverware, and empty serving platters and bowls arranged themselves neatly inside the machine.

"Funny," Diana said. "I've never been able to fit that much in there at one time before."

"It's like magic, isn't it," Desmond chuckled, giving Paul and friendly shove. The two men left the women in the kitchen to finish up, retiring to the sitting room for an after-dinner aperitif. A few minutes later, the women joined them and then called for the girls.

"Pats, this room is beautiful," Erica said, looking around in awe. "But…except for this photo of Hermione, none of your pictures move." The girls waved at the Hermione in the photo, which smiled brightly back at them.

"Well, I have some that do, but I keep them in an album," Patricia explained. "I do have cousins, and with the Secrecy Act and all, we have to be careful."

"Oh, right. I'd forgotten you're a Muggleborn," Emma replied. "It must be hard to hide it all."

"Not really," Patricia assured her. "I just tell them I go to a private boarding school in Scotland and that I study History, Science instead of Potions or Herbology, Art instead of Transfiguration, Home Economics instead of Charms, stuff like that. Otherwise, I'm just nerdy old Patricia."

"Girls! Presents," Diana called up the stairs. "Hurry up! Your fathers can't hang on much longer!"

"Coming, Mum," Patricia called down the stairs. "Honestly, I don't know what's gotten into Daddy. When he's with your dad, he turns into such a little boy!"

"It's been quite a change in Dad, too," Erica giggled as they descended the stairs. "He always was a bit silly, but since last summer, he's been absolutely giddy."

"Boys," Emma snorted as they reached the foot of the stairs.

The girls giggled their way into the sitting room and took seats on the floor near the brightly-lit Christmas tree. Emma and Erica watched in fascination as the electric lights twinkled and flashed while holiday music continued to stream from the stereo.

"So those lights are ekletrikle," Desmond asked.

"Yes, they're _electrical_. Don't you have lights on your tree," Paul asked in response.

"Oh we do, but they're not _e-lec-tri-cal_," Desmond replied. "We have Fairy-lights. For some reason, the little dears, vain as they are, love Christmas. Since they're naturally attracted to trees, a clan or two will follow a freshly-cut one into the house and settle in its branches—they do love to show off. We're sure to leave bits of fruit and other tasty morsels about to keep them happy and healthy while they're with us."

"Yes, and they're most-welcome. They're supposed to bring good luck to a family if the family treats them with respect," Heather added. "And we always have. Fairies who are deliberately wronged can turn right nasty."

"How fascinating," Diana said, awestruck. "And here I thought fairies were imaginary."

"Well, how about we get to those presents," Paul announced. "Pattycake, you're Father Christmas' helper tonight."

"Aye, aye, Captain Templeton, sir," Patricia barked, snapping to half-attention and giving her father a crisp salute. "Elf-detail commencing, sir!" Paul returned her salute, as the others laughed at their playfulness.

Patricia dove into the pile of presents under the tree and delegated delivery detail to the twins. Once each member of the group oohed and ahhed over the festive wrapping and ribbons, they each began to open their gifts.

"Oh Patricia, thank you," Emma cried, hugging her friend. "They're gorgeous!" Patricia had mail-ordered to Scrivenshaft's in Hogsmeade for a pair of pheasant quills and inkwell in a personalised case for each of her friends.

"Chocolate frogs," Erica cried. "Oh, I just love Chocolate Frogs! Ginny's new card should be out now!"

"I hadn't thought of that," Patricia admitted. "I do hope we each find one."

"Oh, Heather! This is…this is amazing," Diana gasped, staring down at the clock on her lap. It had three hands, each with a photo of herself, Paul, and Patricia, with the words, _Home_, _School_, _Work_, _At Sea_, _Shopping_, _Travelling_, and _Mortal Peril _instead of numbers around the face. All three hands currently rested at _Home_.

"We took those photos last summer," Desmond explained. "Then we sent them to a magical clockmaker in Diagon Alley to have it built."

"But…what about our relatives," Paul asked shakily. "What about the secrecy thing?"

"No worries, mate," Desmond replied. "It's charmed to hide its true purpose from anyone non-magical outside your immediate household. To anyone else who comes to visit, it's just a simple clock that tells the time and nothing more."

"It's kind of a Prewett tradition, really. Molly Weasley—Ron's and Ginny's mum—is a cousin of Des's, somewhere along the way," Heather explained. "They have a rather large one—about the size of a grandfather clock. But then again, they have—had—seven children."

"Oh yes," Patricia interjected. "Hermione told me about it. One of Ron's and Ginny's brothers—Fred—was killed in the war. It's his twin, George, who owns and runs Weasley's Wizard Wheezes." Hermione had also told her that Fred's hand had fallen from the clock when he died, but she wasn't going to reveal that bit of news and spoil the joy of the moment. "Anyway, Hermione and Harry have a hand on that clock, too."

"So we can add hands to it," Diana asked contemplatively.

"Of course. As a family grows, a new hand is purchased and affixed to the clock," Heather said with a slight glint in her eyes. "Are you trying to tell us something, dear?"

"No, no," Diana confessed. _I wish that were so_. "I just wondered, that's all."

Patricia opened her gift from the Prewetts, which included a rather intricately-decorated Charms book called, Charms for the Charming. "Wow! This is the prettiest book I've ever seen!"

"It's fully-illuminated too," Heather told her. "We hope you enjoy it. The girls tell me you're quite talented with a wand."

Patricia blushed under the compliment. "Well…I—"

"Oh come on, Pats," Erica laughed. "Professor Flitwick's called you _Miss Granger_ how many times?"

While some children would take offence to something like that, Patricia didn't. To her, that was high praise. That Professor Flitwick to be that impressed with her work at Grade Two meant the world to her. "Well, maybe…"

Paul and Desmond opened their gifts and were both gratified to have received a few bottles of Wizarding and Muggle liqueurs respectively. "That round bottle there with the crown on top is Chambord® from France," Paul explained. "It's a sweet raspberry cordial. That golden-coloured one is called Drambuie®. It's from Scotland and is rumoured to have been the favourite drink of Bonny Prince Charlie. That white one is Rumple Minze® Peppermint Schnapps from Germany."

"Paul, you are an officer and a gentleman," Desmond said gravely. "I shall cherish each and every drop. Now—that dusty bottle there is a very fine vintage of Madame Rosmerta's finest mulled mead. It's most-enjoyable to sip at the end of a long day. Now of course, you recognise Old Ogden's Best Firewhiskey there in the black bottle. It's aged a bit longer than the other, so it's much smoother. It does wonderful things for coffee and tea. Lastly, in that frozen bottle is Zablocki True-Ice Vodka from Poland. It never warms to room temperature. It can sit on a shelf for years and still be cold as ice when it's poured."

"You, my friend, are the best," Paul said equally as gravely as his friend had. "I shall also cherish every drop."

"Holy cricket," a voice cried from the floor. "It's…it's…oh my stars!"

"Patricia, dear, what is it," Diana asked, slightly alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong, Mrs Templeton," Emma snorted. "Nothing's wrong, unless you count walking among the clouds wrong."

"It's from Ron and Hermione, Mum," Patricia said, tears welling in her eyes. "It's _Hogwarts: A History_. And it's the latest edition, copyright 1999." The young witch quickly flipped the pages to the end where she found the chapters about Harry's victory over Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts and then the one about Hermione Granger having earned ten NEWTs, matching Albus Dumbledore, the only other student in Hogwarts' history to have ever achieved such a feat.

Patricia hugged to book to her chest as if it were a treasured pet or favourite doll. "I must send Murray with a _Thank You_ note."

The girls all squealed with glee when they opened their gifts from the Potters. Inside, they found Harpies jerseys emblazoned with 6 POTTER on the back, matching jogging pants, socks, various memorabilia, and a book about the history of the famed all-female Quidditch team. In addition, Emma and Erica each received a brand-new set of Gryffindor Quidditch gloves and pads from Ron and Hermione.

"Oooh, that Hufflepuff lot are going to go pea-green with envy," Erica snickered. "Not only do we have almost the entire line of Harpies gear, but we received it from HARRY AND GINNY POTTER THEMSELVES!" The three girls fell over in peals of laughter while the adults looked on in amusement.

The last gift to be opened was from the Templetons to Heather. Diana wasn't sure what to do because she wasn't sure what to buy a fully-fledged witch. She decided to go entire Muggle for her as Paul had for Desmond. When Heather opened the box, she gasped. Inside lay a beautiful cherry-wood music box with brass fittings and a matching key to wind it up. "Go on, Heath," Desmond encouraged his wife. "Give it a go."

Carefully setting the exquisite wooden instrument in her lap, she inserted the key and began to wind. With each turn, the gears hummed until it was fully-wound. "Now, open it," Diana said softly.

Inside, she found a parchment of sorts with what appeared to be the stanzas of a poem written upon it. The box played a sweet melody while Diana read the words aloud:

_I never thought I'd feel this way, and as far as I'm concerned,  
I'm glad I got the chance to say that I do believe I love you.  
And if I should ever go away, well, then close your eyes and try  
To feel the way we do today, and then if you can remember…_

Keep smiling, keep shining, knowing you can always count on me  
For sure—that's what friends are for.

_For good times and bad times, I'll be on your side forevermore.  
That's what friends are for._

_I never thought I'd feel this way—well, you came and opened me  
And now there's so much more, and so by the way, I thank you._

_And then for the times when we're apart, well then close your eyes and know  
These words are coming from my heart; and then if you can remember…_

_Keep smiling, keep shining, knowing you can always count on me  
For sure—that's what friends are for.  
In good times and bad times, I'll be on your side forevermore  
That's what friends are for._

Heather broke down into tears of gratitude for the beautiful gift and the sentiment inside. "Thank you, Diana. Thank you so much. It'll stand on our mantle and whenever I feel down, I'll wind it up and read this parchment and know that I have friends."

The pre-teen witches on the floor exchanged tearful glances at one another as well. The words of that poem—well, Muggle song—summed up their feelings for one another as well. Through all the upheaval at school, they stuck together with Joseph Pointer by their side, and now the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, led by the Prince and Princess of Gryffindor Tower, Dennis Creevey and Jessica Spinnet.

The Marauders, less one, first exemplified that tight bond, followed by the Golden Trio that became a Golden Quartet, which included two more who formed the storied Ministry Six. They all worked as a team to keep one another and their fellow students safe. That's what the Templeton and the Prewett families would do as well because that's what friends are for.

Christmas morning dawned bright and crisp in Ottery St-Catchpole, Devon, that year. Molly Weasley, her beloved niece, Fiona Prewett, and a smiling Andromeda Tonks set to preparing a lovely Christmas brunch for the family. Fleur sat on the floor playing with Victoire, who had been trying very hard to sit up with Teddy, who kept leaning over to kiss her.

"Tawwy. Baby," Teddy said with a giggle, causing Fleur to giggle along with him.

"Zat's right, Teddy," Fleur gushed. "Victoire eez a bebe."

As they worked, the other three women laughed and chatted about Molly's win and her plans for her first column. "Well, my deadline's Wednesday. They want a piece about the family, apart from what they gleaned from the interview, so I thought I'd write about what happens today and include this brunch as a recipe menu. What do you think?"

"I think it's a great idea. There's still another week of the holidays left and you first issue will be ready the day after New Year's, right," Andromeda replied.

"No, it'll be the third. The second's a Sunday," Molly corrected her. "I'm pretty happy with it. The article part is finished. Hermione just needs to do a final check before I let the owl take it."

"They send their own owl to pick it up," Andromeda asked, as Fiona reached across her for the butter.

"They do, and I must say it's rather convenient. Each columnist is assigned an owl," Molly replied. "Or is it that each owl is assigned a columnist?" The three of them laughed as they worked.

"Scones're ready fer the oven, Aunt Molly. I hope they're all right," Fiona called, setting the double trays on the table. "What's next?"

"Oh dear, what indeed," Molly answered. "I know—could you whip up those eggs? I'm just going to do a great ruddy bowl of scrambled eggs rather than try anything else. My family isn't fussy and Harry'll eat practically anything you put in front of him. Except sherbet lemons. He doesn't like those for some reason."

Fiona's raised eyebrows told Andromeda that the younger witch wasn't familiar with the British term. "Lemon drops, dear. I believe you Americans call them lemon drops."

"Because Professor Dumbledore kept trying to shove them at us," Ron said from the doorway. He, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny had just Flooed over from Ionúin Bhaille.

"Yeah, and to be honest, I'm not fond of lemon in any form," Harry confessed with a grimace, attempting to sneak a few currants from a bag on the table. He remembered all too clearly the day the Dursleys had to take him along to the zoo on Dudley's birthday. Dudley got a rather delightful ice cream treat while he was allowed a simple lemon ice. That incident rather put him off lemons as a matter of principle. "But currants are quite lovely."

"Now you leave them alone, Harry Potter," Fiona snapped, slapping his fingers with her own. "We need them for the cakes later on!"

"Harry, could I have a word," Andromeda asked. She had a few things on her mind that she hadn't had a chance to say before. She thought now would be the best time before the rest of the family either awoke or arrived. "In fact, would you mind if we slipped out? I really want this to stay between the three of us."

"Of course," Harry agreed. "Gin, we need you for a few. Mum, we'll be right back. We're going to show Andy the house. She's never been there."

"All right, but brunch should be ready in about a half-hour. Don't be late," she replied in mock-warning.

"Fine, we'll just Floo over," Ginny said, scooping Teddy up in her arms. "C'mon Teddy. Let's go see our new house!"

"Hawwy! Howth," Teddy repeated, turning his hair fire-red. Harry took a pinch of Floo powder and tossed it into the grate. "Ionúin Bhaille!" Andromeda followed, with Ginny and Harry right behind her.

"Andromeda, welcome to Ionúin Bhaille," he announced grandly, with a gentlemanly bow. "Come on, Champ."

"Hawwy," the boy squealed as his hair turned raven black and his eyes emerald green.

Andromeda's eyes twinkled. "I only told him we were going to see Harry and Ginny this morning," Andromeda revealed with a smirk.

Harry showed Andromeda and Teddy to the sitting room. He settled Teddy on the floor and took a seat in an easy chair while Ginny sat next to the boy's grandmother on the sofa.

"So what's on your mind," Ginny asked with a smile before she bent down to pick up the steadfast walking toddler who decided he wanted to sit on the couch like a big boy. He'd once again changed his hair to Weasley red along the way.

"Teddy, you can really walk, mate," Harry exclaimed. "Now I don't have to carry you about like a sack of potatoes."

"He's one-and-a-half after all. He learned how to walk just this autumn," Andromeda enlightened them.

Ginny scooped him up and hugged him. "Oh and such a big boy he is! Green eyes and red hair—do you think any child of ours will look like this, Love," she asked Harry.

"Maybe," Harry said with his voice thick with emotion. From a very young age, Harry dreamed of having a family of his own that loved him. Now that he was married, he had a new wish—to have a baby with Ginny at some point. "My eyes are really the best I have to offer anyway."

"You have a lot to pass on to our children, Harry. Don't sell yourself short," Ginny cooed.

"Oh yeah, let's count the great attributes," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "One—my impossible hair, two—bad eyesight, three—a serious knack for getting myself and my friends into trouble, which seems to have been passed on from my father, four—a family curse—or blessing—that any son of mine will fall hopelessly in love with a redhead, five—two ruddy seats on the Wizengamot, and six—most likely some outrageous expectation to live up to the legend of his father."

Ginny got a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Should I simply cast a well-aimed cutting curse and be done with it," she asked.

"No, thank you." Harry replied in a mock falsetto.

Andromeda giggled. "I'm sure the two of you will make wonderful parents," she said in all seriousness. "Listen—I want to ask you something."

"Okay. Ask and it's yours," Harry said, wondering what might be wrong. "If you need—"

"No, no, Harry. It's nothing like that," Andromeda said, shaking her head and waving that train to a side track. "When you decided to leave Teddy in my care, you were still students, unmarried, with no home of your own. Now you both have careers and a lovely home. As Teddy's legal guardians, it's your right to claim him."

Harry sat stunned in the armchair. "Andy," he gasped in surprise. "We haven't even talked about having Teddy live here with us full-time. I mean, we don't try to escape our responsibilities concerning him, and even if it would be our right to have Teddy live here, we wouldn't make such a decision without talking to you, and making sure it would be best for Teddy."

"_Well spoken, Love."_

Andromeda exhaled in relief. "I didn't think you would, but I had to be sure. Is it still your wish that Teddy lives with me, then?"

"It is," Ginny said. "But please let us know if you ever need a break. We'd gladly take him for while."

"And once feels at home here as well, he can spend the night here, too—as many nights as you like," Harry added.

"Teddy's the world to me," Andromeda confessed, tears beginning to course down her careworn cheeks. "But I can't deny that a day every now and then or a few nights followed by a royal lie-in would be a welcome change of pace. I'm not really that old, but definitely not as young as I was when Dora was a baby."

"It's settled then," Harry declared, holding his arms out to a now-squirming Teddy. "In fact, Flyboy, we have a room that's going to be yours."

"How big is this house," Andromeda asked.

"Right now, we have a few guest rooms, but the house is expandable," Harry explained. "Watch." He flicked his wand at the wall of the sitting room opposite to the sofa, which magically doubled the size of the room.

"That's really something," Andromeda said. "One size for everyday use and another for feasts and holidays."

"And if our current guest rooms end up occupied by a few Pronglets, we can add a whole floor with more guest rooms," Ginny said as Harry shrunk the living room again.

"Amazing," Andromeda gasped "I've heard about the magic imbued in new houses."

"Well, considering the size of Ginny's family and my own desire for a house-full, I had the contractors add that little feature to the plans," Harry said.

"But I had to rein him in on all the Muggle appliances he almost bought," Ginny told her snarkily. "I mean, really. Are we magical or not? I wouldn't let him spend all that money on things like that and then have to go to the added expense of wiring the house and then forcing Bill and Hermione to modify the wards to allow said appliances to work, if it's even possible."

"She's so frugal," Harry snickered. "Like money's an issue."

"Harry, don't go there," Ginny warned good-naturedly.

"Not going," Harry replied, as though cowed.

"Speaking of going, I suppose we should get back to the Burrow," Andromeda observed, checking her watch. "Brunch is about to be served and we don't want to put your mother in a tizzy on Christmas morning."

As soon as they arrived back at the Burrow, they were met with the customary chaos associated with any Weasley family gathering. George and Ron had put out bowls of Carol's Candies, hoping for a concert. Harry avoided the sweet like the plague. He had said last Christmas that that would be the only time they would ever hear him sing and he meant it. "But Ron doesn't need Carol's Candies to sing," Harry teased. "Come on, _Ronnikins_. Give us a tune!"

"No," Ron declined vehemently. "Not a chance."

"Oh come on, baby," Hermione cooed. "You know what you do to me when you sing." She walked her fingers up her husband's chest to his chin, causing chills to run up and down his spine.

"'M-mione…"

"Please? For me," she teased, planting little kisses along his jaw. "Just one?"

"Later, Love. It's time for breakfast, brunch, or whatever it is," Ron promised, nuzzling her hair. "It'll be my last Christmas present to you this year." He then raised his head to the family and declared, "And you, _Harrykins_, can just get—"

"Ronald, there are children present," Hermione reminded him. "Now, let's go to the table so Molly doesn't have to call us."

Hermione and Rod led the others to the table, where they all took their places. Arthur sat at the head of the table with Molly to his right and Andromeda to his left, Teddy on the corner between them. Richard had been directed to the other end of the table with Helen at his right and Fleur on his left, Victoire on the corner between them, while the others took their customary places.

Arthur raised his glass of mulled cider and called the table to order. "To our extended family. Happy Christmas and a very prosperous New Year! Sláinte!"

"Sláinte," they replied. With that, the mid-morning Weasley Christmas feast began.

Following the meal, they all retired to the sitting room to open presents, much to the joy of George and Ron, who couldn't help their excitement. They, along with Fred, were always the most-enthusiastic of the Weasley brood on Christmas morning. Even Ginny exhibited a modicum of self-control.

The adults looked on with wide grins as Harry and Ginny helped Teddy and Victoire open their presents, and as with most small children and babies, they took amusing interest in the colourful paper and ribbons and the sound they made when crinkled or torn. However, Teddy did take special interest in the fluffy snitch that buzzed around his head and the soft, fuzzy Quaffle in his hands.

"Nitch," he cried. "Tawwy! Nitch," he giggled, pointing at the flying object to baby Victoire, whose eyes followed its every move as though she were caught in a trance. She kicked her chubby little legs and waved her arms as though trying to catch it mid-flight.

"Oh, there's one more under here," Ginny announced, pulling a longish package from under the tree. "Let's see…who's it for? Ah ha! Master Lupin, this last one's for you!"

"Harry, is that what I think it is," Andromeda asked suspiciously.

"Erm…well…it might be," Harry replied sheepishly.

"He already has one! You gave him one for his birthday," Andromeda argued. "Why have you bought him another one?"

"This one is actually compliments of the Harpies, Andy," Ginny interjected, coming to her husband's rescue.

"_Thanks, Love."_

"_I'll expect payback later, Potter."_

"_Gladly."_

"But, why another broom, Ginny? He doesn't need it," Andromeda said. "I mean, how many brooms does one boy need?"

"Andy, it really is a gift from the Harpies," Ginny insisted. "See? Look at the tag."

Andrea read and tag and sure enough, it read: _To Master Ted R Lupin from the Holyhead Harpies_. "Whatever possessed them to do this?"

"The Harpies are an all-female team," Harry explained. "They took one look at Ginny's photo album with the pictures from Teddy's birthday party and fell in love."

"They really loved the one with Harry chasing him around on his little birthday broom," Ginny giggled. "They all agree he's a natural and probably a shoe-in for any team he wants to play for."

"Besides, he'll have a broom at home and a broom at our house," Harry reasoned. "No need to have to worry about forgetting it somewhere."

"Bwoom! Fwy, Geeny! Fwy, Gwanny," Teddy cried, reaching for the new broom.

"Looks like he wants you to fly with him this time, Gin," Harry laughed. "But not until after your nap, little man. You've had quite enough excitement for one morning."

"Oh Harry, don't be such a wand-in-the-mud," Ginny scolded her husband. "Let him have a go around the room anyway."

Harry looked to Andromeda for guidance, as he didn't want to step on her authority, especially after their brief discussion earlier that day. "Oh all right," Andromeda huffed. "But stay with him, Ginny."

"Of course," Ginny replied, scooping Teddy up and settling him on his new broom while Harry held it steady. "Ready, steady…GO!" Harry let go of the broom, allowing Teddy to glide around the room about half a metre above the floor.

"Bwoom! Teddy fwy," he cried, his hair colour cycling between light brown, turquoise, Potter black, and Weasley red. "Tawwy fwy!"

"Non, mon petit," Fleur giggled. "Victoire ees too leetle to fly yet."

"Tawwy fwy," Teddy shouted, tears beginning to fill his eyes. "Tawwy…fwy."

"Don't cry, Teddy," Ginny soothed, slowing him down. "Victoire's still a baby. She's too small yet, but maybe next summer she'll be able to sit up by herself and then…"

"Tawwy. Baby," Teddy repeated thoughtfully. "Sit up." He then rubbed his eyes and let out a small yawn.

"That's right, dear," Andromeda said softly, lifting him off his broom. "When she can sit up. Meanwhile, mister, it's time for your nap."

"Seepy, Gwanny," Teddy said, yawning again.

"Let me take him up," Harry said, reaching for hid godson. "It's been a while. Come on, Champ. Let's go see if we can't find a few stray Hippogriffs dancing about in that head of yours."

Harry carried the boy up the stairs to his cot in his and Ginny's old bedroom. While he changed his nappy, Harry told Teddy the story of how Remus and Tonks came with the Order of the Phoenix to take him from the Dursleys the summer before his fifth year, and about the exciting broom ride from Little Whinging to London. _I really need to do something about Grimmauld Place_.

"Good night, Champ," he whispered to the sleeping toddler. "Be sure you corral those stray Hippogriffs for me." He closed the door and returned to the family in the sitting room. Victoire had fallen asleep in her father's arms while they all sipped coffee and chatted.

Eventually, the women filtered away into the kitchen to help Molly and Fiona with Christmas dinner while the men's conversation turned from Ginny's stellar season with the Harpies so far, Ministry news, Dragons, Gringotts, and finally, law-enforcement.

"So my daughter's a member of a political activist group and a politician," Richard Granger asked incredulously. "She's always been brilliant, but I never pegged her for politics."

"Well, yes and no," Ron began. "She's a member of that group, yes, but she's just their historian. She doesn't participate in any of their rallies or anything. She's too busy with work and her research." He chose his words carefully, as the only people in the house who knew about her deputy-Auror status were Harry, Ron, Arthur, Ginny, and Molly.

"We've no doubt she'll be a real voice on the Wizengamot," Arthur added. "Our Hermione's a well-respected personality around the Ministry, a war-hero, and a bit of a novelty. She's the first Muggleborn to ever take an inherited seat on that august body."

"We don't refer to her as the brightest witch of her age for nothing," Percy added. "Her Hogwarts record is quite impressive and her work ethic is nothing short of superb."

"So she's finally found her niche," Helen surmised. "She's always been so studious, but where did all this passion come from?"

Ron's ears turned crimson. He knew very well where his wife's passion came from—within herself. He counted himself a very wizard indeed to have such a remarkable witch by his side. "She's always had it, Helen," he told her. "It was just a matter of bringing it out of her. She's rather tenacious when she wants to be, especially where the rights of others are concerned." _And in the bedroom_.

"Yeah, and she kept us all in line all through school," Harry said. "And I mean all of us. I don't think she's aware that she literally ruled Gryffindor House, especially after she made Prefect."

"Yeah, but when Umbridge became too much, Hermione tossed the rules and came up with the DA," George said. "I believe she said something about breaking rules being exciting?"

"Yeah well, it took her a bit, but she caught on," Harry laughed. "We'd have never made it through the war on any level without her."

Not wanting to taint the peace of the day with talk about war and crazy Undersecretaries, Arthur steered the discussion to dentistry. "So, Richard, how's the practice coming along?"

In the kitchen, the women worked together on what would be hailed in the annals of Weasley gastronomic history as the most-memorable meal ever served at the Burrow. Ham and roast pork with all the trimmings, cakes, pies, ice cream, and other treats left the family groaning in pleasure while they played with special Christmas crackers, courtesy of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. "No pranks, I promise. Just really good fun," George promised. "And I've brought plenty—even a couple of really special ones for Victoire and Teddy."

Once the feast was over, Molly set the dishes to washing themselves while the family adjourned once again to the sitting room. Bill and Ron sat down to a game of chess, with Charlie calling a challenge to the winner. Percy and George discussed the shop while Hermione visited with her parents. Harry and Ginny sat near the tree with her in his lap, cuddling and snuggling under the fairy lights. Fiona and Arthur talked about her work at Hogwarts and at St Mungo's while Molly and Andromeda talked further about Molly's new job. Teddy and Victoire played quietly with their new toys until it was time for the Grangers to leave.

"Molly, Arthur, thank you for a glorious day," Richard said, shaking Arthur's hand. "That has to be two of the most wonderful meals I've ever eaten."

"Honestly," Helen began. "It was very kind of you to include us, but it's time we headed back to Oxford." Molly drew her friend into a fierce hug while Ron and Hermione brought their coats. As per usual, the newlyweds would Side-along Apparate her parents home.

"Molly, I think it's time for Teddy and me to head home as well," Andromeda said. "It'll be his bedtime soon and I don't want to have to fight him when he's so wound up."

"Of course," Molly agreed. "Ginny was very difficult to settle into bed after a load of excitement. It must be why she chose to be an athlete. She thrives on excitement."

"We'll help with all the packages and things," Ginny volunteered. "Then we'll come along and help you settle Teddy down."

Andromeda made as though to argue, but decided against it. Since the house had stood quiet and empty for a couple of days and with the unrest on the streets, it mightn't be a bad idea to have someone else along…just in case. "Thank you, Ginny."

While Harry and Ginny organized the packages and shrunk them down into two bags while Andromeda wrestled a wriggling Teddy into his brand-new red snowsuit, knit cap, mittens, and scarf. The snowsuit was so fluffy, Teddy's little arms hung out to his sides like a bird's wings. Bundled in so much warmth, he began to fuss a little because the adults kept chatting as his body temperature began to rise.

"Oh dear. We'd better go," Andromeda decided finally. "I'm afraid our little bird-boy here is overheating. Molly, Arthur, thanks again. It was a wonderful holiday." Molly and Arthur hugged her and gave Teddy a tickle before Harry and Ginny escorted them to the Apparition point beyond the wards and vanished.

"All right, Weasleys," Arthur called. "Gather round the table. Fiona, that includes you, dear."

"Yes sir," Fiona replied, taking a seat next to her aunt.

A few minutes later, Ron and Hermione reappeared at the Apparition point and made their way up the path. They had just reached the door when another _pop!_ announced the arrival of Harry and Ginny.

The Weasley Assemblage gathered in the kitchen of the Burrow for the family inquisition, as requested by Harry and Ginny. Molly quickly headed for the charmed leftovers. "Anyone else other than Ronnie who cares for a bite," she asked.

Ron seemed to hesitate for a moment, trying to decide whether he should feel offended or flattered.

"Just a cup tea, please," Arthur replied. "I'm still stuffed."

"I'll join Ron," Charlie offered. "And a cuppa would do just fine, thanks, Mum."

In mere moments, the scrubbed oak table groaned once again under a sizeable amount of food surrounding a kettle charmed to refill with steaming-hot tea. Once everyone served themselves, Arthur cleared his throat.

"Harry, Ginny," he began. "I believe you ought to tell us why we're here.

"Well, you see Daddy, there's this holiday called _Christmas_, or _Yule_..." Ginny began.

"And do not forget _Noël_," Fleur interjected, caught up in Ginny's levity.

"Or _Navidad_," Fiona added with a half-smirk.

"Or _Natale_," said Percy. He'd been working very hard to loosen up, and while it was a stretch for him, the more he did it, the easier it got.

George grinned appreciatively at his sister's cheek. In the face of the tangent, a round of chuckles filled the air around the table. Harry felt that Ginny's joke was a result of anxiety about what they would reveal to the family.

"_It'll be all right, Gin."_ Harry comforted her along with a wave of affection.

"_I know, but it's...big."_

"Enough already," Arthur said still chuckling. "We'll be here all night if this keeps up."

"Dad," Harry began, casting his gaze around the table. "Family—Ginny and I have to tell you something, but it has to stay within the family."

Molly immediately began glancing towards her daughter's belly, which caused Ginny to blush.

"I'm not in the Pudding Club, if that's what you're thinking, Mum," Ginny assured her, derailing that train.

"Oh, of course not," Molly replied.

"Let Harry speak," Percy urged them.

Harry looked lovingly at Ginny. "I think you know Ginny and I share a bond."

"You're married..." Molly said.

"A magical bond," Ginny clarified. "And that's something not every married couple share."

"But what we really meant to tell you about is the _depth_ of this bond," Harry continued.

The room fell silent, already picking up on the somber magnitude of what their sister and brother-in-law were about to tell them.

"It seems as if our cores are bonded," Ginny revealed. "Mine to Harry's; Harry's to mine."

If the Weasley clock had been able to switch to _Utter Amazement_, several of the hands would have pointed there at that point.

"Your magical cores," Arthur repeated. "What does that mean? And how did it happen?"

Harry considered his answer for a few moments. "We're not entirely sure how it happened, Dad. But we think it's a process that started back in the Chamber when I rescued Ginny, willing to give my life to do it."

"And I ended up with a life-debt to Harry," Ginny said. "But that was probably nothing but the basic condition for the bond to join our cores."

She looked at Harry, because the next part was for him to tell. "I told you about what happened in the forest, when I took Voldemort's AK in the chest with all my love focused on Ginny, remember?"

"We think, with some research help from Hermione, that what Harry did for me is similar to what his Mum did for him. And since Lily's sacrifice still protected him, that strong and ancient magic had to end up doing something…more."

"And that's the event that we think bonded our cores for good," Harry continued. "After that, as our relationship has developed, we've discovered several aspects of this bond in how it manifests itself."

The Weasleys sat listening, trying to soak it all in, but still allowing Harry and Ginny talk.

"We share magic, emotions, senses and thoughts," Ginny said and took a deep breath. "And also our lives…or so we think."

"Exactly what does _that_ mean," Arthur asked curiously.

"It means Ginny soundly defeated a fully-trained Auror like Seamus Finnegan in a duel—twice," Harry said proudly. Molly beamed with pride, having been reminded of that.

"It's the reason we stopped sending owls back and forth while I was at the training camp," Ginny said.

"It's the newest aspect of the bond," Harry went on. "After my collapse that night after Ginny testified, that part of it manifested. When I woke up from the fever, I found Ginny in my head and I could talk to her."

"Directly," Fiona asked.

"In our minds," Harry replied. Hermione nodded at this, because she and Ron had suspected as much.

"And it means that if we lose control, we destroy a forest," Ginny said with a blush.

"That was you," Charlie shrieked. "There was talk about sending our teams out in case it was a dragon or two on the loose."

"We temporarily lost control, Charlie," Harry explained lamely. "It just happened."

Bill sat there with his jaw in his lap. Absently, he took Fleur's hand.

"And we think it means that if one of us goes on the next great adventure, the other will follow," Ginny finished.

"In very short order," Harry added.

The Weasleys were trying to comprehend what they'd been told, but the process of…well…processing it all began to tax their senses.

"Has anything remotely similar ever happened before," Percy asked analytically.

"Hermione found a mythical reference in an old book in the Hogwarts library. The chain of unlikely events creating this bond makes it rather unique," Harry explained.

"How so," Bill asked, thoroughly fascinated. His time in Egypt immersed him in ancient magic and this sounded like ancient magic to him.

"Well…Hermione, why don't you tell them what you found," Ginny said, deferring to her sister-in-law. After all, she had done the actual leg-work.

Hermione stood to address the family, as her voice didn't really carry unless she was angry and shouting. "It was barely two or three pages, really. There's very little actually known about this obscure magic, but it does marry souls—not just people or hearts."

"'Moine, I think everyone's got that part," Ron whispered.

"Right. Well…the book said that the last time in recorded history something like this happened was, well, over a thousand years ago," she said nervously, fussing her hands in front of her. She knew she'd be unable to answer any real questions and as a scholar, that bothered her. "And even then, the source is dubious at best."

"Well, did the book say who it was," Molly asked.

"No, I'm sorry. It doesn't," Hermione replied. "That's been lost to history, if indeed it's true history."

"So why all the secrecy," Charlie asked. "I mean, this is big news! It could help future wizards understand if something like this happens again."

George and Fiona jumped on Charlie's reasoning instantly. "Charlie, do you want our brother and sister to become curiosities," George cried.

"What are you talking about, George," Charlie countered dismissively. "How could they become curiosities? They'd be famous!"

"Charlie, Harry and Ginny already _are_ famous," Ron added. "They have to fight for their privacy as it is. If this got out, the backlash could be devastating."

"They'd be little more than lab rats," Fiona said firmly but sadly. "The Ministry'd get their mitts on 'em in a flash, they'd disappear with them Unspeakables, and we'd never see 'em again!"

"But what of the Forest of Dean incident," Percy interjected. "The Ministry needs to know that there aren't a load of dragons a stray giant or two wandering about so close to Muggles."

"Harry, we shouldn't have told them," Ginny said, tears falling down her cheeks. "We should have just let it go." She began to sob into her husband's shoulder, her body shaking with horror that her brothers might out them to the Ministry.

"Shh, Gin. They're our family. They need to know," Harry replied, wrapping a protective arm around her.

"Y'all cain't tell nobody," Fiona insisted, almost shouting. "It's private—betwixt Harry 'n' Ginny 'n' I'll be damned if I let you blab it all over the government!"

"Fiona, calm down," Arthur said judiciously, patting her arm. "Nobody's going to blab anything to anyone—are we, boys?" Arthur's question was more a command than a question. "Charlie, this is a family matter and none of the public's business. Percy, the Ministry doesn't have to know everything about everyone. They've plagued Harry quite enough and it stops right here, right now."

"But Father, what about the investigation," Percy argued. "It's going to be expensive."

"Percy, they've already finished that investigation and found only trace evidence of the magic in the area," Arthur explained. "In fact, they couldn't even identify the magical signature. The Muggles have accepted some kind of natural phenomena and since no one was injured and no one's in danger, the case is closed."

"But why wasn't I notified," Percy exclaimed. "I'm a junior assistant to the Minister!"

"Because you're not the Minister, Percy," Hermione snapped. "You don't have to know everything all the time! Grow up, will you?"

"I beg your pardon," Percy spat. "What would you know about it, sequestered in RCMC with a load of interns, a batty old receptionist, and a half-mad Hermit!"

"We were there, you insufferable snob," Hermione shouted back. "Ron and I—we…we saw it all!"

"Percy Ignatius Weasley! That. Will. Be. Enough," Molly shouted. "You apologise to you sister-in-law this minute!"

"STOP IT, ALL OF YOU," Ron roared in defence of his wife, his best friend, and his sister. "THIS IS AND EVER SHALL REMAIN WITHIN THE CONFINES OF THIS FAMILY! IF ANY OF YOU TOSSERS EVEN THINK OF—WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT—I'LL PERSONALLY—"

"Stand down, Auror," Arthur boomed, and Ron snapped to out of habit. "It's all right, son. I think you've made your point."

"Yes sir," Ron said, retaking his seat next to his shaking wife, enveloping her in his strong arms.

"I apologise, Hermione. I stepped out of line," Percy offered, red-faced and cowed by his youngest brother's tirade and his mother's admonition. "I forget sometimes…"

"A…apology accepted," Hermione replied, wiping her eyes and taking gulping breaths.

"Harry, Ginny—your secret's safe with me. I promise." Percy offered his hand to his brother-in-law, who took it with a wan smile.

"I appreciate that, Perce," Harry replied.

"Gin, you okay, baby?"

"Yeah, I'm all right."

"Me too," Charlie said, stealing guarded glances at Ron, who was still panting and seething. "I won't breathe a word."

"And what about the rest of you lot," Molly demanded, her brown eyes narrowed and fixed on each of her children in turn.

"Hey, no worries here," Bill declared, holding up his hands defensively.

"My leeps are sealed," Fleur promised, mimicking locking her lips and throwing away the key.

"Hey, you know you can trust me, mate," George added. "Not a dickeybird."

"You know I ain't tellin' nobody," Fiona said.

"Well, that's settled," Arthur said with a relieved sigh. "I trust we don't need Wizard's Oaths on this?"

"No, Dad," they each said in staggered turn.

"So…Harry and Ginny, you have a Soul-bond that has joined your magical cores," the Weasley patriarch began to summarise. "Individually, you're quite powerful as well as talented, but based on eye-witness accounts, together…you could be dangerous."

"Yes, Daddy," Ginny said in an uncharacteristically meek voice.

"Then my advice to the two of you is that you engage in some serious meditation and Occlumency training," Arthur instructed them. "In fact, it might not be a bad idea for all of us to do the same."

"Yeah, I agree," Bill said. "We don't know how many accomplished Legilimens there are in our community, nor do we know who they might be. We need to protect this—"

"There's more," Ron said lowly, staring at the table.

"What's that, Ronnie," Molly asked, a bit taken aback.

"I said there's more, Mum," he said. "Hermione and I—we have a Heart-bond."

"Great Merlin," Arthur breathed. "Now that I understand."

"Great. Would you mind explaining it to us," Ron asked his father, still comforting Hermione. "Fiona and George—"

"The blue glow, Dad," George interjected. "Did you notice it at their wedding when they kissed?"

"I sought zat was just from ze Marriage-bonding," Fleur piped in. "Zere was ze glow, but ze flash was customary, was eet not?"

"Yes, Fleur. The flash—or part of it was the customary sealing of the Marriage, but that one was a bit brighter than most, now that I think about it," Arthur said. "Ronnie, Hermione, did you feel anything different?"

"W-well…I-I thought it was the Marriage-bond too, but suddenly I felt complete—like some part of me that had been missing fell into place, like a jigsaw puzzle," Hermione said.

"Yeah, me too. But the weirdest thing was that I felt stuff—like what Hermione felt—from her point of view," Ron added. "I didn't notice any blue glow or light, though."

"You wouldn't have, little bro," Bill said. "I think I know what Dad's driving at. The ancient Greeks—"

"Yeah, we know," Ron snickered. "The split-person thing."

"Right," Bill said, a bit deflated.

"I'd venture to say, children, that your bond has been forming over time, much like Harry's and Ginny's. You've been intimate for quite some time, am I correct," Arthur asked with a slight gleam in his eye. He knew very well that his youngest son and his now-wife had been intimate for over a year. Ron and Hermione blushed scarlet and simply nodded, staring at their hands.

"Don't feel embarrassed, you two," Arthur chuckled. "After what you've been through in your lives, it's no surprise. But what I'm about to say may come as a surprise to you."

"What, Dad," Ron asked, shifting his gaze from his hands to his father's face.

"Your mother and I have been watching the two of you as closely as we've watched Harry and Ginny over the past couple of years," Arthur began. "Harry and Ginny—they just melded together like two metals into an alloy. But you and Hermione—that was a true forging in fire."

"Dad, what are you talking about," Ron asked rather huffily.

"You and Hermione, there," he chuckled again. "The two of you bickered like an old married couple and rowed like two thieves over a haul!"

The occupants of the Weasley kitchen burst into laughter, all nodding in agreement.

"I can't tell you how many times I was tempted to steal Dudley's boxing gloves and throw them at you," Harry howled. "I mean, Merlin! Everybody but you knew you were meant for each other! Who won the bet, George?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," George cried. "It was classic!"

"Aw come on, little brother," Charlie chided him. "I know it wasn't me!"

"I'm telling you—you won't believe it," George continued to laugh. "But since you insist—it was…Professor Sybil Trelawney!"

"You're right—I don't believe it," Hermione huffed. "That old fraud?"

"Well, that brings her true predictions up to three," Harry snickered. "Did she go into an airy-fairy trance and everything?"

"No," George replied, still wiping his eyes. "She was pissed on sherry—at least I think it was sherry—and she declared to the corridor that Mister Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger would wed before the dawn of the new millennium. Fred and I—we suckered her into our betting pool and she is now one hundred Galleons richer for it!"

"Bloody hell," Ron growled. "That old bat won a hundred Galleons off a bet on me and Hermione! And what did you two mean by taking bets on me and Hermione anyway, you snarky git?"

"Oh relax, Ronald darling," Hermione cooed. "I got the best winnings of all."

"You too? You—"

"Not with money, my love. With my heart," Hermione said, placing a finger to his lips. "And I won the grand prize—you." With a start and a goofy lop-sided grin, Ron kissed his wife tenderly and unabashedly on the lips, caressing her face as he held it in his palm.

"Oh please—save it for the honeymoon," Percy moaned, mimicking a hard vomit.

Ron and Hermione broke apart and joined the family in a hard-earned laugh. That particular meeting had been intense—more so than the one that sent them into hiding at Aunt Muriel's during the war.

"All right, all right, that'll do, family," Arthur said, calling the Inquisition back to order. "To summarise: One—Harry and Ginny have a Soul-bond that must be kept secret, two—Ron and Hermione have a Heart-bond that must also be kept secret, three—this family will gather literature and whatever resources we can to study the art of Occlumency, beginning with meditation an hour before bedtime every night starting tomorrow."

"Dad, I think we might learn _Adfero_," Bill said with surety. "In case something happens, I mean. The Floo can be monitored and owls can be intercepted. Patronuses are fine, but if there are others present, they hear the message too."

"Adfero," Charlie repeated. "What's that?"

"It's a form of mind-speak, you could say," Bill explained. "It's advisable to be an accomplished Occlumens, but it isn't necessary to use it. It's a way of communication almost telepathically. The downside is that there's a tiny flash of light between the sender and the receiver. It's hardly noticeable, but if someone's looking for it, they'll see it. Hence, Occlumency is advised."

"Harry, Ron, you're our top-Aurors," Arthur deferred. "What do you think?"

"From a professional standpoint, I think it's a brilliant idea," Harry agreed. "Ron?"

"Yeah, you're right, mate," Ron agreed as well. "But how do we learn it?"

"I can check the Ministry library," Percy offered. "They've got loads of old books there. Perhaps Hermione could help?"

"Certainly. I'd be glad to. We can also see what we find on Occlumency, but Harry—"

"It was a waste of time, Hermione, you know that. He just mind-raped me and didn't teach me a bloody thing," he said, cutting her off. "Voldemort never tried to get into my head again after he tried to possess me at the Ministry that night; it wasn't because of anything I might have learned from Severus Snape."

Molly huffed into her teacup. "I can't imagine what Albus was thinking, asking that bitter—"

"Mum, it doesn't matter anymore. What's important is that we have to learn this," Ginny said quietly, still clinging to Harry.

"Fiona, do you have anything to add," Arthur asked his niece.

"No sir, not yet anyway," she replied. "But I shore would like ta learn that there Occlumen-thing."

"Occlumency," Harry corrected her.

"Yeah, that," she said with a sly grin.

"Of course, dear. This is a family project and you're family. Of course you'll learn right along with the rest of us," Molly assured her, the others nodding vehemently.

"All right, then. Percy and Hermione are in charge of research; Harry, you've got at least some idea of how Occlumency works, so you've got a bit of a jump on us, even if Severus didn't train you properly. From what little I know about meditation, I know it has to do with breathing and relaxing—"

"Parvati and Padma," Ginny said suddenly. "The Patil twins. They're Indian. I'll be they know about meditation!"

"Oh sure," Hermione agreed. "Parvati used to meditate before exams! I wish I'd have joined her…"

"Yeah, that's right," Ron said, nodding. "They work with Lee. If we ask nicely, maybe they'll teach us."

"Good idea. That'll be your job, son," Arthur said. "But for the time being, we can start with just relaxing and doing some deep-breathing exercises. Now—is that all for tonight?"

Arthur surveyed his family around the table. Finding no one willing or needing to speak, he called the Weasley Inquisition to a close. "Molly, I believe we could all use a glass of Rosmerta's finest!"

"Hear, hear," Charlie called in agreement.

Molly rose from her seat while the other stretched. She reached into the cabinet and produced a rather dusty bottle of mulled mead, conjured twelve glasses and poured the drink. Arthur chose to dispense with toasting and downed his glass in one go, as did the others.

Soon, Harry and Ginny took their leave, followed by George, Charlie, Percy, and Bill and Fleur. Fiona bid them all a good night and drifted up the stairs to Percy's old room. Ron and Hermione had to finish packing and turn in, as they had an early flight out of Heathrow and would have to Apparate to a pre-determined spot in London to take a Muggle taxi to the airport.

"'Mione," Ron began. "I'm scared."

"Scared? Of what, Love," she asked, furrowing her brow and turning to face him. "The secrecy issue?"

"No. That's not it," he replied. "It's just that…well…I've only ever flown on a broom before. A broom I'm in control of. I'm not sure about the aeroplane."

"It's all right, Ron," she replied softly. "It's quite common to be nervous the first time. But don't worry. I'll explain everything you see, hear, or smell, okay?"

"Um…okay," Ron agreed tentatively. "D-do they really have mover…movies…on the plane? And food? And a loo?"

"All of that," she giggled. She thought it was sweet that he'd be excited and scared at the same time and ask the types of questions children would ask. "And from experience, I can tell you that airline food isn't too bad. But since it's going to be a rather long flight, I asked your Mum to pack us a lunch in my carry-on…just in case."

"Hermione Weasley, I think I love you-no—I _know_ I love you," Ron snickered, capturing her lips with his own. "Gods, you're beautiful."

Hermione moaned as her husband's lips moved slowly and languidly over her own. There was heat in his kiss, but not the reckless needy kind. Rather, it was a kiss full of love and devotion wrapped in passion that she returned with full fervour.

"Ron," she whispered as he persuaded her onto her back, his hands bunched in her satin night dress. "I love you so much." In literally no time, she found herself naked beneath him, his lips caressing every inch of her face and neck. She arched her back as he kissed his way to her chest and took a pebble-hard nipple into his mouth, caressing it with his tongue.

"'Mione," he growled. "I want you, baby." Raising her legs to either side of his hips, she hooked her toes into the waistband of his boxer shorts and shoved them down to his knees. With a few well-worked kicks, he managed to slough them off to the end of the bed. "I want you now."

"Yes, my love. Come to me," she whispered, pulling his red mane of hair until his face met hers in a searing kiss with tongues battling for dominance. "Take me, my lion."

With a subdued roar, Ron buried his length inside his wife, hardening further as she whimpered her pleasure into his ear. Almost instantly, they found a rhythm and began to move as one in the celestial dance of physical love. As they made love, the heat of their passion built until it exploded through their entire beings. Flames of desire shot through their veins and singed their very nerve-endings in an earth-shattering climax that left them panting and sweating.

Wave after wave of sexual completion coursed through their bodies and that's when they noticed it for the first time. Their hearts beat as one, in perfect sync, as they reveled in one another's emotions and sensory stimuli. They lay together, still connected, Ron resting on his forearms so as not to crush his precious love, gazing fixedly into one another's eyes, conveying their undying love for one another.

The flight from London Heathrow to Christ Church had been a long one. The airline food—poached salmon with pilaf, salad, and champagne—tasted wonderful, but it wasn't enough, so Ron dove happily into the extra provisions his mother had supplied.

Once they collected their luggage and pass through customs, also exchanging their British pounds to Barbadian dollars, they were met by a shuttle van, which took them to their hotel, the Silver Point, on the south end of the island. Their room contained a king-size bed, decked out in colours that accentuated the view of Silver Sands beach only a five-minute walk beyond the fully-furnished deck right outside their great glass patio door.

Too knackered to do much of anything and having gained about five hours, they opted for a nap and then dinner in one of the hotel's restaurants. After a sumptuous meal of roast pork with local vegetables, the returned to their room and began to unpack. At the bottom of their largest suitcase, lay the mysterious envelope from Harry and Ginny.

"What's that, Love," Ron asked, staring at the white envelope in his wife's hands.

"I don't know. It's from Harry and Ginny, but they charmed it not to open until we arrive in our room," she replied. "I suppose we should open it." She slipped her slender finger under the flap and it began to lift away from the body of the envelope.

"Go ahead, 'Mione," Ron urged. "Let's find out what it is."

"All right," she agreed. She slipped her hand inside and removed a bit of paper that turned out to be a cashier's cheque from Barclay's in the amount of five-thousand pounds Sterling. "Harry James Potter!"

"Look, there's a note," Ron said.

_Dear Ron and Hermione:_

_Congratulations! We're so happy for you. It's been a long ride from Kings Cross Station to here, but we made it! And now all the sacrifices we made have paid off. We're a family—in heart, in mind, in soul, and in name. We love you two so much._

_We wanted to do something special for you, and the Grangers gave us a way to do that. No, they don't know we've done this, so relax, Hermione. Ron, please accept this gift and use it to make the most of your honeymoon. Spend it on anything and anyone you want—every penny of it if you wish. But most importantly, have a great time in paradise._

_Love,_

_Harry and Ginny_

"That sneaky bastard," Ron snickered. "He charmed it so we couldn't argue and give it back."

"Well… He _is_ Harry Potter, you know," Hermione giggled, rising up on her toes to kiss Ron's cheek. "Ron, you know he does things like this because it makes him happy, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know. It's just…I mean…five-thousand pounds, 'Mione! That's…" Ron paused to do a quick calculation, based on something Bill had said in passing. "That's a thousand Galleons!"

"I can guarantee you we won't spend it all—at least I don't think we will," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Whatever's left can go into our vault for a rainy day."

"Huh? A rainy day," Ron asked, not ever having heard the Muggle proverb.

"It means in case we need it for something unexpected or for something special we might like to purchase someday," she explained.

"Oh. Yeah, right. A rainy day," he said, still trying to make a connection. "Fine. I won't kill him."

"That's my good boy," Hermione cooed. "Now, how about you and I take a moonlit walk along the beach with the warm sand between our toes and fragrant tropical breezes through our hair? We could take a towel or two and have a little swim…"

Moments later, the newlyweds sprinted through the glass patio door on their way to the beach, laughing and shouting. At the water's edge they came together in a loving embrace, kissing sweetly while the swish of the tide washed ashore only to retreat back into the sea.

_A/N: The song Heather Prewett's new music box played is "That's What Friends Are For," written in 1982 by Burt Bachrach and Carole Bayer Singer. It was recorded by Dionne Warwicke, Elton John, Gladys Knight, and Stevie Wonder in a 1985 collaboration on Arista Records as a single benefiting AIDS research. The poem on the small parchment was the lyrics to that song._


	32. Chapter 32 IAST

**Chapter 32 – I.A.S.T.**

Eula Mae Tyree sat by her stone fireplace, rocking and humming some old melody to the gusty wail of the Carolina winds blowing through the hills around her home. Since Fiona flew off to England last summer, life for her had gone on without so much as a hiccup. Folks still took sick, critters still broke legs or wings or got in scrapes with other critters and all still needed mending.

Coy Dennis, community leader and all-around father-figure, had been rather good about checking in on his old friend to see that she had whatever she needed, be it supplies or an extra pair of hands or two. The Carver boys helped her slaughter and dress a pig and several chickens last October, while a few of the women in the tight community of Rook Holler got together and put up tomatoes, beans, corn, pickles, and beets. Occasionally, a few coins might change hands, but the microcosm of Rook Holler primarily sustained itself through barter.

The old woman had only just lit her corncob pipe when a rap came at the door. "Now who could that be on such a night as this," she muttered to herself, raising her weary bones from her rocking chair. "Tarnation, I hope them Fuller babies're all right."

Another rap came on the door, only a bit harder. "All right, all right, I'm-a comin! I'm a-comin'! Holdjer hair on!" She shuffled across the room to the front door and peered through the curtain. Recognising her visitor, she unlatched the door and opened it. "Coy Dennis, what in tarnation—"

"Sorry fer intrudin' on yer smoke, Miss Eula Mae, but I got a message fer ya from England," he said, producing a parchment envelope. "Don't look nothin' like Onie's hand, though. She don't write this tiny."

"No, it ain't from Onie, Coy," Granny replied, examining the handwriting. "Says it's from a Ronald 'n' Herm…Hermy…Hermy-own Weasley. Weasley! That's the girls' family over there. Lord, I hope she's all right."

With shaking fingers, she tore open the envelope and settled her reading glasses onto her nose and tried to focus, but the minuscule hand was just too small for her to read. "Coy, d'ya mind? These ol' eyes just ain't what they used ta be," she sighed, shaking her grizzled greyish-white head and removing the glasses, slipping them back into the pocket of her apron.

"Be glad to, Granny," he replied, taking the parchment from her and helping her back to her chair. Once she settled in, he pulled another chair from the kitchen table and slid it across from her. Setting his own reading glasses in place, he began to read:

"_Dear Miss Eula Mae:_

_Ronald and I wish to thank you and your quilting bee for the lovely quilt you made for us. We know Onie commissioned it…"_

"What's that mean—commissioned it," Granny asked.

"It means Onie ordered it and paid for it," Coy explained.

"Oh. Pshaw. We was glad ta do it," she snorted, taking a puff from her pipe. "Go on."

"_We know Onie commissioned it, but it was still your talented and loving hands that fashioned it and that makes it all the lovelier. It graces our bed at this very moment and has been an object of much admiration."_

"Imagine that. A patchwork quilt an _object of admiration_," Granny chuckled, still puffing her pipe.

"You ladies do make purty ones, Granny," Coy said with a grin. "The best in the Carolinas, if not all of Appalachia."

Granny ducked her head and cackled merrily as only very old women can. She waved her hand at him as if he were trying to court her. "Oh, go on with ya, ya ol' fool! Keep readin'."

"_Miss Tyree, if it's not too forward, Ronald and I would like to commission three more approximately the same size for our parents and dearest friends, Harry and Ginny Potter. My parents' anniversary is coming up the first week of April, the Potters' in late-June, and Ron's parents' in mid-August. We sincerely hope this isn't too-short notice for such a grand undertaking, but please know that whatever the cost, we're willing to pay it._

_Should you decide you can do this for us, we shall send special bits of cloth via Aint post…"_

"Oh fer pity's sake. I know they call 'em Muggles," Granny snorted. "But it was awful nice o' the girl ta make sure I understood."

"I guess them English folks are good people," Coy agreed.

"Read."

"_Should you decide you can do this for us, we shall send bits of cloth via Aint post, clearly labeled as to which quilt they should be sewn into. Please let us know if you can do this as we understand that it's a big job._

_Again, thank you so very much for our quilt. We shall cherish it always as a priceless heirloom and a fond memory of our new life together._

_Sincerely and blessings,_

_Ronald B. and Hermione J. Weasley"_

"_Hermione_," Granny repeated. "Is that how it's said? Looks like Hermy-own ta me. Oh well. It's a purty name all the same."

"So…d'ya think you and your quiltin' bee c'n pull it off," Coy asked slyly, already knowing the answer.

Granny snorted again and blew a smoke ring. "_Grand undertakin'!_ The day my bee cain't make three quilts in four months'll be the day I stand at the pearly gates tradin' cornbread recipes with ol' Saint Peter 'imself!"

"So, d'ya wanna write Miss Hermione back with an answer," he asked. "I c'n help ya with it and send it off tomorrow mornin' if ya want."

"Shore, we c'n do that," Granny agreed. "Lemme put a pot on and we'll set to work." Coy stood quickly and helped the wizened Healer from her chair and steady herself. "Yer a good man, Coy. Thank ya."

She shuffled to the stove and set the coffee pot to simmer, then moved to her battered old pine desk and dug out an old composition book and a ball-point pen. The folk of Rook Holler used parchment and quill very rarely, as those things cost more than most of them were willing to spend. A fountain pen or ball-point worked just as well, thank you, as did good old notebook paper like schoolchildren used. The denizens of Rook Holler were a simple lot who didn't stand on a lot of unnecessary ceremony.

Granny Tyree and Coy Dennis sat down with steaming mugs of hot, rich coffee and began to compose an affirmative answer to the newlyweds. Two hours later, they were both satisfied with their work and tucked it into a white business-size envelope addressed to Mr and Mrs Ronald B Weasley, The Burrow, Ottery St-Catchpole, Devon, England.

They caught up on the day's news over their coffee until the pot ran dry. With a groan and a stretch, they arose from the kitchen table to call it a day. With a pat on Granny's shoulder, Coy stepped onto the porch and then into the night, the old woman barring the door behind him.

With a shake of her head, she shuffled into her bedroom for a good night's rest. "Gotta be up early ta learn them young'uns about potions 'n' such. I ain't gonna live ferever." She lay down in her bed, bid her ancestors good night, and went to sleep.

More than three-thousand miles to the extreme northeast, as Granny Tyree lay down to rest, Molly Weasley and her niece, Fiona Prewett, sat at the scrubbed oak kitchen table nibbling on toast and sipping cups of hot tea. The Burrow, usually a flurry of activity, lay still and silent in the glow of a single lamp glowing from a sconce on the wall near the stairwell. The sun wouldn't rise over Devon—or Devonshire, as the magical in the community stubbornly called it—for at least another couple of hours.

"It's so quiet," Molly sighed, surveying her empty table. "For nearly thirty years, there's been constant insanity in this old house. Children either crawling, toddling, or running everywhere—you'd think I'd appreciate the peace, but I can't help but miss it all."

"Aunt Molly, yer what folks call an _Empty Nester_," Fiona said with a wan smile. "It means all yer chicks've fledged and flew the coop."

"Well, Ron and Hermione'll be home in a couple weeks, so it won't seem so lonely all the time," the older witch replied with another heavy sigh. "But it's nice to have you come round once in a while. Have you given much thought to where you'll stay over the summer holidays?"

"Now you mention it, no, I sure ain't," Fiona replied. "I'd stay with Georgie, but him 'n' Angie—they don't need me hangin' around."

"You know you're always welcome to say with Arthur and me. The Burrow is your home as long as you want it to be," Molly said, taking her hand. "You're my brother's daughter. What kind of sister would I be if I didn't look after his baby girl?"

"Thanks, Aunt Molly. I appreciate that. I just might take you up on it, too," she smiled. "Maybe you c'n tell me more about my daddy 'n' Uncle Gideon."

"Oh my, yes! I've got loads of photos and old letters in trunks in the attic," Molly said, her hand over her heart. "In fact, we can tell stories while we work on the scrapbook."

"Now that sounds like fun," Fiona giggled. "I think Taya's got a bunch o' pictures of us 'n' Momma 'n' Granny Tyree 'n' folks around Rook Holler if you want 'em. We'll just copy 'em real quick."

"Of course I want them! Goodness, I knew your mother at Hogwarts. She was wonderful at potions. Professor Slughorn wanted to take her on as an apprentice, but—well, she just wasn't interested," Molly gushed. "Rhiannon O'Reilly—I wish I'd known that she and Fabian…well, that's all water under the bridge, now, isn't it?"

"Aunt Molly, we got a whole big future ta look forward to," Fiona said sagely. "Lots o' young'uns're gonna come along and this the Burrow'll bust at the seams again!"

"That Teddy Lupin," Molly laughed. "He just dotes on Victoire, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, he does! He's a cutie, that's for sure. I hear tell he gits that morphin' stuff from 'is momma," Fiona said.

"Yes, Tonks was quite talented with that," Molly smiled, tears filling her eyes. "Why, I remember that summer—I think it was 1995…yes, Ronnie, Hermione, and Harry were going into their fifth year at Hogwarts. It was a dark time. Voldemort had just returned and Harry was in a right state."

"Why?"

Molly began to explain in a nutshell about how Voldemort had used Harry's blood to return to a body and how the boy had been dumped with his horrible relatives again, seemingly alone and cut off from the people who loved him. "Finally, Dumbledore sent Remus, Tonks, Kingsley, and a few others to bring him to us at Harry's godfather's home in London."

"Harry has a godfather," Fiona asked.

"_Had_, dear. _Had_. Sirius Black was murdered almost four years ago by his own cousin," Molly said between gritted teeth. She took a sip of her tea to calm herself. "Anyway, when Harry arrived, he was thin and pale and hurting miserably. He had dark rings under his eyes and he rarely smiled, which as you know, isn't like him at all."

Molly took another sip of her tea, trying to re-board her train of thought. "It was an awful time, like I said, and Harry bore the weight of it all, the poor boy. My heart broke for him from the moment I met him."

Molly continued to relate the story of how Harry had been accused by the then-Minister in a bogus underage magic charge and forced to face the entire Wizengamot over it. "So to keep the children amused and to lift the gloom, Tonks would pull faces and change her appearance at the table, leaving us all in stitches. And she was so clumsy! I swear that girl tripped over dust!"

"Poor Teddy," Fiona said, her heart aching for the Lupin family. "It's a good thing he's got Harry 'n' Ginny 'n' Miss Andromeda lookin' out for 'im."

"Oh my, yes! Harry just adores him," Molly said moving to the stove to finish preparing breakfast in time for Arthur to eat and go to work. "And Teddy loves him and Ginny, too. He changes his looks, depending on whose lap he's in. But when he just wakes up or is playing quietly with his plush wolf, he's all Remus—sandy brown hair and amber eyes with brown flecks in them."

"Is that child a Werewolf, Aunt Molly," Fiona asked, aghast.

"No, no. Remus was, though. He was just a little boy when that horrible Fenrir Greyback stalked him and bit him. The same bit of human filth that marred my Bill's handsome face," Molly snarled softly. "That evil beast died in the war, thank goodness."

"Glory," Fiona breathed. "Remus must've been the fella Hermione was telling me about the night Harry took sick. What an awful life that poor man must-a had."

"It was hard for him, but he had the love and respect of a lot of good people, Fiona, and that made his life a bit more bearable. He was a very kind and gentle man," Molly assured her niece. "Now—I hear your uncle puttering around upstairs and he'll be down soon. He'll be wanting his breakfast."

The two women set to work on the rest of the morning meal before Arthur descended the stairs to begin his day. "So ladies, what's on the agenda this morning," he asked brightly, alternating his gaze between his wife and his niece.

"Well, I need to do some shopping," Fiona said.

"Oh? And what's the occasion," Arthur asked with raised eyebrows. "Do I detect a date in the offing?"

"Fiona? Do you have something to tell us," Molly chided.

"Has that wise-cracking Irishman finally asked you out," Arthur asked with the start of an approving smile.

Fiona's sky-blue eyes twinkled and she blushed bright pink. "Well…yeah, he did. We're goin' ta some New Year's bash in Dublin Friday night. I don't know what I should wear, but he said to bring my guitar with me."

"Oh that's nothing you'll need to dress up too posh for, then," Arthur assured her. "Just be yourself and dress comfortably. You'll be fine."

"Nonsense, Arthur," Molly chided her husband, nudging his arm. "A girl always wants to look her best on her first date." She turned to Fiona and smiled widely. "Don't you worry, dear. I'm sure Madame Malkin should have something suitable."

"But Aunt Molly, it's a _Muggle_ pub," Fiona argued. "I cain't wear robes there! I gotta get a nice Muggle outfit."

"Oh dear. You're right. In that case, we'll bring Ginny along. She loves to shop in Muggle London. We're sure to find something nice," Molly assured her. "We'll Floo Ionúin Bhaille later on this morning when I know for sure they're up and about."

"Thanks, Aunt Molly. You're the best," Fiona said with a relieved smile.

_You're the best. How many times have I heard that in the past several months? _"Not at all, dear. Now, tuck in."

Harry awoke around half-seven with his right arm draped across Ginny's waist and his right leg intertwined with hers. Her long flaming locks fell between their bodies, smelling of strawberries and wildflowers. Between their engagement and now six months of wedded bliss, he still couldn't get his head around the fact that this exquisite creature sleeping peacefully in his arms actually loved him—not the Boy-Who-Lived—_him_.

He'd have loved to lie there and hold her all day, but nature's call pre-empted that wish, forcing him to extricate himself from around his wife and pad quickly to the loo. _Well, while you're here, Potter, you might as well have a shower. Then you can fix breakfast for your lovely wife._

Twenty minutes later, with a solid-black towel wrapped around his trim waist, he selected his favourite—or Ginny's favourite, really—pair of faded jeans and a red polo shirt from the closet and then stepped to the bureau and pulled out a pair of deep-purple boxer shorts. _Purple? Why do I have purple shorts? Men don't wear purple shorts…unless they're married to Ginevra Weasley. I'll get her for this…_

Smiling evilly to himself, he crept out of their bedroom and down the stairs to the kitchen. Since it was Monday morning, there was sure to be post, so he unlatched the window in anticipation of an owl's arrival—or several. He _was_ Harry Potter, after all, Head Auror and hero of the late war against darkness. _Get over yourself and cook already._

On the kitchen table lay a book he'd borrowed from Molly about household magic. Harry knew his way around a kitchen all right after having spent most of his childhood preparing breakfast for the Dursleys, but cooking with magic was something he still needed to practise. He smiled at the thought of Harry-bleeding-Potter struggling with what appeared to be fairly simple magic, as he set to apply the charm he needed to scramble the eggs.

"I guess _Diffindo_ might crack the frying pan as well," Harry muttered to himself. "But since we live in a magical home, I ruddy-well need to learn this. I want this to be perfect for Ginny." With a flick of his wand, a wooden spatula began stirring the eggs about in the pan. However, he quickly glanced in the book for another charm to slow the spatula down before he coated the entire kitchen in raw egg.

"All right, maybe household magic isn't as easy as it looks," Harry chuckled as the spatula slowed down. He quickly scourgified the area around the frying pan and returned to the book, keeping one eye on the eggs cooking contentedly in the skillet.

Harry kept working and was fairly impressed with his progress when an owl tapped on the window. He opened it and the owl swooped in. "Good morning, good sir. What do you have for us today," Harry asked it, as though it were a child.

With a business-like hoot and a haughty glare, the owl dropped the _Daily Prophet_ and a rather official-looking letter from Gringotts Wizarding Bank and then left without further adieu, not even sparing so much as a glance at the bowls filled with owl treats and fresh water Harry and Ginny judiciously kept available. _Ginny's right. I need to get over Hedwig and pay a visit to Eyelops for a new owl. Maybe we could find one like that pompous git that just flew out of here and call it 'Percy…' Harry, m'boy, you're a rogue._

Harry returned his attention to the letter addressed to _Mr and Mrs Potter_. He pondered the honorifics with a giddy grin as he prepared a plate for each of them filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast with fresh butter and Molly's late-summer strawberry jam, and an ice-cold pitcher of milk. Satisfied with his work, he conjured a blood-red rose and laid it on the tray, slipped the letter and the paper in one hand and levitated the tray with a wave of the other, and headed back up the stairs to the bedroom.

Harry stood transfixed in the doorway. Ginny still lay asleep, her hair fanned around her head like a corona. She was so beautiful, he felt a surge of love and desire run through his body so strong that Ginny stirred in the bed. Slowly, she opened her eyes and blinked rapidly in the morning light filtering through the curtains. Without a single thought, she reached for Harry and found that he was missing. Instinctively, she shot a look toward the doorway where she found her grinning husband gazing back at her, with a floating tray of food in front of him.

"Good morning Gin, I made us breakfast," Harry said.

"Good morning, Harry. That hot wave and breakfast-in-bed—if you're not careful, I might get used to this and actually enjoy waking up," Ginny cooked, yawning and stretching her arms over her head.

"If it were up to me, I'd serve you every meal in bed," Harry murmured, joining her and greeting her properly with a lingering good-morning kiss. "There was this letter with the morning owl," Harry said "It's from Gringotts."

"Well, open it, then," Ginny told him, taking a bit of toast. Harry read the letter and sighed. "Harry, what is it," Ginny asked, slightly alarmed.

"Oh it's nothing bad, Gin. It's an annual report on the Potter-Black fortune, and how the Goblins have invested our money," Harry said, still scanning the figures. "It looks like after paying in full for the house, and the Goblin's having taken their fee for handling the transaction, our fortune has increased by some eight percent."

"We're making more than enough between the Ministry and Harpies to live on. On top of that, we make more money than we'll ever spend just on the investments the Goblins are making on our behalf," Ginny said with wide eyes. She still hadn't become accustomed to the wealth she married into and at times, it scared her. For all her fame as a professional athlete, in her heart of hearts, she was still just a poor country girl from Devonshire.

"We're worth approximately thirty-two million Galleons, Gin," Harry huffed "What in Merlin's clean-shaven head are we going to do about all of this?"

Ginny looked closely into her husband's slightly-worried face, choosing her words carefully before she spoke. "Harry, Love, there's certainly no harm in having a substantial savings, but this _is_ a ridiculous amount of gold. There's got to be something we can do with it, other than just let it sit in a cave and collect dust and interest."

"The Goblins invest our gold to maximize our profit and theirs," Harry said thoughtfully. "And quite frankly, for us, that's not really necessary, but it's more than just us profiting here. They're very sharp businessmen, the Goblins, and to tell them to stop doing what they do naturally would insult them."

Ginny finished her toast and continued Harry's thought. "In that case, what if they use our fortune in another manner? Not necessarily maximizing _our_ profit, but maximizing the good we can do with it," she suggested.

"My sentiments exactly," Harry said.

"You know, Love, great minds do think alike—or at least share the same thoughts," Ginny giggled and gave Harry a strawberry jam-flavoured kiss. "The question now is how to go about it without incurring the wrath of the Goblin Nation."

"I think I'll Floo Bill and ask if he'd be willing to help us on this." Harry said.

"Please do. Every time I think of that vault, I feel guilty. I mean, we've got all that gold and this beautiful home and such an amazing life, while there are so many other good people struggling to make it through a single day," Ginny said sadly. "So many lives were shattered during the war—so many widows and orphans…"

Harry smiled equally sadly and pulled Ginny close, kissing her slightly-furrowed brow. "Let's figure out a way to do some good, then. Bill should know the best way to go about it."

After breakfast and a satisfying snog for afters, Harry banished the breakfast dishes to the kitchen sink and descended the stairs to the sitting-room to Floo his eldest brother-in-law, while Ginny showered and dressed. He thought Bill had said something about having taken that morning off, so he should be at home.

He tossed a pinch of Floo Powder into the fire place and called clearly, "Shell Cottage!" Sticking his head into the green flames, he saw Bill, Fleur, and Victoire finishing breakfast.

"Harry," Bill greeted him. "Good morning!"

"Good morning, Bill. How are you lot this morning?"

"We're fine thank you. Everything's fine at your end?"

"Right as rain, but there's something Ginny and I would like to discuss with you," Harry told him sombrely. "We've had a letter from Gringotts concerning our vault."

Bill appraised Harry with an inquisitive look. "Are you not happy with how the Goblins have handled it," Bill asked, slightly surprised.

"More than happy. The Goblins are doing an excellent job as always, but truth be told, we'd like to do some good with all that extra gold we've got lying about. There are too many people struggling—especially after the war—while Ginny and I make more than enough to live on. On top of that, we could live like royalty on the interest from the Goblins' investments alone."

Bill looked at Harry in silence for a few moments. "You want less of that interest to end up in your vault and more of it to go to help people, am I right," Bill concluded.

Harry nodded. "And maybe there's a lot of stuff in there we don't really need—things that could be put to real use. I mean, I've been down there, but I really didn't take the time to get an idea, you know?" Bill nodded.

"And the Black vault—that's something else entirely. That thing might contain dark and/or dangerous objects among the legitimate treasures we should either destroy outright or get rid of by some other means. And that doesn't include what's stored at Grimmauld Place. We'd really appreciate your help, since you're a Curse-breaker and you know the Goblins so well."

"Very well, Harry. Why don't you and Ginny meet me at the Leaky this afternoon," Bill suggested. "And what if Fleur and Victoire come along? We can all have an afternoon tea, and go over a few details before we speak with the Goblins."

"Great. Sounds good, Bill. Thanks, mate," Harry said excitedly. "Three o'clock at the Leaky then?"

"Right. See you then. Shell out," Bill said and vanished from the grate. Harry stood and bushed himself off. He actually felt good about having taken command of the Potter fortune for the first time in his life.

Ginny hurried down the stairs, hoping to be able to at least bid her favourite brother good morning. When she arrived in the sitting room, she found Harry in his easy chair reading the _Prophet_. "Did you talk to Bill?"

"Yeah, we're going to meet them at the Leaky for tea around three, formulate a plan, and then pay a visit to Gringotts," he replied, folding the paper. He held his arms out to her, inviting her into his lap.

"Them? Them who," Ginny asked, snuggling into her husband's arms.

"Them as in Bill's family, Gin," Harry snickered. "Fleur knows a few things about the inner workings of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, too, you know. Besides, it'll give you a chance to spend a few moments with your niece."

"Uh-huh. Ulterior motives, Potter," Ginny asked snarkily. "You really want to spoil that baby even more?"

"Who? Me? Not a chance. That's your job," Harry replied with mock gravity. "No, we're just going to make an afternoon of it, that's all. We don't get to hang out with Bill and Fleur much."

"Are you kidding? We don't get to hang around with _anybody _much," Ginny agreed with a smirk. "You know, Harry…You're too good to me. You do realise that, don't you," Ginny said seriously, gazing into his emerald depths. "You're going to indulge me in breakfasts-in-bed and beautiful homes until my nose rises into the air like Narcissa Malfoy."

"Nothing's too good for you, Ginny, and you could never turn into Narcissa Malfoy. You're too grounded," Harry told her, holding her close. "You're not a pampered Pureblood princess like she was; you're a sweet Pureblood country-girl who is now my sweet Pureblood queen. Your command is my wish, Milady."

"Ooh, thou art a smooth one," Ginny replied softly. "My command to thee, Good Sir Knight, is to carry me off to thy private chamber and—"

Ginny's banter was cut short by a whoosh of green flame in the grate and the sound of her mother's voice calling. "Ginny! Harry! Are you—oh! There you are, dears."

"G'morning, Mum," they answered together.

"What's up," Ginny asked.

"Oh nothing too important, but a certain blue-eyed Irishman has asked your cousin on a New Year's Eve date—"

"And she doesn't have a thing to wear, right," Ginny finished for her mother.

"Right. I was wondering if you'd like to go shopping in Muggle London with us this afternoon. She needs something nice, but not too dressy," Molly said.

"Um…well, I can't today. Harry and I have a couple of appointments, but we can go tomorrow," Ginny said, looking to Harry for confirmation. He nodded. "Harry's on double-duty and won't be home until very late tomorrow night. We could make a whole day of it."

Molly turned away from the grate. Harry and Ginny could hear muted voices in the background. After a few moments of obvious discussion, Molly turned back to the grate. "Fiona says that's fine, dear. We'll pick you up around half-eleven. We'll have lunch somewhere and then hit the shops. How does that sound?"

"Works for me," Ginny said cheerily. "Seamus and Onie, huh?"

"Yes, and I think it's high-time, too. The poor dear needs a good woman to rein him in," Molly giggled. "And Fiona needs a good man to look out for her." There was a muffled shout from the Burrow that elicited a little laughter between mother and daughter.

"All right, then, Mum. I'll see you tomorrow. IB out." The green flames died down and Ginny pulled her head from the Floo. "This is so great! Onie and Seamus—I knew it!"

Harry still felt a bit dubious about Seamus dating Fiona and didn't comment. He'd warned her of his reputation as a ladies' man back in September, and then Seamus at Thanksgiving about hurting her. But there was really nothing he could do about it. They were both adults and perfectly capable of making their own decisions. In fact, if things worked out, perhaps he could approach his third-in-command about giving Fiona a few duelling lessons, since he spent a lot of time at Hogwarts in the evening.

"Harry? Harry! What's the matter," Ginny asked. "You don't seem too happy about this."

"Oh, sorry, Gin. No, it's not that. It's just that I'm a bit worried about Seamus' reputation, that's all. I'd hate to see Onie hurt," he said.

"Oh for pity's sake, Harry! Are you blind—don't answer that," Ginny said exasperatedly, her hands on her hips. "Seamus has been panting after her since Thanksgiving. He truly likes her and they're alike in a lot of ways."

"I suppose, but she's still new to England and—"

"Harry, shut it this instant. Can't you just be happy for them? If it all goes pear-shaped and Seamus hurts her, you have my personal permission to draw and quarter him. But until then, _leave it alone and just be happy—at last for Onie_," Ginny told him unequivocally.

Harry chuckled to himself. "I'm doing it again, aren't I? Being noble and overprotective."

"You're just being you," Ginny replied, kissing his cheek. "Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted by her ladyship?"

"I believe, my queen, that you were about to give me a command," he smiled, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. "What, then, is my lady's desire?"

"Ah, yes! My command is your wish and all that," Ginny snickered into his chest. "I command thee to take me to thy private chamber and ravish me stupid."

"Ravish thee stupid? Nay," Harry replied, suddenly picking her up bridal style. "I'd rather ravish thee unto ecstasy and contentment. Would that please Milady?"

"Immensely, my brave and noble knight. Carry on!" Harry grinned mischievously and turned on the spot, Apparating them to the master bedroom.

Several hours later, Harry and Ginny stepped out of the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron at just few minutes to three. Their arrival attracted a few glances and approving nods, but they thanked Merlin that no one attempted to approach either of them. Bill, with Victoire in his arms, waited with Fleur for them by the bar.

"Bill," Harry greeted his brother-in-law. "Fleur, ça va?"

Fleur giggled at Harry's French. "Ça va bien, Monsieur Potter," Fleur replied. "I am impressed."

"Ginny taught me," Harry explained.

"You all right there, Sis," Bill asked, noting Ginny's contented demeanour.

"I'm fine, Bill," Ginny replied with a wide grin. "Harry made breakfast-in-bed for me this morning…_and_ managed to do it all by magic."

Bill grinned at Harry. "So the big, bad Auror managed to vanquish the mighty egg and bacon, then," Bill snickered.

"Actually, eggs and bacon are not classified as dark and as such, the method for their disposal is not included in the standard Auror training curriculum," Harry replied in a very official tone, not unlike Percy.

"All right you two," Ginny interrupted. "Let's find a table and order that tea. I'm famished."

Harry looked around and spotted Hannah and waved to her. She smiled and waved back, holding up a finger to indicate she'd be right with them. She finished with the customer and made her way to the bar.

"Hannah, could you find us a table and bring set us up with an afternoon tea? We'll have the full Monty—scones, clotted cream, jam, sandwiches, and some of those marvellous pastries of yours."

"Of course, Harry," Hannah replied brightly. "Follow me."

Hannah led them to a table in a far corner and told them she'd be back with their tea. Harry cast a silencing charm to discourage any eavesdropping. One never knew where an unscrupulous reporter might be lurking these days.

Once the tea was served and latest news shared, Bill turned the conversation to the business at hand. "You mentioned you want to do something with your gold rather than allow it to pile up in the vault."

"Yes, we would," Harry said, feeling less-awkward about this discussion than he had feared he might. "As I understand it, the Goblins earn us between two and three million Galleons a year after service fees. We don't need that money... because quite frankly, well...you know. Now that the house is built and paid for, we live just fine on my income, independent of Ginny's, so we've mostly banked her Harpies salary."

"And whatever more there is in that vault that could be put to good use shouldn't be locked up in a cave doing nothing for anybody," Ginny added.

Bill thought for a few moments. "Re-distributing the gold is the easy part. You can ask the Goblins to set up a fund to which money can be funnelled according to your wishes, anonymously if you'd prefer. That way, they're free to do what they do best, the fund is filled, replenished, and expertly-administered for disbursement to families in need, your _guilty __conscience_ is appeased, and everyone's happy. As for the heirlooms and artefacts, we're going to have to go down to the vaults and inventory them," he advised.

"The Potter vault is massive, Bill," Harry remarked. "It'll take days at best, and the Black vault is nothing to sneeze at either!"

"Then we'd better get started right after tea then." Bill smirked, his blue eyes shining. Having spent years breaking into ancient Egyptian tombs and taking control of the treasures therein, he'd become quite adept and had raised inventory to a high art. Compared to crumbling old tombs, ploughing through a couple of centuries-old bank vaults should be a piece of cake.

"Thanks for helping us, Bill," Harry said.

"No problem, little bro. We're family, right," Bill grinned. "This is going to be fun, mate, I promise you."

Twenty minutes later, Fleur and Victoire headed off into Diagon Alley to take care of some shopping while Bill, Harry, and Ginny entered Gringotts. "Wait here. I'll arrange a meeting," Bill said.

"Are you sure it's all right, without notifying them prior to actually waiting in the lobby," Harry asked. Harry had a lot of respect for the Goblins of Gringotts and had to admit they made him a little nervous, especially when they smiled.

Bill grinned conspiratorially. "With vaults the size of yours, it's all right, trust me," Bill assured him. "It gives the Goblins a chance to show how well-updated they are on an important client's affairs. So _please _act impressed."

Harry shook his head as Bill headed into the bank. There wouldn't be much acting involved.

"_I'll never truly understand Goblins, Gin."_

"_They're different, that's for sure. I'm glad Bill's helping us because I don't know the first thing about how to deal with them. I'd never stepped foot in Gringotts until you brought me here last year."_

After a few minutes, Bill returned and led them into an office where a Goblin Harry recognised was waiting for them. "Bogrod," Harry said. "It's good to see you again."

"Mr Potter," Bogrod returned without a hint of emotion in his voice. "Mrs Potter."

"Before we begin," Harry said. "May I personally apologize for what we did to you. We didn't mean you or Gringotts any harm."

Bill looked at Harry with a surprised look. "Harry, you've met Bogrod?"

"We, um, imperiused him and had him lead us into the Lestrange vault," Harry revealed.

"Lucky for me that you did." Bogrod said evenly. "If you hadn't, I'd have been demoted to sanitary detail on the lower floors."

"Shovelling Dragon dung," Bill added in a whisper.

"Apology accepted, Mr Potter. Looking back at the incident, you helped us to improve on our overall security. Happily, our previous lack thereof ultimately enabled you bring down the Dark Lord. Truthfully, the new Dragon you helped us procure has performed far better than the old one."

That Bogrod more or less thanked him for breaking into the bank during the war caught Harry pleasantly off-guard. He simply never expected to be thanked for breaking into the bank and then half-destroying it to escape.

"Now, shall we talk business," Bogrod asked, his keen eyes bright.

Harry and Ginny had discussed at some length earlier that day as to how they wished their fortune to be managed. "We would like to set up a fund. After inflation is covered in our vault, we want the rest of the annual interest to be funnelled into a special fund," Ginny explained.

"Certainly, Mrs Potter," Bogrod replied. "And what shall this special fund be used for?"

"We want it to be used to improve our world and aid those who genuinely need it. But we also wish to support research to develop important treatments that can help victims of prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse, Lycanthropy, Vampirism, and other unfortunate conditions. We'd also like to fund projects that promote peaceful and respectful co-existence between the magical races. Basically, we want a knowledgeable board to examine each case and make a fair decision on each individual application." Harry explained.

Ginny continued before anyone could interrupt. "And we'd like the board to consist of one wizard, one witch, two Goblins, two Centaurs, and two House elves—the fabled Magical Brethren."

Bogrod nodded while Bill stared at his sister and her husband in utter shock. "You would put that kind of gold in the hands of a board, three-quarters of whose members are non-human," Bogrod asked for clarification.

"After we humans nearly destroyed our world twice, I'm proud to do so," Harry replied. "And we'd like the position of chairman to exist on a rotation between the four races in four-year cycles, with the current chairman holding a deciding vote."

Bogrod simply nodded. Such words spoken by a wizard genuinely surprised him. It certainly a good thing, but it surprised him nonetheless. Bill just continued to look on, flabbergasted.

"Who would elect the board members," Bogrod asked.

"Could each race decide on that," Ginny asked in reply.

"Of course," Bogrod answered, again surprised how much real power Harry and Ginny offered the board governing this fund, rather than keeping control themselves and appointing a board.

"Our only…_demand_…is that each board member is willing to cooperate with the three other races and regard each other as equals," Harry added, primarily concerned with the House elves.

"In order to avoid publicity focusing on Harry and me, we'd like to stay anonymous and let Gringotts organize the fund," Ginny requested.

"Naturally, Mrs Potter," Bogrod agreed. "We'll make a press release once the fund is established and the board members elected. Gringotts will not reveal the source of the gold in this fund."

"I think _The Magical Brotherhood Fund_ is an appropriate title for it," Harry asserted. They all thought of the statue that had once stood in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, a hollow symbol for the cooperation between the four races that never truly existed. This fund would be something that would make a real difference and the rather ironic name seemed fitting. Perhaps the symbol could become reality.

"I shall prepare the necessary documents and send them to you by owl, Mr and Mrs Potter," Bogrod promised. "After that, it will take us some time to arrange meetings with the races and direct them to elect two board members."

"Of course. Thank you," Harry said with a smile. "Now, if that concludes our business, we'd like to visit our vaults."

"I'll escort you there myself," Bogrod replied. "Follow me, please."

Following a wild cart ride through the seemingly endless tunnels and caverns under Gringotts, they reached the Potter vault. Bogrod opened the door so they could enter it. Bill was able to follow without any special dispensation because he was an employee of the bank. Bogrod politely waited outside while the others worked. Since they knew what to expect, the sight of the contents came as less of a shock than last time they'd been there.

"Well, I guess we just have to start clearing up one wall were we put the things we've gone through, yeah," Harry asked.

"Sounds good to me," Ginny agreed.

It took them about an hour and countless levitation spells to clear a wall. Once that was finished, they sat down for a few moments to gather their wits and formulate a further plan of attack. "Is it really polite to leave Bogrod waiting outside for us until we're finished for today," Ginny asked Bill.

"A Goblin who escorts an owner to his or her vault waits for as long as it takes for the customer to finish his or her business," Bill explained. "It's a matter of honour for them."

After a short break, they began to look for things that may be put to good use and set them apart for later inventory. "Remember to be careful. It appears the Goblins have gone ahead and transferred the entire Black heritage here, and there were probably a lot of dodgy items. And despite the Potters having never turned dark, there may still be powerful objects that are potentially dangerous if they aren't handled correctly," Bill urged them.

"We know, Bill," Ginny said slightly peevish. "Harry, did you ask them to combine them?"

"No, but I'm glad they did. It'll be less work for us," he replied, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. He stepped to a book shelf and scanned the titles of the many volumes housed there. They were old tomes, of that Harry was sure. Judging from the titles, these books must be Potter heirlooms. Harry wrote down the titles and the authors and moved the shelf over to the empty wall before seriously reading his list.

"_Hogwarts: A History,_" Harry exclaimed and quickly found the book and opened it. "This edition's from 1538! I'd bet Hermione would love to get her hands on this! I had no idea this book dated back that far."

He conjured a table near the exit and carefully placed the book there before he returned to the numerous other shelves of books. An hour later, he found a huge set of volumes chronicling Potter family history from the days of Merlin through the 1800s. As he had a long list of titles he'd already catalogued as it was, he made a mental note to appeal to Hermione for help with these books.

Ginny had sifted through a collection of objects d'art, which was enjoyable for the most part, as the majority of the portraits seemed happy that someone actually paid them a little attention after so many years, but a few of them complained and yelled at her. There was one portrait in particular that she considered bringing home. It was a friendly middle-aged woman who'd introduced herself as Dorothea Potter.

According to the name plate on the frame, she had been the Lady of the House of Potter in the 1700s. She had red hair like Ginny and claimed that her husband, the late Lord Potter, had black hair before it turned silver-grey. It was the only portrait of a family member she'd found thus far, and she thought it would fit nicely in the sitting room.

Finally, Bill had scanned the vault for cursed items. So far, he had to lift several minor curses and two relatively dangerous ones.

"It'll take forever to catalogue everything," Harry moaned.

"Well, it's a good start. The things we've already gone through are along that wall, and we'll work our way through it all in time," Ginny smiled and turned to Harry. "I'd like you to meet an ancestor of yours, Harry." She turned the portrait to face him.

"The current Lord Potter, I presume," Dorothea asked politely "I am Lady Dorothea Potter."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madame," Harry replied with a slight aristocratic bow. "You must be my great-great-great-great grandmother or something like that."

"Indeed. I met your charming wife. She seems to honour the House of Potter. From which house does she hail?"

Harry realised the woman in the portrait was of another time and that blood-status had been considered quite important in Dorothea's day. Only in those days, the difference lay in whether one used that status for good or ill, rather than in the modern situation where the blood-status philosophy was altogether considered old-fashioned or even evil.

"Ginny's a Weasley," Harry told her.

"A rare daughter of the House of Weasley," Dorothea smiled. "Well met, my dears, I am so glad to know that fine family still thrives in Britain."

"Thank you, ma'am. Lady Potter, we'd like very much to bring you to our home," Ginny said.

"Potter Manor," Dorothea asked hopefully. "It has been many years."

"No ma'am. Ionúin Bhaille. Ginny and I built a new house in Devon. You see, I'm the last Potter right now, and since I was orphaned as a baby, I can't tell you how interested we are in Potter family history."

"The last—my dear, I do hope you plan to remedy that unhappy situation," Lady Potter lamented. "And I would be more than happy to share whatever has been preserved within my portrait."

"Eventually, yes," Harry chuckled. "We have a lot of house to fill. But there's just one thing you'll need to accept. She's an additional member of the family, though not by birth."

"She will be as much family to me as you are, Harry," Dorothea assured him graciously.

"Apart from myself and Ginny, I have a sister-by-blood, Hermione. She's a Muggleborn witch, recently married to Ginny's brother, Ronald. And there's also our godson, Ted Lupin, whose father was a Werewolf," Harry explained. "You see, we've had an unpleasant experience with a portrait and a permanent sticking charm…"

"Say no more, Lord Potter. For as long as wizards have put paint to canvas, there have been annoying portraits. I promise you that I am not one of them. As far as I am concerned, any member of the Potter family, in any capacity, is a friend of mine."

"Fair enough," Harry said. "You'll be the first portrait to ever grace the walls of our home." With a short explanation as to what they were about to do, they wrapped Lady Dorothea Potter in a soft blanket to protect her _en transit_ and left the vault for the day.

Shopping for Fiona didn't turn out to be as easy as Ginny and Molly thought it would be. Following an enjoyable lunch at the Dragon, the three women took to the streets of London to find the perfect outfit for the date.

"But Aunt Molly, that's not me a'tall. It's too girly," Fiona said, dubiously eyeing the simple light-blue flower-print dress her aunt held up to her. "I'm a tomboy—I…I don't wanna put on airs. Sorry."

"That's all right, dear. We'll just keep looking," Molly said, hanging the dress back on the rack. "Ginny, any suggestions?"

"Well, there's shop called The Gap® that might have something," she replied. "Onie, do you want a skirt set or just stick with jeans or slacks?"

"Honestly, Ginny, I just don't know what I want—but whatever it is, it cain't be fancy or girly," she explained. "Does that help?"

Ginny nodded and considered her cousin's answer. "I think it's got to be The Gap® then," Ginny decided for them. "Come on. It's just up the block to the left. Fleur and I saw it when we were shopping for Hermione's party. They've got some cute stuff in there you might like."

With smiles on their faces and hope in their hearts, Molly, Ginny, and Fiona left the "girly" shop for the "less-girly" one. Fiona's eyes lit up when she spied a mannequin in the window dressed in the perfect outfit—a red denim skirt that fell to just above the knee that zipped and buttoned like a standard pair of jeans, a pair of matching flats, and a blue-and-white striped sailor-style blouse. "That's it! That's it," Fiona cried, pointing at the mannequin. "It's me!"

"But Onie, that's so summery—at least the blouse is. Let's see if we can find something a bit more seasonal for a top," Ginny suggested. "The sign here says they're having a sale."

A little deflated, Fiona agreed and followed Ginny into the shop, with Molly right behind them. As it turned out, the red skirt was _not_ on sale and the price reflected it, but on the sale rack, they found a similar one in black, and a nice cream-coloured short-sleeve jumper. The skirt and jumper together cost less than the red skirt in the window, which left Fiona a few extra pounds to spend on the right shoes, which they found at Schuh® directly across Oxford Street.

Actually, it was Molly who found them. They weren't on sale, but they were reasonably-priced and matched the skirt and jumper perfectly. "Girls, how about these boots?" Molly showed them a pair of feminine and decidedly "un-girly" soft-leather black boots with a not-too-high heel and a slightly pointed toe. The shank rose up the leg to just below the knee.

"Ooh, these might do the trick, Aunt Molly. Lemme just try 'em on fer size," Fiona said, hoping the boots would fit. She removed her trainers, pulled the leg of her jeans up to her knee, and slid into the boots.

"Walk around a bit, dear," Molly advised. "You never know until you've had a few steps in a new pair of shoes."

Fiona complied, grinned widely, and said "sold!"

Laden with shopping bags, the three rosy-cheeked, red-haired witches chatted excitedly about Fiona's date with Seamus on their walk back to Charing Cross Road. They waved farewell to Hannah, who was tending bar, and Flooed home to the Burrow. Since Harry would be working until nearly midnight, Molly insisted that Ginny stay for supper, an invitation she accepted wholeheartedly.

The next few days passed quickly and by Friday morning, Fiona's nerves had turned on her. She couldn't settle down. Her heart pounded at the mere thought of the date. She'd had only one official date before—if it could be called a date—but that was with Rupert Watson for coffee in Hogsmeade, and that was simply because they were on supervisory duty while the students were in the village. Back home, she and Gallatea ran with the Carver boys and danced a little with them at Rook Holler's Founders' Day Cotillions and other community events, but that was never anything official. This, however, was officially a date and wholly uncharted territory.

"What time is Seamus coming for you, dear," Molly asked, serving her niece a cup of her special calming tea and a few shortbread biscuits.

"Um…six-thirty," she replied with a shaky voice. "W-what time is it now?"

"It's just gone three. You've got plenty of time," Molly assured her. "Ginny'll be round about five to help you with your hair and make-up. Oh don't worry, dear. Seamus should be in a right state when he sees you!"

"That's what I'm afraid of," Fiona moaned, nibbling on her shortbread. "Aunt Molly, I don't know what ta do on a date!"

"Just be yourself. _Yourself _is who Seamus found attractive and it's _yourself_ he invited on this date," Molly advised her, recalling her own nerves the first time she went to Hogsmeade with Arthur so many years ago. "You're a sweet, lovely, and talented young woman with a delightful sense of humour. Seamus may come across as ladies' man—oh, I know what my sons have told you. But when it's all said and done, he's just a fun-loving boy who hasn't found his match yet." _Or maybe he has_.

"Okay, so just do what I always do," Fiona asked to be sure she understood.

"That's right, Fiona. Just do what you always do," her aunt assured her. "Now, finish your tea while I draw you a nice bubble bath. You can soak off those nerves for a bit before Uncle Arthur gets home."

The tea and the soak in the tub were just what the Healer ordered. By the time Ginny arrived to fix her hair and help her with some light make-up, Fiona felt as confident in her own skin as she always had and actually looked forward to Seamus' arrival. Had she known that he had been just as nervous, pacing about like a lion in a cage giving himself a pep-talk, she might not have had such a panic earlier in the day.

"Finished," Ginny said, surveying her handiwork. She conjured a mirror and allowed her cousin a look.

Fiona's hair had been softly curled and the sides gathered into a silver barrette at the top of her head, accentuating her Celtic attributes. The jumper and skirt complimented her curves beautifully and Ginny topped the ensemble off with a gold lion pendant with two tiny blood-red stones for its eyes.

"You shore these here stockin's'll stay up," Fiona asked, checking the wide elastic bands at the tops of her sheer black thigh-highs.

"Easily," Ginny said. "Your legs don't rub together, so there's really nothing to disturb them—unless…"

"Ginny, _that _ain't gonna happen," Fiona snorted. _At least not tonight_. "I expect that grinnin' fool to keep his hands to himself if he knows what good for 'im!"

"I'm just yanking your chain, Onie. I can promise you that Seamus Patrick Finnegan will be a complete gentleman tonight," Ginny told her. What she didn't say was that Ron and Harry made it clear to their friend and comrade-in-arms that he was to be nothing else.

Fiona looked at her watch and let out a sigh. "It's almost time. Should I wait up here or…"

"Up here. You want to make an entrance and by Circe, I want to see the look on his face when you come down the stairs," Ginny giggled. "Oh, I wish I had a camera with me."

"I'm glad you don't," Fiona replied. "And don't go summonin' one either."

Ginny left the room and went downstairs to wait while Fiona performed a few deep-breathing exercises and checked her look several times in the mirror. _Calm down, O-Nee-Tsah. He's not asking you to marry him—it's just a date._

She had just checked her look for the dozenth time when she heard rapping at the door. "He's here," she muttered. "Okay, keep calm. You're going to have fun with Seamus Finnegan tonight and that's that!"

"Fiona, Seamus is here," Molly called up the stairs.

"Comin', Aunt Molly," she replied. With one last look, she stepped from the room and descended the stairs, careful to keep her steps light. When she appeared at the bottom of the stairs, two male jaws dropped—Seamus' and Arthur's.

"You look lovely, Fiona," her uncle said with a wide smile. "Doesn't she, Seamus?"

Startled from his gob-smackedness, Seamus agreed. "Aye, sir, that she does." He stepped forward and took her hand and kissed it lightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "You really do."

"Thanks, Uncle Art," Fiona said, blushing scarlet. "Thanks, Seamus."

"Shall we go, then," Seamus said, collecting himself. "They're servin' until eight 'n' then the ceili starts. We don't want to be missin' the start of a ceili. They're teachin' The Walls o' Limerick tonight."

"Well, I s'pose we should get goin'," Fiona agreed. She stepped over to hug Molly and Ginny and then plant a kiss on her uncle's cheek. "I know we'll be late, so I'll be quiet comin' in. G'night 'n' Happy New Year. Ginny, give Cousin Harry a smooch fer me at midnight, okay?"

"Will do. Have fun you two," she replied. "Now GO!"

Seamus led Fiona back down the path to the Apparition point. "You all right with Side-along?"

"Yeah, I c'n handle it," she replied, taking hold of his arm. "Let's do it!" With a spin and a _pop_, the two vanished from the Burrow and England herself, reappearing in a dark alleyway between a couple of buildings in Dublin, Ireland.

"It's right around the corner here—McGourthy's," Seamus said, offering his arm. "Yer gonna love the food—it's colcannon with lamb stew and soda bread. Excellent stuff!"

"Lord, I ain't had colcannon in a long time. My momma used ta make it," Fiona said, not realising how comfortable she was with this man. "An' soda bread! Do y'all use currants or raisins?"

"Currants. Some use sultanas, but currants are best," Seamus told her. "Here we are." He opened the door for her and followed her inside.

The pub had begun to fill already. There were several ruddy-faced couples standing at the bar with pints of a dark liquid with a creamy top. Seamus led her to a side room where they found several tables arranged along a wall that supported a long bench that rather resembled an over-long church pew.

"Seamus Finnegan as I live 'n' breathe! Where ya been, man," a jovial-looking middle-aged gentleman boomed. "'N' who's the lovely lady?"

Seamus laughed and shook the man's hand. "Fiona Prewett, this is Danny McGourthy. He's the owner of this fine establishment. Danny, this is a friend o' mine from the States, Fiona Prewett. She's a student-nurse at a hospital in London."

McGourthy held out his calloused hand. "Grand ta meetcha, Miss Prewett. An honourable profession, nursin'. Met a good number of 'em meself back in me wilder days."

"Likewise, Mr McGourthy," Fiona replied with her Carolina twang.

"Ach, it's Danny, darlin'," the man snorted. "All me friends call me Danny. Is this yer first trip to our emerald isle, then?"

"Yessir, 'n' you c'n call me Fiona," she replied. "I've never been to a First Footin' either, so this is all pretty new ta me."

"Do I detect a bit o' the south in yer speech, Miss," Danny asked.

"That's right. North Carolina," Fiona beamed. "Rook Holler, near Grandfather Mountain."

"Now ain't that grand! Seamus, my lad, ya sure know how ta pick 'em," Danny laughed. "And where's me manners! Come, sit down. I'll bring ya a menu."

"Oh now there's no need fer a menu. We'll be havin' yer traditional New Year's Eve fare if ya don't mind," Seamus said. "And a couple o' pints o' stout ta wash it all down."

"Comin' up! Again, Fiona—it's a pleasure," he said, hurrying off to fill their order.

"What a sweetheart," Fiona giggled. "He sounds like the kind o' fella I like to think Momma's daddy was."

"Oh yeah. Danny's quite the lad. This pub's been in his family for three generations. His boy, Colum, tends bar 'n' he'll be takin' over when Danny retires," Seamus told her.

Minutes later, Danny McGourthy brought their food and encouraged them to tuck in. Seamus and Fiona discovered that, outside their professions, they were quite comfortable together and talked about a lot of things. She learned that Seamus was born in the college town of Maynooth, County Kildare and loved not only Quidditch, but horseback riding and football, which, he explained, was called "soccer" in America, and that he supported West Ham along with his friend, Dean Thomas.

From Fiona, he learned that she was born in Somerset, but left England with her mother and twin sister for America at the age of two years. She told him all about life in Rook Holler and how Granny Tyree had taught her everything she knew about folk-healing, but that she'd picked up first-aid and emergency medical manuals second-hand in the village. She explained how she found out she was a Canticumagus from her sister's significant other who was the son of a Sioux Medicine Man.

They'd been so deep in conversation that they hadn't noticed the arrival of the ceili band until they began to tune. The band consisted of a harp, two fiddles, a mandolin, a bodhran, a set of pennywhistles, a concertina, and something called the Uilleann pipes, which looked a bit like Highland bagpipes, except the piper fed air into it by means of a bellows strapped to his arm rather than a blowpipe.

They began to play and soon, the entire pub had crowded into the room to listen and dance. After the first set, the lead fiddler called for the sets. "Walls o' Limerick tonight, friends! We'll be needin' experienced dancers ta enlighten the ignorant!" The crowd broke into laughter as experience set-dancers volunteered to teach anyone who wanted to learn.

"Wanna do The Walls, Love," Seamus asked.

"I'd love to," Fiona replied enthusiastically, automatically kicking off her boots. "I understand Irish set-dancin's a bit like cloggin'."

"I guess we'll find out," Seamus laughed and led her to the dance floor to join a set. An experienced couple placed them with three other couples, one of which was friends with the teaching couple.

The lesson began by first learning the steps and then the movements, some that were a bit intricate, but not hard to learn. They had done one complete round by walking through it without music until the top set had cycled through to the end. Confident that they were ready to give it a go, the lead teaching-couple gave the band the nod. Counting down two full measures of four, the band began to play a lively Irish tune expertly-matched to the dance.

There was much laughter among the sets as they danced their way through the round, sometimes tripping up or missing an element, but having a wonderful time just the same. By the time Seamus' and Fiona's set reached the end, the music finished and they breathlessly returned to their table for another magnificent pint of the dark brew Fiona learned was called Guinness®. It's sweet, smoky flavour made love to her tongue and she decided that this was better than Butterbeer by far.

A few minutes later, the band struck up a waltz. Seamus stood and offered his hand. "Miss Prewett, may I have this waltz?"

"Why, Ah would be honuhed, Mistuh Finnegan," she replied with her best Virginia lilt. She slid from her seat on the pew and allowed him to escort her to the floor. He took her in his arms and began to lead her across the room, gazing into her sky-blue eyes with his own cerulean orbs.

"Havin' a good time," he asked softly.

"I am, Seamus. Thank you so much for invitin' me," she replied shyly. "This has got to be the most fun I've had since—well, the last Founders' Day Cotillion when ol' Zeke spiked the punch with his latest run o' 'shine. Had a hellish headache the next mornin', but it was worth it."

Seamus had to admit that he, too, had been enjoying himself with Fiona. He liked a girl who was unpretentious and genuine, with a good head on her shoulders and a sense of humour. Lavender was a nice girl, but just a bit too prissy for his tastes and entirely too emotional. Fiona was funny, smart, down-to-earth and not afraid to try new things.

They had been so immersed in their waltz and the feelings that had begun to course through them, that they hadn't noticed that the band had stopped playing for another break. Danny McGourthy tapped them on the shoulder to ask if they needed another stout. "She's a lovely girl, Seamus lad, but could ya put yer head back on long enough ta answer me question?"

Embarrassed, the two ordered another round of Guinness® and returned to their table. They'd been having such a good time that they hadn't realised how many hours had passed. Finally, Colum called the hour at 11:45 so everyone was sure to have a drink when the clock struck midnight.

"It's almost time," Seamus said as two more pints appeared on their table. "We'll be headin' into the next century. I can't believe how far we've come since…"

"The war," Fiona finished for him. "I cain't say I understand, 'cos I don't, but if it was anything like what's been goin' on lately, I think I got an idea."

Seamus smiled nostalgically. "It was, in a way, but a lot worse. At least this is somethin' we Aurors can keep under control. But Death Eaters and Dark Lords—that's a whole other ball o' wax."

"Five minutes," Colum called from the bar. "Five minutes 'n' countin'!"

They hadn't realised much about themselves as a couple this night, but as the evening had progressed, they'd moved closer together at their table until there wasn't but a centimetre of space between them. Their conversation became quieter and more-private, and their gazes softer and fixed on one another. They'd begun to maintain eye-contact as they talked and when they danced, they fell into perfect sync with the music.

"One minute," Colum called again. "One minute to midnight! Lads, find yer colleens!"

Without thinking, Seamus put his arm behind Fiona to indicate this colleen was his alone. She blushed, but didn't say anything. She had to admit that she felt rather warm inside and debated whether or not she would lean into him. For the moment, she hesitated, and then gave in to the urge. When she did, Seamus' arm encircled her shoulders.

"All right, Love," he asked, rubbing her arm.

"Mm-hmm. You?"

"Never better," he replied, gazing once again into her eyes.

"Here we go," Colum called. "On my mark…count!"

"10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1! Happy New Year," the crowd shouted as the band struck up Auld Lang Syne.

_Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind,_

_Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne?_

_For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne!_

_We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet for auld lang syne!_

Couples kissed and hugged one another, as well as those around them, friend and stranger alike. But Seamus and Fiona kept to their own little world, ignoring the celebration exploding around them. They clinked glasses and took a drink, wiping the foam from their lips.

"Happy New Year, Fiona," Seamus said, shifting his gaze from her eyes to her lips.

"Harry New Year, Seamus," she replied softly.

Slowly, ever so slowly, their faces moved closer together until their lips were only millimetres apart. They stopped for a brief moment as if to ensure that what they were about to do was right. This was the point of no return that could make or break their burgeoning relationship.

Seamus was in love—there was no doubt about that. He knew it the moment he met her on Platform 9 ¾ back on the first of September. In the weeks following, he couldn't keep Fiona Prewett out of his head. He'd even had to take matters in hand on several occasions before he finally moved out of the flat he shared with Lavender Brown. Until now, he'd never wanted to taste the lips of any woman so desperately in his life.

Fiona's mind reeled with the many thoughts coursing through it. She had been attracted to this dashing young Auror the moment she met him, but Harry's admonition frightened her. She thought she might have met "the one" in Rupert Watson, Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and overall card, but he turned out to be an arrogant clod whose attitude toward the late violence at Hogwarts hurt her. She couldn't stand another hurt like that. But this man she knew she wanted to kiss hadn't been flippant about any of it. In fact, it was he who arrested the miscreants who had attacked the girl.

The heat had begun to build in that agonising moment before Seamus and Fiona let go of their last inhibitions. The moment their lips met, his hands moved to hold her face and hers moved to his waist. Initially, the kiss was shy and sweet, but once the fireworks exploded over their heads, Seamus' tongue slid along her bottom lip to beg admittance to her mouth. After a moment's hesitation, she parted her lips and allowed his tongue to caress hers. It could have been a few seconds or a few hours—neither of them really cared—but something happened between them, something that neither of them had ever felt in their entire lives. They'd broken their kiss only long enough to take a breath before Seamus captured Fiona's lips with his once again and proceeded to snog her senseless.

As Seamus' lips and tongue massaged and caressed her own, Fiona decided she rather liked the new sensations coursing through her body, including the warmth that had begun to pool in her belly. And his scent! Spice and fine whiskey mixed with the intoxicating aroma of the leather of his jacket. As a Healer, she knew very well what that feeling was, but it was entirely too soon for that kind of thing. _Fiona, girl, this man just may be the one_.

Seamus took in her scent of daffodils and peaches mixed with the fresh clean scent left behind by her shampoo. He couldn't deny the tightening in his jeans, but there was no way he was going to spoil this moment or his new relationship with the beautiful witch in his arms by making a stupid move to appease his hormones. Oh yes, he loved Fiona Prewett and his desire to treat her with respect more than proved it.

"Fiona Prewett," he breathed into her hair. "I…I was wonderin' if…if you'd be my…my girl."

She couldn't believe her ears. This sexy Auror just asked her to be his steady girl. "I'd love to, Seamus Finnegan. I'd love ta be yer girl."

He grinned like a fool into her face and crushed his lips to hers once again to the cheers of the pub-patrons who'd taken a previously-unnoticed interest in the young couple snogging at the table who would later become known as the Irish-American Snogging Team. After all, 2000 was an Olympic year.

_A/N: Ceili (pronounced KAY-lee) is Irish Gaelic for "celebration" or "party." A bodhran is a type of shallow Celtic drum held upright on the lap and struck with a short "beater." Together, the bodhran and the beater are known as the "skin and bones." The traditional song sung at the New Year is the first of many stanzas of eighteenth-century Scottish poet and laureate, Robert Burns' poem, "Auld Lang Syne," penned in 1788. The melody is a traditional folk-tune whose title is unknown._


	33. Chapter 33 A New Year, A New Start

**Chapter 33 – A New Year, A New Start**

Colum shouted out the last call for alcohol at around 1:45AM, as McGourthy's was scheduled to close for the night at 2:00. Seamus and Fiona had been so caught up in one another, the music, the dancing, and the Guinness®, that their brains barely registered the fact that the band had packed up and the house lights had been turned up.

"Have ya no homes ta go to," Danny chuckled, nudging Seamus from his dip into Fiona's eyes. "We've got ta close the pub, lad!"

"What? Oh," Fiona gasped. "Seamus, I think Danny'd like us ta vamoose."

"Bloody hell, Danny," Seamus groaned. "I'm sorry, mate. I…is it that time already?" His heart fell. He didn't want the night to end because it meant returning Fiona to the Burrow before he went home to Hogsmeade—alone. He'd never presume to ask her to stay the night with him because neither of them was really ready for that, although he'd dreamed about it for weeks. No, he wouldn't presume such a thing. It wasn't right.

"'Fraid so, me b'y. But if ye're interested, there's a little diner down the street that's open all night for the fact'ry lads on the late shifts," Danny offered. "Ye could get some tea 'n' scones before ya call it a night."

Seamus looked at the strawberry beauty by his side and raised his eyebrows as if to ask her opinion. "I think that'd be nice," she said. "I could use a cuppa, as y'all say."

"Danny, it's been a pleasure," Seamus said, standing and shaking the man's hand. "Fiona, darlin', let's get ya some o' that tea!" Danny's suggestion and Fiona's acquiescence brightened his demeanour exponentially. _So the night doesn't have to end yet, me lad_. He offered his hand to his new girlfriend and helped her to her feet. All the porter and dancing had worn her out and left her just slightly tipsy.

"Danny, it's been fun," Fiona said, also shaking hands with Danny McGourthy. "Reminds me o' some o' the fun we used ta have back home. Thanks fer havin' me."

"Not at all, ya darlin' girl. It was my pleasure ta watch ya," he replied heartily. "Ya caught on ta them set dances right quick."

Fiona blushed at the old Irishman's compliment. "My momma taught me 'n' my sister some step-dancin' and we learned the square dancin' and a bit o' cloggin' too growin' up, so it wasn't too much of a stretch."

"Then ye'll have ta get Seamus ta bring ya again," Danny said, nudging the younger man. He leaned in to speak softly into Fiona's ear. "His mam 'n' da useta come dancin' when they were courtin'."

Seamus caught enough of McGourthy's comment to blush slightly. He knew his parents courted for a while before they married, but not that they stepped out very much. Sean Finnegan never knew that his love was a witch until after they married, and apparently not until after Seamus received his Hogwarts letter. _I'm half 'n' half; me dad's a Muggle 'n' me mam's a witch. It was a nasty shock when he found out._

Fiona didn't answer; she simply smiled demurely and stole a glance at a still-blushing Seamus. "I'd like that very much, Danny. But for now, I think we'd better make tracks so y'all c'n close up and get some sleep. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year ta _you_, Miss. Seamus," he said, once again extending his hand. "She's a keeper!"

"Yes, sir, I believe ye're right," the young Auror beamed. "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight." McGourthy escorted the couple to the door and watched as they disappeared down the block hand-in-hand. _Mrs Finnegan's good boy has surely found his match in that one_. Chuckling to himself, he closed and locked the door and returned to help his family clean up the pub.

As they walked, Seamus and Fiona stole glances at one another and exchanged smiles. Seamus, ever the imp, winked at her from time to time, which melted her heart. _If he kisses my hand like he did in the hospital wing, I might just—what's that word—snog? Yeah, that's it. I might just snog him senseless right here in the street._

Seamus had all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms and planting another lip-lock on his girl. He couldn't get enough of her warmth, sense of humour, fire—he was beginning to understand how Harry felt about Ginny and how Ron felt about Hermione. In just a few short hours, Fiona Prewett had become the centre of his universe and he would do whatever it took to protect her and those kids at the school. His life had taken on a whole new meaning at a tiny table in a boisterous Dublin pub.

It seemed as though no time had passed at all from the time they exited McGourthy's until they arrived at the Trefoil Café. Seamus leapt up on the step to open the door for Fiona and then followed her in. At that point, the place lay quiet with only the slight buzzing of the fluorescent light fixtures overhead and the bubbling conversation of the cook and two middle-aged waitresses in the kitchen area. The tinkling of a brass bell on the door heralded their arrival in the restaurant.

"Good mornin'," a rosy-faced waitress who reminded them of Molly Weasley called. She wore a simple white blouse and black slacks, with a black waiter's apron around her waist. "Ya c'n sit anywhere ya like. The next shift won't be in for another hour or two yet!"

"Thanks, Missus," Seamus replied, and escorted Fiona to a corner booth. He allowed her to slide in before he stepped to the other side to move in beside her.

"So what'll it be? D'ya need a menu or are ya just in fer a nightcap," she asked, looking at the two of them with a twinkle in her eye. She knew new love when she saw it. After all, she'd been married nearly thirty years and watched her own son and daughter grow up, fall in love, marry, and start families of their own.

"Danny McGourthy sent us," Seamus replied. "He said ya have good tea 'n' scones—"

"Ach, Danny McGourthy! He's a fine man fer the blarney, but he speaks the truth when it's necessary. Yes, we have a lovely simple tea if that's where yer heart is," she laughed. "Would ya be wantin' currants or no currants?"

"Currants, please, ma'am," Fiona replied in her Carolina twang. "Is that all right, Seamus?"

"If the lady wants currants, currants she shall have," he grinned and kissed her temple. "We'll have the lot. Currants, jam, tea—all of it!"

"Comin' up," the waitress said, scratching their order on her note pad and scurrying off to the kitchen.

"Seamus, you are too much, you know that," Fiona giggled. "If yer not careful ya just might spoil me rotten."

"Nothin's too good for you—nothin'. Ya deserve the best, Fiona Prewett. Ya saved that Belfast kid's life and ya saved mine. Ya just don't know how much brighter it's been at Hogwarts since ya come along," he told her honestly, his gaze never leaving her sky-blue eyes.

"Seamus, I was just—"

"I know—ya were just doin' yer job. But there's somethin' more t'ya just doin' yer job. Great Merlin! I forgot," he cried, slapping his head with his palm. "I'm a right git!"

Fiona jumped back a little in surprise. The man who'd stolen her heart and then asked her out called himself a right git. "Seamus, what're you talkin' about! You're no git. I don't date gits," she laughed. "But…why are you a git?"

"I told you ta bring yer guitar 'n' then didn't—bloody hell," he said again, wiping his face with his hand.

"Seamus, it's okay. I usually carry Mokey around with me everywhere I go, anyway. It's no big deal," she cooed, hoping to bring his self-recrimination to an abrupt halt. "It don't matter none. Nobody was bleedin'!"

"That's not the point, Love. I thought you'd like ta sit in with the ceili band is all," Seamus groaned. "They love it when new people join 'em in session. We Irish—"

"Seamus, I know. I'm half-Irish, remember? But really, I had more fun dancin'. I don't get ta do that much, because I usually wound up playin' most of the time back home while other folks danced. It was a nice change o' pace," she told him, holding his face in her hands. "And I had a sweet, attentive, and devilishly handsome partner."

Seamus couldn't help himself. He leaned in to capture her lips in a gentle kiss full of promise and gratitude. "You are bloody amazing, Fiona. I thought I'd been a git and all along, I'd been a—"

"Knight in shinin' armour? A gentleman? A friend," she finished for him. "Seamus, I was nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full o' rockin' chairs all day today—well, yesterday, now. I musta drove Ginny crazy with the shoppin' and all because I wanted to look nice for ya 'n'—"

"Fiona, Love, yer beautiful all the time. Ya could-a come down them stairs dressed in yer hospital scrubs and still took me breath away," he said. "Ya got nothin' ta worry about, darlin'." He leaned in for another kiss just as their waitress appeared with a full serving tray supported by one hand.

"Tea, scones, jam, butter, cream, sugar, the lot," she announced, setting the tray on their table and arranging the service. "My name's Moira and if there's anything else ya need, just give us a shout."

"Thank you, ma'am," Fiona said, blinking back a few tears that had collected in her eyes. "This looks lovely."

"Yer welcome, dear," Moira replied. "But…may I ask—"

"America," Seamus finished, knowing what the waitress was about to ask. The Irish are notorious for wanting to know where new people hail from…kind of like the American south. "Fiona's American. North Carolina. She's a medical student."

She almost added that she and her sister had been born in Somerset, but stopped herself. These people were Muggles, and there would have been too many questions she wasn't inclined to answer, because it would have led to more questions, which might have lead to Seamus having to modify memories and then be buried under a load of paperwork for his trouble.

Fiona understood enough about Ministry procedure from listening to her Uncle Arthur and Cousins Percy—or _Bubba_, as she liked to call him—Ron and Harry to know that an official inquiry would have followed with questions as to why Seamus had to do the memory modifications and why professional Obliviators hadn't been called in. The old adage that says _loose lips sink ships_ couldn't be truer than in the magical world.

"Well isn't that grand," the waitress said, absently pouring out for the young couple. "What's yer specialty then?"

"Pediatrics," Fiona replied. "I just love kids. I'm also doin' veterinary studies on the side."

"Children 'n' pets—ya can't go wrong there, now, can ya," Moira smiled.

"No, ma'am," Fiona agreed, stealing a glance at a beaming Seamus.

"And what do you do, if ye don't mind me askin'," the waitress said to Seamus.

"I'm a policeman in London," Seamus replied. "I'm hopin' ta make detective." That was only a hair's breadth away from an outright lie. Aurors were actually more military than police and definitely more highly-trained and specialised than simple detectives. The fact that he held the new Auror rank of Lieutenant proved that.

"The Yard then," she asked with pursed lips.

"Um, no ma'am. Someday maybe," he replied, wishing Moira would let it all drop. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when a couple of New Year's revelers stumbled through the door, turning her attention to the new customers.

"Glory, that was close," Fiona gasped.

"Yer tellin' me," Seamus chuckled nervously. "She almost had us backed into a corner there for a bit."

"I was afraid ya'd have to modify her memory," Fiona whispered.

"Me too, and I really didn't wanna have to do that. The paperwork's murder," he said, buttering a scone. "Jam?"

"Yes, please," she replied, taking a sip of the tea Moira had poured for her. She smiled privately to herself because this darling, sweet man had split and buttered a scone for her and then asked if she wanted jam. To the casual observer, this might have appeared mildly cute or disgustingly sappy, but to Fiona, it was the most romantic thing he'd done for her to date—short of his ardent kisses.

Seamus and Fiona finished their tea just as the whistle calling the late shift to a close at the factory nearby. Wishing to avoid the hustle and bustle of boisterous workers, they paid their bill and bid Moira a fond good morning. They stepped out into the chilly Dublin pre-dawn and darted into a secluded alleyway to Disapparate, as Fiona needed to get some sleep before her shift at St Mungo's.

"Ya know I hate ta leave ya, Love," Seamus murmured into her hair just outside the wards at the Burrow. "This turned out far better than I ever expected."

"Oh," Fiona asked with a raised eyebrow. "How so?"

"I landed me the most beautiful Healer in Britain, for starters," he grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. "And I got ta spend an entire night with her." If the limited early-morning light would have allowed, Seamus would have seen his girlfriend's face turn bright pink, but the glow in her own blue eyes told him all he needed to know: she felt the same way. He leaned down to place a soft kiss on her lips and caress the smooth skin of her cheek.

"Much as I hate to, darlin'," Fiona began. "I really need ta git inside. I—"

"I know, Love. Ya got a shift at St Mungo's," he finished for her. "Come on, then. Let's get you inside." Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he escorted her to the door and reached to open it for her. Allowing her to precede him, he held it for her while she entered the kitchen. Just as they closed the door, they heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Aunt Molly," Fiona asked quietly. "You up?"

"Fiona, dear. Are you just getting in," Molly replied, still tying her robe closed. "Seamus, is that you?"

"Yes ma'am," Fiona replied. "We stopped fer tea at a little all-night diner. Seamus insisted upon escorting me to the door." She stole a glance at the man by her side and gave him a shy smile. "I was just going to say goodnight—or good morning—and head on up to bed."

"Did you have a good time," the older witch asked, making her way to the cooker to start a pot of coffee.

"We did," Fiona replied. "We danced all night! Seamus is a pretty good dancer."

Seamus blushed lightly at the praise and stuck his hands in his pockets. He'd had many compliments about his prowess in the sets, but for some reason, Fiona's approval meant more to him than anything.

"Seamus, you're awfully quiet," Molly smirked. "Kneazle got your tongue?"

"N-no, Molly. I'm just knackered. We both are. I was just going to say goodnight and head back to Hogsmeade," he replied, still feeling a bit bashful. "Fiona, I'll see ya at Hogwarts Monday night?"

"I'll be there," she smiled and then yawned. "Oh. 'Scuse me. I'm about ready ta drop."

Seamus pulled her to him as soon as Molly's back was turned and gave her another sweet kiss. "You're beautiful. 'Night."

"'Night, Seamus—and yer pretty cute, too," she giggled.

"Molly, it was good seein' ya. Say _hello_ ta the boss for me," he said, turning for the door. He didn't realise he was still holding fast to Fiona's hand and as he walked away, he reluctantly let it go. Fiona watched as he closed the door behind him and then stepped to the window to watch him as he ambled down the path to the gate. She breathed a sigh when he disappeared outside the wards.

"So…" Molly asked. "How'd it really go?"

Fiona plopped wearily dropped into a chair at the table and laid her head on her arms. "Aunt Molly, Seamus Finnegan is the sweetest man I have ever met in all my life. He did everything he could ta make me feel like I belonged."

"He does have that way about him. He's been friends with Ronnie and Harry since they started Hogwarts," Molly told her. "He just gets along with everyone, pretty much. The kids say that if there was a party, he was in the middle of it."

"I c'n believe that," the American witch replied. "The folks at the pub seemed to like him well enough. The owner knew him by name and said Seamus' folks used ta date there."

"You really like him, don't you," Molly guessed, placing a cup of hot coffee in front of her niece.

"Yeah, I do," she said, inhaling the rich aroma wafting from the cup. "There's just something—I don't know. I liked 'im the minute I laid eyes on 'im the first day o' school."

Molly smiled in her knowing way. She had an affinity for sensing perfect matches, including her own. She knew she would marry Arthur Weasley as soon as he introduced himself to her.

When Harry first arrived at the Burrow after her three youngest sons rescued him from Surrey, she knew Ginny had met her match with his first hello. Ron and Hermione were a study in frustration for the amateur matchmaker, though. Their constant bickering had her wondering if she'd lost her touch. But when it was all over, she had been right again—the level-headed Muggleborn witch was just what the Healer ordered for her hot-headed youngest son. In Seamus and Fiona, she thought she saw the makings of another romance.

"I can't imagine why," Molly giggled. "He's perfectly adorable, kind, funny, brave—and a fine Auror. Arthur, Harry, and Ron have nothing but praise for him."

"He's got reckless streak in 'im a mile wide, though," Fiona allowed. "He's got more scars on him than a battlefield. By rights, that last round he got in that mess in Ireland should-a done 'im in."

"He had a good pair of Healers working on him, dear. You and Poppy saved his life," Molly reminded her.

"We didn't do it alone, Aunt Molly," Fiona countered. "It took Miss Poppy and Professor Flitwick ta close the wounds while I smeared 'em with ointment. Without Professor Slughorn's blood-replenishin' potions, we'd've lost 'im fer sure." The memory of that awful night brought a sting to the Apprentice Healer's eyes as tears threatened to well. "He was so weak and hurtin'…"

"But he pulled through," Molly reminded her, patting her niece's hand. "And you had a wonderful date."

"He asked me to be his girl, Aunt Molly," she sniffed, blinking back the tears with a happier thought. "Right in that pub in front o' Danny McGourthy 'n' everybody. He asked me to be his girl!"

"And…?"

"I…I thought I wouldn't want another relationship after that disaster with Rupert, but—oh, Aunt Molly! I couldn't resist those eyes and that smile…and…"

"Good kisser, is he," Molly asked with a wink. At the sight of Fiona's blush, she laughed out loud. "Oh come on, Fiona Francine Prewett! If you two think for one minute I missed that kiss a few minutes ago, you're barking mad. I'm the mother of seven children and I don't miss much."

"In a word—fantastic," Fiona admitted with a bright smile. "I thought my heart was gonna fly right outta my chest."

"My dear, you are in love," Molly said, turning her attention to her own cup of coffee. "If he can get that kind of reaction from you with a kiss, he's got you."

"Well, to be honest, I rather enjoyed gettin' got," Fiona giggled. She finished her coffee and pushed away from the table. "And with that, I need to get some sleep. I have to be in at three and it's already—holy Hippogriffs! It's almost seven!"

"Don't worry, dear," Molly soothed. "It's nothing a little Pepper-up won't fix. You'll find a vial in the cabinet in the bathroom. Help yourself."

"Thanks, Aunt Molly. Would you mind waking me about one-thirty," she asked, dragging herself to the stairs.

"Certainly, dear. Have a good sleep," Molly said with a smile. She rather enjoyed having someone to mother these days.

Just then, Arthur appeared in the kitchen. "Is Fiona just getting in?"

"About an hour ago, actually," she replied, giving her husband a good-morning kiss. "She and Seamus had quite a night. They're an item."

"Was there any doubt," Arthur chuckled, taking his seat at the table. Since it was a holiday, there would be no morning edition of the Prophet and no need to rush out the door. "We're talking about Seamus Finnegan here."

"She's in love, Arthur," Molly said as she began to make breakfast. "I've never seen her so bright, even when she and George are acting up."

"What's not to love," Arthur asked with a smirk. "To hear the witches around the Ministry talk, Seamus Finnegan is—how do they say it—downright _cuddly_." The two of them burst into laughter as they shared a private breakfast. Molly regaled him with the events of the date second-hand while they ate and all but declared the Irish Auror and her niece man-and-wife.

Knowing his wife's penchant for pushing her matchmaking agenda, he kissed her on her temple and patted her hand. "Now, Mollywobbles—don't meddle. Just let it happen like you did with the kids."

"Arthur Weasley, I have no intention of _meddling_, as you call it. I have never meddled in our childrens' love lives," she retorted. "I've just _encouraged_ them a bit."

"Except for Fleur," Arthur snorted. "You didn't do much to encourage _that_. If memory serves, you did just about everything in your power to _dis_courage it."

"Well…I was just concerned about her motives," Molly admitted. "But after Billy's injury, she stood by him and that was all I needed. Now I have another sweet daughter and a beautiful grand-daughter."

"All right then, my beauty," Arthur chuckled, gazing into her chocolate-brown eyes. "Just don't encourage too much."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she murmured, her fingers crossed in her lap under the table.

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Monday morning brought the first work day of the new year for most Ministry workers, except for DMLE. Harry, Seamus, and Cho had taken turns throughout the holidays holding down the fort, as it were, but it was still up to Harry to check shift reports and sign off on them. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd turned to Ron's desk to ask his partner a question, only to find his chair empty and his desk annoyingly clear. _Hermione must've either cleaned it up or made him do it before they left_. With a sigh, he returned to his work, a job that would take him the better part of the day to complete.

The only real issues that affected DMLE over the holidays included disorderly conduct charges against revellers, some minor vandalism in Diagon Alley that found magical graffiti smeared across a few storefronts that was easily removed with a few _Tergeo_ and _Scourgify_ charms applied by the shop owners once the complaints had been lodged. There wasn't much to be done about it, but Harry thought he might speak with his staff about educating Hogwarts student against violence and vandalism in the community. It wasn't that Harry thought students had perpetrated the crimes in Diagon Alley, as Madame Hopkirk hadn't sent him any underage magic reports, but educating students against irresponsible behaviour couldn't hurt.

Harry truly wanted to finish his pile of reports in order to organize his people—including Troopers—to supervise Platform 9 ¾ in the morning, as the spring term was set to begin the next day. Fiona and Seamus had already been assigned train duty, but he thought he might put Bonesy, Terry, and Tony in charge of a few teams of three Troopers each to organize the boarding and then send them to Hogsmeade Station to meet the train and direct the carriage parade to the castle. By the end of the day, he wanted nothing more than a long bath and a night of cuddling with his wife.

But there would be no cuddling, because earlier that morning, he had escorted Ginny to Harpies Stadium in Holyhead. They had been off for more than two weeks for the holidays, so they needed to really buckle down and work hard in order to be on their best game for their match against the Falmouth Falcons the following Sunday afternoon.

Like the Montrose Magpies, the Falcons were a tough mostly-male team whose language was reputed to be rough enough to embarrass the most-seasoned sailor. As a result, they were known around the league as the Foulmouth Falcons and Gwenog Jones had no use for them at all. In fact, if she were to have her way, her Harpies would clip the Falcons' wings mid-air and then pluck them like so many chickens. Harry decided that he would make it a point to attend that game, and plant the rest of the family in a top box if he had to purchase it himself. _Not a bad idea, Potter_.

Before he left for the day, he took a detour to his father-in-law's office to drop off his copies of the reports. He jogged all the way as the corridors were almost empty. He skidded to a stop and rapped on the door that read A. WEASLEY Head Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Come," Arthur's voice called from the other side.

When Harry stepped inside, he found Arthur just clearing away and filing the last of his own paperwork. "Hi, Dad. I've got our reports for the last week. Sorry it took so long."

"Not at all, Son," Arthur replied, reaching for the file folder Harry held out. "The holidays have us all in a bit of a lurch. But not to worry. Ron and Hermione should be home Saturday afternoon and we'll be back to normal in no time."

"So…you about ready to leave, then," Harry asked, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"I am," Arthur replied. "Harry, are you all right, Son?" The two men left the office, sealed the door, and made for the lifts. Harry tended to use the stairs most of the time, but since he was with his father-in-law, he resigned himself to the lifts and the syrupy-sweet disembodied voice that announced the blatantly obvious _ad nauseam_.

"Who? Me? I'm all right," Harry lied. "Just a bit knackered."

"Missing her already, aren't you," Arthur surmised. He had known his son-in-law long enough to know his moods. He pressed the call button and listened as the rickety old lift car began its descent from the Atrium Level.

"Yeah, but that's not it," Harry admitted. "It's this upcoming match against Falmouth. I can't help but think about that fiasco at Montrose. The Falcons are a rough lot."

"Yes, I've heard the boys go on about them for years, but honestly Harry, Ginny's in good hands. Since Montrose, the Harpies have upped security around the team—" The lift car arrived and the gate rattled open to admit them. The two men were so caught up in their conversation, they didn't even hear the voice.

"I know, Dad," Harry interrupted. "I just…I'm going to the game, Dad, and I'd like it if the family went too. It's not that I don't trust Harpies Security, I just feel like I need to be there for her."

"I understand, Son, but you do realise we'll have to buy a box," Arthur asked. "It might not be easy and it certainly won't be cheap."

"That's hardly an issue, Dad. Besides, there isn't a sports promoter alive who wouldn't bend over backward to have The Boy-Who-Lived on hand at their venue," Harry said with a smirk. "Besides, in their place, would you tell the Head Auror he couldn't have a top box he was willing to pay top Galleon for?"

The lift bumped to a stop with the disembodied voice blathering on about the virtues of the Atrium Level. Harry held the gate open for Arthur and then followed him out of the car. "I suppose, Harry, but are you sure you're not just being over-protective?"

"Of course I'm being over-protective," Harry laughed. "I'm a devoted husband and a ruddy cop. Ginny's a celebrity in her own right, and her marriage with me just intensifies the issue. Ron's just as obsessive over Hermione—he's just not as vocal about it."

"Well, whatever the case," Arthur said, derailing a possible rant. "If you can get the box, we'll be there." Just before they reached the Apparition Point, Arthur stopped and grasped Harry's shoulder. "What are you doing for supper tonight?"

"Um…well, I was just going to have a soak, whip up a couple of sandwiches and a pint, and turn in. Why," Harry replied.

"No way, Son. You're having a good meal tonight. It's Fiona's last night home and she's cooking. I don't know what, but I'm sure it'll be wonderful," the older wizard commanded with a grin. "That's an order, Auror."

"Yes, sir," Harry grinned just as widely. "Supper at the Burrow, sir." With that, they disappeared with a couple of soft pops and reappeared outside the wards at the Burrow.

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Bright and early Tuesday morning, Harry and Fiona Apparated to King's Cross Station. Harry watched the crowds hurry along the concourses to waiting trains, mobile phones pressed to their ears, buns and disposable cups of coffee and tea in hand. _Packed with Muggles, of course…_

"Harry? Earth ta Harry," Fiona said, waving her hand in front of her cousin's husband's face.

"What? Oh, sorry, Onie. I was just thinking," Harry said with a start. "This is the very spot I met the Weasleys my first day to Hogwarts. I didn't have a clue where I was supposed to go or what to do when I got there."

"I saw some of Aunt Molly's pictures. You were so cute," Fiona giggled. "What happened?"

"Shut it, you," Harry snorted and gave her a playful shove. "Come on. Let's get you aboard. I'm sure Lieutenant Finnegan is having kittens waiting for you."

"Oh is that so? And what do you know about that," Fiona asked with a mock-Irish accent.

"I know Seamus. He's been on about you for months," Harry snorted. "And don't think I don't know about that date. Ginny told me all about your nerves and how he was all gobsmacked when he got a look at you. Not to mention the way he drooled all over himself at Thanksgiving every time he looked at you."

Fiona blushed scarlet. "Well…that's as much as you know," she sputtered. "He was a complete gentleman the other night." _A complete gentleman with the lips of a god_.

"Good," Harry said forcibly. "Anything else and I'd tan his hide and hang on the wall at Ionúin Bhaille."

"You'd do no such thing, Harry Potter," Fiona laughed. "I'd beatcha to it!" Harry offered her his arm and together they stepped through the wall to the bustling platform, while the shining scarlet-and-black Hogwarts Express steamed on her track.

"Harry! Onie," a chorus of voices chimed through the crowd. "Over here!" Harry and Fiona craned their necks to find the source of the calls. Finally, the crowds parted enough to admit the breathless forms of four twelve-year-old girls and an equally breathless twelve-year-old boy.

"Mister 'Arry, 'ow are ya," Joseph cried, pumping Harry's hand for all he was worth.

"I'm good, Joseph," Harry replied, withdrawing his hand, hoping his shoulder hadn't been dislocated. "I hear you lot are ploughing through the Quidditch competition."

"We are," Emma interjected. "Joseph and Jimmy are simply brilliant Beaters!"

"Creevey's a good captain then," Harry asked.

"The best," Erica added.

"And in more ways than one," Patricia said. "He's a real leader on and off the pitch. A lot of our House look up to him."

"Onie, are you and Mr Finnegan riding the train with us again," Patricia asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Fiona smiled. "And speak of the devil…"

"G'mornin', you lot," Seamus barked as he pushed through the crowds. "Harry, the teams are in place and there's been no trouble so far. I've had me eyes on them 'Puffs, but they haven't made so much as a peep as yet."

"Excellent. Listen, I want you to pull two Troopers from each team and station one in each car," Harry said decisively. "Then I want you to patrol with Miss Bradford and Mr Townsend every ninety minutes. I want the House Prefects to introduce themselves to the Troopers and report any and all inappropriate behaviour, I don't care how trivial."

The second-years listened attentively with wide eyes as Harry gave his orders. Patricia acquired a steely glint in her eyes similar to the one Hermione used to get when her mental gears began to turn as she puzzled out a new mystery. Harry had all he could do to keep from bursting into laughter. "Relax, Mini-mione," he chuckled. "There's nothing going on."

"Come on, Pats," Erica giggled, taking her friend's arm. "Let's get aboard and find a compartment before they're all full. "I don't fancy being crammed in with a load of firsties."

With waves and calls of "say hi to Ginny, Ron, and Hermione," the Munchkins made their way to the end coach Harry's group used to occupy. "Well," Harry said. "It looks like you've got it all under control, Irish. I'll just head off to the office. If anything goes pear-shaped, you know the drill."

"Right. Patronus," the Irishman winked. Harry kissed Fiona's cheek and disappeared back through the barrier into Muggle London.

"Miss Prewett, may I escort you aboard," Seamus asked, bowing slightly and kissing her hand.

"Why Mistuh Finnegan, Ah'd be honuhed, suh," Fiona replied, staring into his clear blue eyes. She leaned closer and promised a nice snog in her quarters after the Welcoming Feast later that night. Looping her arm through his, she allowed him to lead her to the front car to the newly-designated First Aid compartment.

The journey to Hogsmeade went off without a hitch. The aggressive Hufflepuffs kept to themselves, mostly because of the strong law-enforcement presence on the train and because they didn't fancy finding themselves guests of the Ministry. Moreover, they'd been all but ostracised by their own Housemates as well as most of the rest of the student body as a result of their idiocy.

Since Jessica Spinnet was a Gryffindor Prefect, Dennis insisted upon accompanying her on patrols, citing his position as Quidditch Captain practically made him a Prefect as well. Since the tale of his daring rescue of his girlfriend that awful Halloween night had circulated—albeit with a few embellishments—no one argued the point. After all, it was what Harry Potter would have done.

Upon arrival in Hogsmeade, the Troopers left the train and stationed themselves along the platform, herding the students into the Thestral-drawn carriages and then walking the cars casting _Finite_ every couple of metres to make sure no student had been hexed and left under some form of disillusionment or had fallen asleep and not awakened. Once the all-clear was given, the last carriages pulled away to make for the castle and the Hogwarts Express steamed away to her protected side-track a few kilometres outside the village.

After supper, Seamus left the Great Hall to walk the castle and check the wards. Fiona left a few minutes afterwards, citing fatigue and a desire to turn in early. While Seamus performed his evening duty, Fiona unpacked her bag and tidied up her quarters. She'd just taken her hair down and changed into a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt when a soft knock came upon her door. With an excited grin, she crossed the room and unlocked it to let her guest in. When she opened the door, Mr Deeds swooped through followed by her Auror.

"Hullo, darlin'," he greeted her huskily. With a soft moan, Fiona fell into his waiting arms and firmly attached her lips to his. He kicked the door closed and sealed and locked it with a wave of his wand. "_Muffliato_."

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Tuesday morning breakfast brought the first wave of owl post for the term. Dozens of owls of all shapes, sizes, and species filled the air, dropping pin feathers and forgotten items onto and in front of the students seated below.

"Murray!" Patricia's owl swooped in and landed beside her plate with a note in his beak and a little package tied to his left leg. "What's this? Have I forgotten something?" She set to relieving her pet of his burden, pouring a bit of pumpkin juice into a dish and offering him a few bits of sausage from her plate.

"What? Patricia Templeton has forgotten something," Erica asked snarkily. "Inconceivable!"

Patricia scrunched her nose at her friend and proceeded to tear open the note.

"_Dear Pattycake:_

_I forgot to pack this for you. Your father found it on the side-board when we returned from London yesterday. Hope you had a safe trip. Write soon._

_Love,_

_Mum"_

"Well, what is it then, Pats," Joseph asked curiously. "A bottle of ink, maybe?"

"Nope," she snickered, tearing open the package. "I know what it is. It's my gorgeous, wonderful MARMITE!" Patricia proudly held up the little roundish jar for all to see. Her tablemates' faces turned an impressive shade of green as she turned the lid and popped the seal.

"Bloody hell, that's disgusting," Demelza groaned, dropping her fork. "It looks like…like…Dragon dung."

"Tastes like it too," Jimmy snickered. "Why would anyone want to—Merlin, Templeton! Must you?"

She finished slathering a layer of the dark brown paste on her toast and bit into it with relish. "Ah…pure ambrosia!"

Moments later, another owl flew to their table and deposited a much larger package in front of Emma and Erica. "It's from George Weasley," Erica said. "Open it up, Em. I wonder what treasure he's sent us this time."

The older team members looked on as Emma tore through the wrappings to find what appeared to be a box of sweets. "What has he come up with now," Dennis asked. "More goodies for the Skiving Snackboxes?"

Attached to the box was a little note:

"_To My Favourite Gryffs:_

_Contained herein is a truly delectable treat with a rather musical side-effect. Just leave this box of fudge out in the common room, kick back, and watch the show. Just be sure to keep your distance._

_GGW"_

"Fudge, eh," Dennis grinned evilly. "I wonder what it does."

"I guess we'll find out tomorrow afternoon," Erica declared. "We'll set it out on the Hufflepuff table where Stiles and his lot usually sit."

"Another test product, then," Patricia said. "Excellent."

What the Gryffindors didn't realise was that someone was listening and had a few plans of his own for that box of fudge and it didn't involve the Hufflepuff table or any other table in the Great Hall. With an uncharacteristically quiet cackle, a certain Poltergeist would make his move as soon as those pesky Gryffies' backs were turned.

Soon it was time for the students to report to their first-period classes. The Munchkins followed the rest of the team out the towering oak and iron doors of the Great Hall and were halfway up the stairs when Erica remembered that she'd left the box of fudge on the table. "You lot go on ahead. I'll meet you in the dungeons in a few minutes. I have to run back to the table quick."

"Okay, Rica," Patricia replied. "I'll save you a seat."

"Great, thanks," the girl called as she rushed back toward the Entrance Hall. Ten minutes later, she arrived in the Potions classroom, panting for breath with a horrified look in her eyes.

"Erica, what happened? Did someone try to—"

"No, no! The box! I'd forgotten to put it in my bag," she hissed. "When I went back for it, it was gone!"

"Cricket," Patricia moaned. "We're in for it, now. Okay…don't panic. Was the note with it?"

"No, I've got that right here. It was just the fudge," Erica said, waving the letter. Just then, Professor Slughorn called the class to order and took the roll, followed by a lecture about Calming Draughts, thereby calling a halt to any further discussion about the missing box of fudge.

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Head Auror Harry Potter and his Third-In-Command, Seamus Finnegan stepped into Kingsley Shacklebolt's inner office. Seamus felt a bit awkward about the meeting since he didn't know the Minister that well, although he had the utmost respect for the man as an Auror, warrior, and statesman. The Minister for Magic welcomed them warmly and invited them to sit down. Conjuring a full tea-service, he made himself comfortable.

"So, you had an idea to improve team spirit here at the Ministry," Kingsley asked, already knowing the basic gist of the thing.

Harry nodded approvingly at Seamus, giving him the go-ahead to present the plan. "Well, we thought of an inter-departmental duelling tournament, sir," Harry explained.

Kingsley had already been intrigued with the basic plan, but still held a few reservations, having given the concept a modicum of thought. "I like the idea, but how do we go about it without your Aurors beating the snot out of everyone else? You're by far the best fighters the Ministry has seen in decades, you practice individual and team fighting almost every day, and many of you participated in the most-intense battles of the war. Even the Hit-wizards wouldn't stand a chance," Kingsley explained guardedly.

Harry paused a moment to measure his words carefully. This meeting could make or break the whole affair. "There are many skilled duellists outside the Auror Office, sir. We can set the rules to make it a fair tournament. We can limit the spells to _Expelliarmus_ and _Protego_ _only_ in the first rounds. That way, the powerful spells we've trained hard to master won't be an advantage, but basic wand skills, ability to move, and tactical sense will be the deciding factors," he explained.

"And as the tournament progresses, we can allow more and more advanced spells until the final rounds, which will allow any and all non-harmful spells," Seamus added, feeling rather relaxed at this point.

"And we can also offer open practices in the Aurors' Training Facility during certain hours for anyone to come and practice," Harry suggested. "When we arrive at a crime scene, there are usually others involved, and it'd be good for us to practice against someone other than one another."

Kingsley considered what he'd been told carefully. Certainly a tournament could create a better team spirit in the Ministry, but could it create hostility? "You'd have to send out an invitation to this tournament, Harry. Go ahead and draft it along with a list of rules and skill requirements. Send it to me and I'll present it at the next staff meeting. If the Department Heads approve of it, we'll do it. Even though I can order this tournament unilaterally, I'd rather not. The previous three-and-a-half administrations have taught us that autonomic rule doesn't work; therefore, I'd like support of the Heads."

"Of course, Kingsley. I…we…want this to be fun," Harry replied. The three of them, having established the conditions, finished their tea and caught up on the latest news and gossip around the Ministry. Once they'd drained the pot and left nothing but crumbs where there had once been shortbread biscuits, Harry and Seamus took their leave with handshakes all around.

Stepping out of Kingsley's office, Harry felt rather good about the meeting. "Well Irish, I think there'll be a tournament. DMLE's all for it, according to Dad."

"Me too, it's a great idea, and what's the alternative? Quidditch," Seamus asked with a smirk.

"That could only be mental and end in disaster," Harry agreed. "With good rules, a duelling tournament can be relatively safe, but Quidditch would be dangerous, even astride Hogwarts' old and slow Comets."

"And the other alternatives would be an Exploding Snap or Gobstones tournament," Seamus snickered. I c'n see the headlines now: _Potter's Aurors Dominate Tournament—Ministry Gobstoned_.

"Or Wizarding Chess," Harry suggested.

"His Redness would love that," Seamus replied. "The whole tournament would last ten minutes as Ron wiped the board with the lot of them."

"Duels'll be more fun to watch," Harry said. "Besides, it'll give us all a chance to really flex our fighting muscles. It'll also give the Wizarding public a chance to see their taxes at work." Seamus nodded in agreement.

Walking toward the lift bank, their hearts sank as they saw the doors open, revealing Undersecretary Alastor Gumboil as he stepped out. "Bloody hell, look who's back," Seamus hissed. "It's got ta be the first day back for him. Can't say I've missed the arrogant sod."

Harry remembered their last encounter during the aftermath in Antrim. "I wonder what he's been up to. It's been a calm December. Did he learn his lesson in Ireland?"

"Dunno, Harry," Seamus replied darkly. "He doesn't strike me as the kind o' bloke who gives up easy. Maybe he's come up with a new strategy." Internally, Harry shuddered. If Gumboil were to take his operation underground, that could put Hermione at risk again and invariably lead to more violence.

Gumboil had been walking toward them and was now only a few steps away. He looked cheerful and rested. "Head Auror Potter and Lieutenant Auror Finnegan, how do you do," Gumboil greeted them.

"Fine thank you, Mr Undersecretary," Harry replied politely, if not coolly, but Seamus only nodded as they passed. Forgoing the waiting car, the two Aurors opted for the stairs and began to jog up the flights to Level Two.

"He seemed a bit too cheerful to me," Harry said between measured breaths.

"Aye, mate. A cheerful Gumboil is a cause fer concern," Seamus agreed.

"Have you heard anything from ELF lately," Harry asked. "I mean, over the hols?"

"Nothin'," Seamus said. "It's been quiet as a midnight Mass, as me ol' da used ta say."

"I thought you said you didn't subscribe to any religion," Harry snorted.

"I don't, but ta keep up appearances fer the Finnegans, I had ta take First Communion, go ta Catholic school before Hogwarts, and serve as a ruddy altar boy durin' the summer holidays," Seamus admitted with obvious distaste. "The teachin' nuns played hell on the fingers with their bloody rulers! And don't get me started on what happened if ya got sent ta the principal's office."

Harry might have laughed if his own Primary School experience hadn't been so lonely and fraught with stern and unkind teachers, thanks to the Dursleys. Instead, he just let the subject drop. "Well, with the git back on the job, I'm guessing you should hear something soon. How about a round in the training room before we attack some more paperwork? I'm itching to tear up a certain graveyard."

"Aye, you're on, mate," Seamus agreed as they burst through the stairway doors and sprinted toward the Auror offices. "I love the smell o' broken granite in the mornin'!"

Alastor Gumboil reported immediately to Kingsley's secretary and sat down to wait for the Minister's convenience. After scarcely a few minutes, the door opened and Gumboil entered. He felt a bit awkward about facing Kingsley after their last confrontation. Gumboil had made a serious error in judgement that cost the life of one of his own men and a couple of others, including an innocent tart of a barmaid.

"Alastor," Kingsley greeted him with a voice that gave no hint as to how he felt about having Gumboil back on staff. In truth, Kingsley hoped that Gumboil had learned a lesson after the Antrim disaster. After all, Alastor Gumboil was a highly-experienced law enforcement officer with a fine record and a strong voice that asked relevant questions.

"Minister," Gumboil replied. "Since I've been on a rather long holiday, I'd appreciate any directives you may have for me."

Gumboil had never been one to beat around the bush. Forthrightness and a straight-to-the-point attitude were traits Kingsley appreciated, as did most people in DMLE. Kingsley wanted to assign Gumboil a task that was certainly an important one, but not too sensitive in nature. He needed to show trust, but at the same time he didn't want to risk any trouble.

"Alastor, I lack a real connection to field work these days. Despite being a former Auror I'm not allowed to participate in the field, due to Ministry regulations concerning the safety of the Minister, as you are well-aware," Kingsley began. "I'd like you to join the Squads, Hit-wizards, and the Aurors in the field as an _observer_. I want you to report anything significant, good and bad, in their performance."

Alastor realised this was Kingsley's way of testing him. As an observer, he wouldn't be allowed to take any part in the operations, and he held no authority. On the other hand, it was an important and prestigious position as the Minister's eyes and ears in the field. In all honesty, he had feared a desk job shuffling parchments like that limp-wristed simp, Percy Weasley.

"Certainly, Minister," Gumboil agreed, shifting in his chair. "Anything else I should know?"

"Send all reports to me, with a copy to Arthur Weasley," Kingsley added. "Once you're finished, the three of us will sit down and evaluate the standards of the DMLE and find out if there's room for much improvement."

Gumboil considered his next move carefully. "I do have one suggestion already," he said.

"I'm listening."

"We need an Auror Training Programme this autumn, sir," the older wizard said solemnly.

With this suggestion, Gumboil hoped to show Kingsley he held no grudge against the Aurors, or even Harry Potter, although the boy had given him a rather snarly dressing-down after the Antrim affair.

"I've given that a lot of thought, now that you mention it. I've been most pleased with the results of Potter's Hogwarts class. Their performance has been outstanding so far," Kingsley agreed. "Schedule an appointment with Chief Potter and Auror Weasley as soon as he returns from his honeymoon to find out if they're ready to take on Apprentices."

Gumboil nodded. "Anything else, sir," he asked Kingsley, working very hard to hide his displeasure at the very mention of the name of the undeserving red-haired oaf who'd managed to ensnare the most-amazing witch in the world.

"Not at the moment," Kingsley said. "You're dismissed, Alastor. Good day to you."

"Good day, sir…and thank you," he said, taking his leave. Gumboil left Kingsley's office feeling rather good about his first day back at work. His role as an observer would allow him to move around freely, which suited him just fine. Having the Aurors busy preparing for a new Training Programme would demand a lot of their attention, which actually suited him even finer. As he headed for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a plan began to take shape in his mind, a plan that would bring Wizarding Britain closer to equality and spell the end of Pureblood tyranny forever.

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On Thursday morning, Fiona and Madame Pomfrey met together to form a plan for the second term of the school year, which included a complete inventory of all equipment, linens, and potions, and a complete re-working of the hundreds of files that threatened to burst from Poppy's old walnut filing cabinets.

"All right, Fiona," Poppy said, checking her watch. "I'm going for a tea break. I'll be back in about half an hour, then you can take yours. Meanwhile, I want you to go through those potions cabinets and inventory it. Be sure to check the dates on each vial. Dispose of anything that's out-of-date or close to it, writing down what's there and usable and what you've discarded. Make two copies—one for our records and one for Professor Slughorn. He and his Potions Club should be able to replenish our stores."

"Will do, Miss Poppy," Fiona smiled, and set to work on the tall white cabinet.

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"I'm gonna _kill_ that cousin o' mine," Fiona snarled as she stormed out the castle doors. "He is so friggin' dead when I get my hands on him!" As soon as she reached the gates and left the wards, she Apparated straight to George's shop in Hogsmeade at full-boil.

"Cousin Georgie, honey," Fiona called, as she slipped through the door.

Angelina greeted her with a smile and a wave. "George! Your cousin is here calling you _honey,_" she called. "Fiona, it's good to see you."

"You too, Angie. Didn't know you were here," Fiona replied.

"I'm helping George with the after-Christmas re-stocking. We're planning a special sale for the first Hogsmeade weekend."

George appeared at the foot of the stairs, rubbing his hands together. "Cousin Onie, good to see you," he called, leaning down to give her a kiss.

"George," Fiona said seriously. "I have a suggestion for that sale o' yers. Don't include _these!_"

She placed a few pieces of fudge on the counter and glared at him. George looked inquisitively at Fiona and Angelina made an attempt to give her boyfriend a stern look.

"What have you done now, George Gideon Weasley," Angelina asked with a glare of her own.

"Nothing at all, except for sending some fudge to some trusted associates at Hogwarts for a field test. They're perfectly safe. I've already tested them on myself."

"George," Angelina urged.

George gave Angelina a look with his best puppy eyes. "You see Love, that's Farting Fudge. Causes the victim to fart, and give of a random smell, and may I point out that many of them are pleasant ones?"

"And you never told me about this," she asked, annoyed.

"I couldn't test Farting Fudge on my girlfriend, could I? I planned on telling you once they were ready to sell." George excused himself and turned to Fiona "I take it they're working."

"Oh, they're working all right," Fiona confirmed. "But how do you _stop_ them from working?"

George's eyebrows raised in surprise. "After a few minutes, the effect wears off."

"I take it you tried them freshly-made. Could the effect be prolonged if they're a few days old?"

George thought about it. "It shouldn't, but you never know, right? That's why I haven't started selling them yet."

"Fiona, what happened," Angelina asked, dreading the answer.

"Unfortunately, it's _still_ happening, and that's why I'm _here,_" Fiona reported gravely.

"All right, Fiona. Tell us," George sighed, bracing himself for the worst.

_Fiona had nearly finished inventorying the potions cabinet and wondered why Poppy hadn't returned. Fiona was craving a cuppa, hoping that parts of the breakfast club might still be in the staff room for afternoon tea. But Poppy was fifteen minutes late, which was very uncharacteristic of her_

_Her thoughts were interrupted by a fifth-year Ravenclaw. _"_Finally! An adult," she sighed in relief._

"_What do you mean finally," Fiona asked._

"_Well, we're supposed to have Defence Against the Dark Arts now, but Professor Watson is nowhere to be found. And when I left to report this, I learned that no other professor is in their classroom either. You're the only staff member I've been able to find."_

_Fiona had become accustomed to strange happenings around the castle, but the entire staff disappearing into thin air would be abnormal even by Hogwarts standards. _"_Did you try the staff room or Professor McGonagalls's office?"_

"_Of course, but there's no answer. I even went to Mr Filch's office, but it's locked up too. Well, Professor Binns was in his classroom, giving a lecture despite the fact that no one was there. I didn't even bother."_

"_You're a fifth-year Prefect," Fiona said noticing the badge. "Please find Mr Townsend and Miss Bradford 'n' tell 'em I said ta gather the students in the Great Hall. Do a head-count and see if anyone's missin'. Meanwhile, I'm gonna check the staff room and the headmistress' office. I'll meet y'all in the Great Hall as soon as possible."_

_The Ravenclaw sped off to carry out her task, while Fiona ran to the Floo. _"_Seamus Finnegan's room!"_

_Sticking her head into the flames, she found the Irishman at his desk writing a report. He turned his attention to his fireplace when he heard the flames erupt. _"_Fiona Love, to what do I owe this unexpected but pleasant call?"_

"_Seamus, a Prefect's reported that I seem to be the only staff member in the school. I'm off ta check the staff room and Professor McGonagall's office. I told the Prefects and the Head Boy and Girl to gather the students in the Great Hall 'n' do a head-count," she reported. "I got no idea what's goin' on, and I hoped that you 'n' Harry or Susie or one of the others might-could drop in. I sure could use your support."_

"_Of course, Love. I'll be there, and…" Seamus looked at the duty roster "Harry's on Hogwarts stand-by today. Just sit tight 'n' don't panic."_

_Fiona relaxed a little—Seamus and Harry were coming and it was going to be all right. No matter what was going on, it was a great relief knowing they were on their way. _"_Thanks, Seamus. I'll meetcha'll in the Great Hall directly. You can start calmin' down the students if I'm not there yet."_

"_We're on it. Don't worry," Seamus promised._

_Fiona sprinted though the deserted corridors toward the staff room. Upon arrival, she yanked opened the door. A very strange and undefined smell exploded in her sinuses. There was also a cacophony of odd noises, rather like a choir of bullfrogs all singing different tunes at one time. Fiona pulled her wand and stepped in cautiously._

_The scene was a surprise, to say the least. The entirety of the missing Hogwarts staff was crowded inside, but they all had cast Bubblehead charms on themselves, which eerily magnified and distorted their heads. Well, all but Mr Filch and Hagrid, that is, but the Squib was the one who seemed to be the most upset about the situation. As a matter of preference, Fiona approached Hagrid._

"_Fiona," Hagrid greeted her through the strange noises Fiona realised were coming from the staff themselves, and that the sounds were in fact uncontrolled farting in every way imaginable._

"_Hagrid, what the hell is happenin' here? Are the staff farting?"_

"_Uh, yeah, I reckon so," the big man replied in embarrassment._

"_What's causing it," Fiona asked. "Did y'all have a bean lunch or somethin'?"_

"_No, it was just afternoon tea. Everybody was here except you. Poppy was about to tell you to post a note on the hospital wing door in case of emergency so you could join us. And then all of this started," Professor Vector reported._

_Professor Sinistra added her bit as well. _"_First Poppy, Minerva, Rupert, Horace and Filius, tried to cooperate in order to analyse what and break the spell, but with increasing smell. Despite Bubblehead charms, they've begun arguing about who's branch of magic is the best to handle situations like this one."_

_Fiona glanced over at the aforementioned group that was still arguing, with McGonagall trying to take charge and turn it into a constructive debate focusing on solving the situation at hand._

"_We believe it's the fudge," Professor Vector said. "At first, nothing happened, but after a few minutes, once we'd each tried one or two, and just as Poppy was about to call for you…"_

"_Nuthin's worked to stop them ruddy farts," Hagrid growled._

_Fiona looked at the fudge. This was, no pun intended, stinking of her mischievous cousin. _"_I think I have an idea," Fiona said, pursing her lips. "George Weasley." The professors looked at Fiona and then at each other and nodded in agreement._

_Fiona approached Professor McGonagall in order to report to her before contacting George._

"_... I find this an amazing piece of magic and we should identify the charms at work in order to find out which ones are interfering, and causing this dilemma," Professor Flitwick argued with a surprisingly cheerful expression._

"_Codswallop, Filus" Professor Slughorn snorted. "We need to dissolve the fudge and see what magical ingredients were used to create them in the first place."_

"_You are so naïve, all of you." Professor Watson sneered. "It's obvious we need a curse breaker."_

"_Gentlewizards," Poppy interjected. "If you'd come along to the hospital wing, I'm sure I can sort this out. I simply don't have the facilities here to do a proper job with only my wand."_

"_I bloody well won't go through the corridors in this state," Professor McGonagall declared sternly as a fart trumpeted like a soprano elephant. "I simply won't give the students behind this the pleasure of witnessing that. Pardon me."_

_Fiona tapped Professor McGonagall's shoulder. _"_Miss Minerva?"_

"_Yes, what is it," she asked sharply._

"_Um… I've got the Head Boy and Girl herdin' the students to the Great Hall. Aurors Finnegan and Potter should be along directly."_

"_Aurors? You've brought in Aurors," Professor Watson asked aghast._

"_I cain't handle all the students on my own, but maybe you'd be willin' t'assist, despite yer current state," Fiona snapped._

"_No, no. You're probably doing the right thing," he said, backing down from her glare._

"_Miss Minerva, I suspect dear Cousin George is behind this. I'd like ta bring him in 'n' see if he c'n undo this."_

"_Ah, of course! There's definitely a Weasley touch to this. George, and Fred bless him, certainly has a way with magic," Filius said nostalgically. "Why, I remember back in '96…"_

"_I don't care about the touch," snarled Mr Filch. "I care about this ruddy smell and demand that spawn of Hell be expelled. It's them ruddy Gryffindor brats! And could someone please cast that charm on me so I won't be gassed to death?"_

"_Argus, it can only be cast on oneself," professor Flitwick explained. "And we don't know who placed this here, but it certainly wasn't students. They can't come in here."_

"_I can Transfigure you into Flobberworm, since they don't have a sense of smell at all," Professor McGonagall offered._

"_No thank you, Headmistress," the caretaker mumbled. "I've smelled worse."_

"_You go and fetch George," Professor McGonagall told Fiona. "And quickly!"_

George and Angelina stood with their jaws dropped as Fiona finished her tale. "So the collective staff of Hogwarts are farting in the staff room while Aurors are keeping the students in line in the Great Hall," Angelina asked. "And no, I don't find this amusing at all, George."

George paled and gulped deeply. "I hope I can figure out what went wrong with the fudge," he gasped. "Any idea how it ended up in the staff room?"

"How did it end up at Hogwarts in the first place," Fiona countered.

"Um, I have a few associates there," George admitted.

"Our dear Munchkins, I take it," Fiona assumed.

"But they would never..." George started.

"No. My guess is that Peeves overheard them and sneaked the fudge into the staff room. This is his kind of chaos," Angelina surmised. "George, go with your cousin and fix this. Farting Fudge, brilliant idea, but it should have been introduced while Cornelius Fudge was Minister," she said.

That was all it took for the three of them to allow themselves a laugh before they collected themselves and Fiona left with George, his ear painfully pinched between her left thumb and curled forefinger.

It was a worried George Weasley who Flooed to Fiona's room and then followed her to the Great Hall. "Didn't you say they were in the staff room," George asked.

"Yeah, but I have the students packed in the Great Hall under Auror guard," Fiona said. "Your little prank backfired royally."

George nodded. He'd tried them himself to make sure they worked properly. _Bugger, I should have thought of letting them age for a week or two, before sending them to the Gryffs. _"I brought all my notes with the research I did, so along with Professor Slughorn and Madame Pomfrey we should be able to crack this, right?"

"I sure hope so for your sake, Georgie," Fiona intoned.

They entered the Great Hall and Harry approached them. "_Muffliato_. So what's happening," Harry asked.

Fiona updated Harry, who looked rather amused. "We're going to the staff room right now."

"All right. I'll update the students and release the students to their respective I'll station Troopers in the Great Hall until the staff returns," Harry assured her.

"Don't give them any details," Fiona urged.

"Bloody hell, no." Harry laughed. "I don't want to be challenged to a duel by the very witches and wizards who trained _me_."

"I could use your help, Harry, because they will most certainly challenge me," George said.

George and Fiona left the Great Hall and headed to the staff room. The air was thick with the various smells. "You see, I borrowed the idea from Bertie Bott's and created a wide range of smells," George explained. "And an equally wide range of farts."

Some of the staff expelled gas like a Muggle machine gun with different smells every time; others expelled occasional roars, honks, and other sounds. A rather flushed George Weasley faced a stern Minerva McGonagall, who despite her state, managed to look as frightening as she'd been when George had been a student at Hogwarts.

"Mr Weasley." she greeted with her thick Scottish brogue that always became prominent when she was angry.

"Professor," George said nervously. "I…I have my notes on the fudge right here. I'd like to let Professor Slughorn, Madame Pomfrey and possibly Professor Flitwick have a look at them. Hopefully they can figure out what caused this. They're supposed to last only for a few minutes."

"Proceed, Mr Weasley," the formidable headmistress allowed.

George cast a Bubblehead charm and cleared a table while Fiona fetched Professors Flitwick and Slughorn and Madame Pomfrey. "_Geminio,_" George said, handing out copies of his notes to the others. "I think some of the magical ingredients may interfere with the fudge itself, or possibly the time factor changed when the fudge cooled."

"You regulate the time with a charm then," Flitwick asked.

"Yes, the farting potion itself needs to be charmed before it's added into the fudge, and then it's chilled."

"That could certainly have side effects," Slughorn agreed.

"But I tried them myself when they were freshly-made. They worked perfectly, wearing off after a few minutes."

The professors and the Healer thought for a few minutes. "So, having the farting potion heated up and chilled prompts a reaction with the fudge that changes how long the effects last," Madame Pomfrey asked for clarification.

"Then all we need to do is extract every magical component in the fudge, compare it to Mr Weasley's list of original ingredients, and whatever's left is what causes the prolonged effect," Slughorn proposed.

"And once we know that, we can counter it," Flitwick beamed "It'll take some delicate charms and potions work to separate the components, though."

"Well, let's get on with it then," Slughorn urged. "Fiona, dear, would you be so kind as to fetch my portable potions lab from my office?"

"Yessir," Fiona replied and sprinted out the double doors.

George turned to the staff. "Um, it seems as though we're making progress. We have a promising idea, and hopefully we'll be able to break the effect soon."

The work began as soon as Fiona had returned from the dungeons. An hour of precision Charms work and a rack of fifty vials with bits of fudge in various potions used to extract different ingredients later, Flitwick sighed in relief.

"It seems the sugar reacted with the farting potion," Slughorn concluded. "And that caused the sugar to form starch which became imbued with the potion. Starch takes much longer for the body to process than sugar, hence the prolonged effect. This is an important discovery, Mr Weasley."

"So how do we solve this," Flitwick asked.

Fiona had followed the progress from a distance. It was delicate work far beyond her level and the Charms and Potions Masters of Hogwarts were indeed very skilled, but she'd learned a lot listening in. Now her Rook Holler upbringing gave her the solution.

"Y'all need to burn off the sugar," she suggested.

"What do you mean, Miss Prewett," Slughorn asked.

"You need to work out—exercise—and from what I understand, hard enough to burn all that sugar and starch to release the last of it into your system before it leaves ya. Diabetics use exercise ta help their medications bring their blood glucose down. This is the same thing."

"I believe our Healer Apprentice is correct," Flitwick said. "It will, of course, intensify the effect for a brief time, but it will expunge it from our bodies. I'd say an hour of hard exercise will do nicely." Fiona nodded.

Professor Flitwick informed Professor McGonagall, who ordered her staff to do push-ups, chin-ups, sit-ups or any other form of hard work-out until the effects ceased. Finally, she turned to George. "Mr Weasley, thank you for your assistance, but I think it'd be wise for you to leave us now," she smirked.

"I agree, Professor," he said, wiping his brow with his sleeve. "Professor Slughorn actually thought he'd made an important discovery."

"Maybe there's at least one of my staff less-inclined to hex you into oblivion," McGonagall said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some exercising to do." She transformed into her cat form and set to chasing imaginary mice all over the staff room while her colleagues engaged in other forms of physical exertion.

It was an exhausted staff that ate like Manticores that evening. All the students were told was that there'd been an accident in the staff room that held them up for several hours.

"I heard Peeves bragging to himself," Joseph whispered to his friends. "He nicked the fudge we intended for the 'Puff gits. Could he have planted it in the staff room?"

"But they were there for hours," Emma said.

"The fudge was experimental," Erica reminded them with a blush.

"Are we in trouble," Joseph asked.

"There's no way to prove that we planted the fudge in the staff room, since we in fact never did, and never intended to. Besides, students can't get in. Formally, the fudge isn't on Filch's infamous list, or at least it wasn't when we got it, so we really haven't done anything wrong, have we," Patricia argued.

"Still, I feel a bit bad for the teachers..." Emma blushed at the thought.

For his part, George was relieved that they'd found a solution, but a bit shook up that despite taking extra care after the Ape-arition Bomb debacle, he had made such an elementary mistake, causing a significant change in the duration of the fudge's effect. The good thing was the discovery as to _why_ that had happened, making sure he wouldn't repeat the mistake. But he still wasn't particularly looking forward to running into the staff at The Three Broomsticks anytime soon. In fact, trading places with Verity the coming week might be a good idea, leaving her in charge of Hogsmeade, keeping him safely in Diagon Alley, with Angie helping out wherever she was needed the most. What he couldn't avoid, though, was facing Angelina. He considered buying her flowers, but decided that a bribe was likely to be shoved up his bum with much aplomb. With a sigh, he opened the door to the shop, and shuffled in. A most grave-looking Angelina stood waiting for him with her arms crossed and a foot tapping.

"Well," she asked sternly

_She's taking after Mum. I'm doomed._ George pasted on his most-charming smile and swallowed his fear. "We sorted it out."

"George, this is the second time in a very short while that one of your prototype products was flawed. The Ape-aration bombs and the Farting Fudge both lasted a lot longer than they should have."

"But I need to develop new products and test them in the field, Ang. That's the only way I can be certain they work properly," George argued in his own defence.

Angelina sighed. "What happened up there," she asked, deciding to at least hear him out before she disciplined him.

George reported what happened after he and Fiona left the shop. To his relief, Angelina seemed to hint at a smile a few times.

"My sweet George, maybe you're just trying too hard. Human transfiguration in a prank, and affecting the digestive system to cause abnormal farting with random smells—they're both hilarious in theory, but maybe you should stick to simpler pranks for a while, yeah?"

"You're not mad?"

"I think you suffered enough in the staff room, knowing the lot of them would hex you stupid if you'd failed to sort them out."

"Not to mention the gleam in Flitwick's eyes. He's planning to prank me back—I _know_ he is."

"And you'd deserve it," Angelina said pointedly.

"Reluctantly I have to agree." George replied sheepishly.

"All right, then. First of all, I'll double-team with Molly on a Howler if you do anything like this again. Secondly, give me every living detail because nailing the entire Hogwarts staff has got to be one of the finest achievements in the History of Pranking, and you my dear George, are a part of it. The Marauders would be proud!"

"Angelina, have I told you lately that I love you?"

"Talk is cheap. Shut up and kiss me instead."


	34. Chapter 34 History's Mysteries

**Chapter 34 – History's Mysteries**

"Anybody home," Ron called from the kitchen door into the house. There was almost no activity at the Burrow this evening, which was odd for a Saturday. Someone was usually bustling about on the weekends.

"Mum? Dad," Ron called again. "We're home and we've got presents!" If nothing else, the word _presents_ often elicited some kind of response. "Geez, 'Mione. Where do you think everyone is?"

"I don't know, Ron. It's—oh dear," she moaned, slapping herself in the head. "Look at the clock. It's 2 AM! We haven't considered the time change!"

"Bloody hell, I forgot about that," Ron winced. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he leaned into Hermione's right ear. "How about we drop this stuff in the sitting room and head upstairs to wait them out. I could do with a little kip before Mum makes breakfast."

"Ronald, you ate like a starved Griffin on the concourse before we boarded and then inhaled two full meals on the plane. How could you possibly—"

"'Mione, those appetizers they served on the plane could hardly be classified as _full meals_," Ron snorted softly. "And let's face it—flying fish and cou-cou doesn't stay with you, does it?"

"But the jerk chicken dinner should have," Hermione huffed. "Not to mention the double bacon-cheeseburger and chips at Heathrow after we landed that you couldn't live without. Come on, you. Let's get upstairs before we wake your parents. You need a kip and I need a cuddle."

The two of them tiptoed into the sitting room and pulled their bags from their pockets. Ron scowled slightly as Hermione produced her ragged old beaded bag and removed the packages that contained presents for the family and a few mementos they'd gathered for themselves. With a flick of their wands, the bags and packages resized and arranged themselves according to their designated recipients. Those items meant for their own home separated themselves from the others and rested in the corner where the Christmas tree had been.

"Shall we, then," Ron asked, reaching for his wife's hand. She nodded and together they crept up the stairs to their fifth-floor bedroom, carefully avoiding the creaky floorboards outside Ginny's and Harry's old room. When they arrived outside their bedroom door, they found it closed. Ron quietly opened the door, but before Hermione could step through, he swept her up in his arms and carried her across the threshold.

"Ron, you did this in Barbados," Hermione giggled softly.

"Yeah, but this is our real bedroom—at least until we find our own place," Ron replied with his signature lopsided grin. "And then when we move in there, I'll just do it again!"

"I love you, Ronald Weasley," Hermione sighed, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. "You're just too good to me."

"Nothing's too good for you, Hermione Weasley. If it were feasible, I'd carry you everywhere," he replied with a kiss to her nose. "Now let's see about that kip."

"Of course, my love. Kip away," she giggled as Ron carefully kicked the door closed with his foot.

A few floors below, Molly Weasley stirred. Her mother's instinct told her one of her children had come home. "Arthur. Arthur," she whispered, nudging her husband. "Arthur, are you awake?"

"I am now, Molly dear. What is it," he groaned, rolling over to face her.

"I think Ronnie and Hermione are home. I heard feet on the stairs and they missed Ginny's creaky floorboard," she said. "They're probably hungry."

"Molly, it's just half-two in the morning. They probably are home, but it's too early to be thinking about laying out a full-on breakfast feast. Go back to sleep for a few hours. They'll survive," Arthur argued. "Besides, they've probably gone to their room to sleep for a bit. I can't imagine the seats on an aeroplane are conducive to a fulfilling nap."

"Arty, I—"

"Go back to sleep, my beauty. You'll need your rest," Arthur soothed. "I'm sure there's going to be a house-full by this afternoon. They've no-doubt brought back half of the Caribbean, what with the money the Grangers gave them for the holiday as well as the cheque Harry and Ginny gave them as a wedding gift."

"Cheque? What cheque," Molly asked, rising up on her elbow. "The one for a thousand Galleons that was sealed until they arrived on Barbados. Harry charmed it so they couldn't give it back."

"How did you know about that," she asked. "Ginny never said anything to me about a cheque."

"Harry told me they wanted to do it and asked what I thought about it," he replied. "I told him I thought it was a very nice idea and then advised him to charm the funds so they couldn't return them."

"Arthur Weasley, you are incorrigible," Molly giggled. "All right, then. I'll try to go back to sleep."

"I knew you'd see it my way eventually, Love. Good night," he said, kissing her soundly.

"Good night," she sighed, lying back down and snuggling into her husband's side. "Mmm…toasty."

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Ron and Hermione had fallen asleep almost as soon as they undressed and climbed into bed. Jet-lag had permeated their very bones, but neither of them truly realised it until they were able to relax in the familiarity of their own bed. Their suite at Silver Point was beautiful and the bed more than comfortable, but there was just something about home that comforted a weary traveller. Yes, Barbados was wonderful, but there truly was no place like home.

Molly rose around 6 AM, about an hour later than usual, and carefully extricated herself from her husband's sleeping embrace. The cold floor reminded her that it was still winter in the North Atlantic, so she quickly slid her chilled feet into her favourite frayed but fluffy slippers and padded downstairs to the kitchen. Those slippers may have seen better days, but they'd kept Molly Weasley's feet warm since before Ginny was born and she wasn't in any hurry to trade them in on a new pair.

She lit the kitchen lanterns and then unlocked the window over the sink to allow the Post Owl or Owls access to deliver the morning _Prophet_ and—goodness yes—the first issue of _Witch Weekly_ that would feature her first solo column. She had included all the recipes they'd used from their first Thanksgiving and credited her niece, Fiona, and Eula Mae Tyree of Rook Holler, North Carolina, USA for their contributions.

Her next column, by special request, would contain recipes for Harry Potter's favourite foods and a piece on Ionúin Bhaille, with a special article on Harry's prowess as a cook. Harry hadn't been too keen on the idea, but since there was almost nothing he wouldn't do for the woman he thought of as his mother. Over the past year, the press had been kind to him and Ginny, respecting their privacy, so it was the least he could do, provided he had final approval on the photo spread.

Molly actually planned to do a series of columns and articles about her family, the Delacours, the Grangers, and even an article about the Hogwarts kitchens and the kind of food the students ate on a regular basis. She even thought she might interview Poppy about basic nutrition for growing wizards and witches and which foods best-served the development of strong bodies and magical cores.

With Ron as a fitness fanatic, she thought she might be able to incorporate a basic exercise regimen to go with Poppy's good nutrition recommendations. But she couldn't be sure how well the whole exercise thing might go over, since wizards and witches rarely engaged in any real physical activity beyond wand-waving. But if her youngest sons' bodies were any indication, young wizards all over Great Britain might just jump on the fitness bandwagon with Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, heroes of the last war. A nice spread of Ginny and even Hermione might inspire young witches to forgo cakes at tea and opt for a nice sandwich instead.

With a light chuckle to herself, Molly put the coffee on and started water for tea. She padded over to the cooling cabinet and pulled out rashers of bacon, Irish bangers, oranges, and milk. It was at this moment, she wished Ginny or Fiona were around to gather eggs. With a sigh, she put what she had pulled from the cabinet on the sideboard and made to fetch her cloak from the rack. Just then, she heard soft footfalls on the stairs. Turning around, she found a yawning and stretching Hermione making her way to the table.

"Good morning, Hermione," Molly smiled brightly. "Welcome home, dear. How was your flight?"

"Goo-good morning, Molly," Hermione replied, embracing her mother-in-law. "The flight was exhausting, but quite comfortable too."

"Is Ronnie awake," Molly asked.

"Not yet, but he was starving to death when we arrived," Hermione giggled. "He'd had so little to eat yesterday—breakfast buffet at the hotel before we checked out, lunch from a street vendor before we even got to the airport, an entire dinner on the concourse before we even boarded the plane, two more in-flight meals that included salmon and a pasta dish of some kind, and then another take-away meal once we landed at Heathrow. I tell you, Molly, he's wasting away before our very eyes."

Molly couldn't help but laugh at her daughter-in-law's assessment of her son's need for copious amounts of food. It was a wonder to her that the boy hadn't grown big as the Burrow itself. But no, he was a strapping young man in top physical condition, who could eat his way through a Sunday farmer's market and not gain an ounce of fat. "I know you're probably tired dear, but could I impose upon you to gather some eggs so I can feed that starving son of mine?"

"Of course, but on one condition," Hermione replied, gathering her cloak.

"What's that, dear," Molly asked.

"That there is a steaming mug of hot coffee waiting for me when I return. I must. Have. Caffeine," she whinged.

"Deal. One steaming mug of hot coffee coming up," Molly chuckled. "Then we'll candle those eggs in case some deviant rooster's found his way into the hen house."

Hermione smiled and picked up the egg basket that sat on the floor next to the door. "I'll be back," she said as cheerily as she could without her morning coffee on board.

While Hermione gathered eggs, Molly arranged the bacon and sausages on baking pans and slid them into the oven. Then, taking a leaf out of Fiona's book, she gathered the ingredients for a batch of corn muffins she knew Ron would appreciate. Hermione returned with the eggs just as Molly pulled the hot muffin tins greased with bacon fat from the oven. Muffin batter sizzled as she filled each cup three-quarters full with batter.

"Now if that doesn't wake my husband, nothing will," Hermione said, setting the basket of eggs on the table. "We've got nineteen this morning." She sat down and lit a candle with a flick of her wand and proceeded to inspect each one. Finding no embryos, she performed a _Tergeo_ spell, which cleaned and sanitised the shells. She then indulged in her coffee.

"Nineteen. Hmm…must be the weather," Molly muttered, picking up the basket. "Their production's been down a bit this past week. I guess the hens are using most of their energy to keep warm rather than make eggs. But nineteen are plenty for the four of us."

"Are you sure? Ron's home," Hermione snorted.

"Oh dear. He is, isn't he," Molly replied with a twinkle in her brown eyes. "Well, he'll just have to make do with a mere half-dozen this morning."

"A half-dozen what," said a deep voice from the stairwell.

"Eggs, my love," Hermione replied, lifting her face for a kiss. "There were only nineteen this morning, so you'll have to make do with a half-dozen for breakfast."

"Bugger," Ron said with mock-disappointment. "I'll—wait! Do I smell corn muffins like Fiona makes?"

"Yes, dear," Molly replied. "I made a triple-batch just because you love them so much. That should supplement the shortage of eggs for you."

"Mum, you're the best," Ron sighed, burying his face in his mother's hair. "You're the queen's knees!"

"That's the _bee's_ knees, Ron," Hermione laughed out loud. "The _bee's knees_. Your mum's the queen bee of this hive—the Burrow." As she continued to laugh, she buried her face in her hands while her husband turned several lovely shades of pink.

"Thank you all the same, dear," Molly said, revelling in her son's accolades.

"Well, it's true, Mum," Ron said "You _are_ the bee's knees. Is tea ready?"

"What? No coffee this morning," Molly asked, knowing Ron usually preferred coffee in the morning. "Has the Caribbean done something to my little Ronnie?"

"No, Mum. I don't have to work today," Ron replied, retrieving a cup and saucer from the hutch and pouring a cuppa from the kettle. "Coffee's for work days. Tea in the Americas sucks, so I've been dying for a cup of good old English and here it is in my darling mummy's kitchen." He kissed his mother's cheek and took his place at the table next to his wife.

"Good morning, beautiful," he murmured, brushing his lips against Hermione's. "Have a good kip?"

She didn't answer, but leaned into his strong arm and sipped her coffee. "I gathered eggs this morning. I don't think the hens were amused when I opened the door and let in all that cold air. I don't blame them."

"You miss the sun and surf already, don't you, Love," Ron said in sympathy, once again admiring the bronze tone of her soft skin. "You looked like a goddess, you know. I noticed the stares of all those beach bummers."

"Yeah, but who was the object of so much female attention on that self-same beach every day," Hermione sniffed. "My ginger god accumulated a few worshippers of his own as I recall."

"Oh? Do tell," Molly said conspiratorially. "My Ronnie and object of worship?"

"Oh yes," Hermione teased. "You know how he is about keeping fit, so he took to running through the surf along the beach every morning in his swim trunks _without a shirt_."

Ron blushed scarlet. Secretly, he rather enjoyed his short tenure as a sex-symbol on a tropical Caribbean beach. He rather enjoyed the lusty stares of so many bikini-clad beauties eyeing his continually-developing physique, but he had eyes only for the bronze beauty lying in the sun, reading and sipping fruit juice, her perfect form covered only by a bright yellow string-bikini. Hermione. His Hermione.

His father's hand on his shoulder snapped Ron from his reverie. "Good morning, son! Welcome home!" Arthur leaned down and gave Hermione a peck on the top of her head. "How was the trip?"

"Fantastic, Dad," Ron gushed. "Barbados is so cool! It's warm and sunny almost all the time, but when it rains, it's only showers that don't last very long. The people are really nice and the food is excellent!"

"They were just telling me about the sights along the beach," Molly smiled and winked. "And you, my dear, are just in time for breakfast! Hermione, could you give me a hand?"

"Sure," she chirped and followed Molly to the cooker. Soon, the women returned with plates of sausages, eggs, bacon, corn muffins, butter, and jam. Hermione levitated the coffee and tea pots to the table and they began to eat.

"Mum, the breakfast buffets at the hotel were wonderful, but they could learn a lot from you," Ron complimented his mother. "They just can't do breakfast like you and Fiona!" He reached for the plate containing the muffins and took three to start. Without buttering the first one, he bit into it with relish and sighed with contentment.

"So what kind of food do they eat in the islands," Arthur asked.

"Mostly seafood, pork, and chicken," Hermione replied. "They have a national dish call cou-cou, which is made with corn meal and okra—it's an odd vegetable that came to the islands with the slaves a few hundred years ago. Anyway, they usually serve it with flying-fish, which used to be plentiful around the island, but now they have to go further out to sea for it. The flying-fish appears on their national flag. We brought one home with us to show you."

"Yeah, and they also serve a chicken or pork dish they got from Jamaica called _jerk_. They rub the meat with a really hot and spicy dry mixture and then grill it over open pits. Jerk is what they call the rub and the way they cook it," Ron added. "One of the street vendors said the Jamaicans jerk just about any meat or fish they can find, including goat."

"Goat," Molly gasped.

"Oh yeah," Ron replied, swallowing a bite of sausage. "They use goat like we use lamb or mutton. It's quite common and the vendor said it's really sweet and juicy."

"They have all kinds of fruits and vegetables—mangos, bananas, plantains, avocados, guava, star fruit, true yams, sweet potatoes, corn, okra—if it grows in the Caribbean, just about all the islands serve it," Hermione explained. "The Barbados cherry is native to the island and has a sweet raspberry-like flavour. They're wonderful."

"Barbados grows sugar cane," Ron explained further. "The natives say that many of the islands have begun to give up on it, but Barbados won't. It's a pretty important crop to them."

"Who are you, sir, and what have you done with my youngest son," Arthur chuckled.

"It's all down to Hermione, Dad," Ron admitted. "She makes learning stuff fun. I just wish I'd listened to her better back in school." He stole a proud glance at his wife and winked.

"If we could have had field trips, I'm sure you and Harry would have enjoyed lessons more," Hermione replied, wiping a bit of jam from his lips.

"Too right, Love," Ron agreed. "But how about we leave any more holiday talk until we can have the family together, including your mum and dad? I don't want to tell it all more than once, and then we can give everyone their presents and explain them."

"Sounds like a good idea, son," Arthur agreed. "By the way, speaking of the family…Ginny's got a match against Falmouth tomorrow evening. Harry's bought a box for all of us. Will you two be joining us?"

"The _Foulmouth_ Falcons? I wouldn't miss it—er—if that's okay with you, 'Mione," Ron replied excitedly.

"We'll be there," she smiled, knowing how much her husband adored Quidditch and how the family wanted to be supportive of Ginny and the Harpies.

"Great," Arthur grinned, clapping his hands together. "Harry ordered a couple of Portkeys to take us all to Falmouth from Ionúin Bhaille at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

"And as soon as I know what Harry's got me scheduled for this week and on, we can decide when to have a family gathering," Ron said.

"Remember Onie works at St Mungo's on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons until eleven, I think. Sunday next might be best," Hermione reminded them.

"Oh, that's right. We'll have to see what the schedules say, then," Ron agreed.

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The match at Falmouth went off without a hitch. Bludgers flew and Quaffles passed through hoops, which resulted in a 350-250 win for the Harpies although the Falcons' Seeker caught the Snitch. Ginny and her fellow Chasers flew magnificently, which did elicit some coarse commentary from the opposing Keeper and a few disparaging remarks from the stadium announcer.

Harry and Ron seethed in the family box, kept at bay by Hermione and Molly, who worked very hard to talk them down from their rage. By the end of the match, Harry was fit to be tied and raced down to the visiting team tunnel to meet Ginny, followed by Ron and Hermione. They arrived just in time to find Ginny in a rather vocal confrontation with an irate fan who accused her of flirting with the Keeper to score the many goals she's scored that day.

"Flirt? With _that?_ You must be mad," Ginny snapped. "I'd rather snog a Troll!"

"What's going on here," Harry demanded. "Gin, is this git bothering you?"

"Oh-ho-ho, if it isn't for the almighty Harry-bloody-Potter," the man sneered. "Come to rescue your damsel-in-distress, hero-boy?"

"I don't have to rescue my _wife_," Harry growled. "She can take care of herself. I'm just here to keep your mates honest. Now…if you're feeling lucky, go for it—take your best shot, because I guarantee it'll be all you'll get."

In a trice, the obviously inebriated Falcons fan reached for his wand. Before he could extract it from his robes and point it at her, Ginny produced her Whomping Willow wand and flicked it at the man's face. Ron winced and began to laugh, knowing what his sister had done to him. Sure enough, huge Bat-bogeys fell from the man's nose and began to claw mercilessly at his face.

"Good one, Potter," Gwen laughed. "That'll teach 'em!"

While the man writhed on the ground, several Troopers arrived to break up the melee. "Whoss goin' on 'ere," one of them demanded. "Oh—er—'ello, sir."

"Take this man to the lock-up so he can sober up _without_ potions, and then release him," Harry ordered.

"Yes, sir," the Trooper replied and gestured to his partner to help him pick the man up.

"_Gin, let him go."_

"_You're no fun."_

"_I'm serious, Love. I think he'll have learned his lesson." _Harry gestured to the howling man as the Troopers picked him up. _"Besides, he's bleeding."_

"_Oh all right."_ Ginny flicked her wand again and the Bat-bogeys disappeared. With another flick of her wand, his injuries vanished.

"This isn't over, you conniving bitch," the man spat over his left shoulder as the two DMLE men led him away.

"Yes, it is," Ron barked. "Another word and you'll hang around the lock-up more than overnight."

Hermione moved to his side and took his arm, rubbing it soothingly. "All right, Love?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm all right," Ron replied, covering her hand with his. "What a—"

"Moron," Ginny muttered under her breath. Slipping her wand back into its holster, she turned to her husband. "Hello, Gorgeous Guy."

"Hello, Gorgeous Girl," he replied, taking her in his arms and kissing her lips with a smack. "Mm…I missed that." Around them, cameras clicked and flashed while columnists from every magical periodical in the British Isles shouted questions that would never be acknowledged, let alone answered.

"Let's go," Hermione urged. "The family's waiting in the box and I'm sure Molly's about gone spare by now."

Harry took Ginny in his arms while Ron took Hermione in his. Together, they spun down and Disapparated to the upper box away from the crowds.

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Returning to the Ministry, Hermione stepped into Percy's office carrying her beloved beaded bag containing her historical research. In the back of her mind, she reviewed the note Gumboil had sent her. She shuddered at the familiarity he used in his salutation, since he never called her by her first name before.

_Dear Hermione,_

_As ELF historian, I need your help to retrieve the evidence I'm sure exist, of unjust treatment of Muggleborns throughout our history. No matter your progress, I'm looking forward to a report at the next membership meeting, time and place to be announced._

_Sincerely,_

_Alastor Gumboil_

She realised that she'd never been to her brother-in-law's office before. As expected, it was unnaturally neat and organised, with its colour-coded and alphabetically organized shelves with corresponding labels on each file. She had to admit to herself that if she ever got an office of her own, she would certainly organise it in similar fashion.

"Hermione," Percy greeted her cheerfully. "This is a pleasant surprise."

"We usually see each other only during lunch, don't we," Hermione replied and sat down in the armchair Percy indicated.

"Tea," Percy asked.

"Please," Hermione nodded.

Percy poured them a cup each and sat next to her. "How may I be of service," Percy asked with a business-like tone, but lacking the pomposity that usually marked his speech.

Hermione opened her bag and showed him a couple of parchments. "In this bag, I have copies of Wizengamot sessions dating from 1939 through 1945. But I can't seem to find the information I thought I should find here, so I thought I'd ask you where else I might look."

"Wizengamot sessions, you say. Well, I'm glad to see you're taking your role as a member of the Wizengamot seriously," Percy said, obviously impressed, but hardly surprised. "Few seek the knowledge and experience documented in the archives. What information is it you're interested in?"

"Well, these parchments don't reveal much more than what was decided on a given topic, and when it was decided upon," Hermione began. "There has to be more—the original proposals, research, and so on—everything that should have been presented before the Wizengamot could reach a decision."

"Of course there is, but obviously not in the session protocols," Percy advised her.

"So would you happen to know where I might find the other documents," Hermione asked hopefully.

Percy thought about it for a while. "1939-1945, right?" Hermione nodded. "It'll take some digging, because the archives haven't been arranged consistently throughout its existence. It's actually the Chief Warlock's responsibility to make sure the archives are in order, but with Dumbledore as Chief Warlock for so many years, you can imagine the mess."

"I shudder to think. I mean, he was a great wizard, but definitely not terribly organised—at least in a way any of us could understand," Hermione interjected.

Percy chuckled at Hermione's observation. "Basically each Warlock arranged the archives according to his or her personal preference."

Hermione felt that for the first time, she truly appreciated Percy, and it was hard not to agree with his assessment of Professor Dumbledore. "Percy, would you happen to know when Albus Dumbledore took the appointment as Chief Warlock?" She really didn't know this bit of trivia, but it might be useful at a later date.

"A few years after the defeat of Grindelwald," Percy answered. "And during the Grindelwald years, it was already a mess, so I'm afraid it might be difficult to find the documents you seek, as I doubt Dumbledore ever sorted the documents from that era at all. But there is some chronology in the archive, pointing you to the general vicinity. But some of them may have been sorted by topic may or may not be found in those sections."

"Thank you, Percy. I think I'll try to find the section with documents from this period and go from there," she said with renewed hope.

"You're welcome, Hermione. And don't forget lunch," Percy finished.

Hermione headed for the archives, eager to find more information about Wizard-Muggle relations during World War II. She was certain there had to be something. It was inconceivable to her that the Wizarding world couldn't have been affected in some way by the war, and she thought it would be interesting to see how a Pureblood-dominated Wizengamot handled it.

She arrived at the archive, where an employee checked her credentials before he opened the door to let her in. Since she sat on the Wizengamot, she had access to the archives without prior approval of a department head or another member of the Wizengamot. She quickly located the section where documents from the Second World War era should have been stored. After five minutes of weeding through the chaos, she glared untrustingly at the piles of yellowing parchment and overstuffed files.

_No one seems to have done anything here, just as Percy suspected. They've simply piled up the parchments and left them to crumble into dust._ With a resigned sigh, she decided her best course of action would be to sift through the hundreds upon hundreds of parchments systematically, in hopes of quickly identifying non-essential documents in order to save time. Her approach seemed to be a good one, as many documents bore headlines telling Hermione they had no value to her research. But those that might be pertinent to her research she copied and slipped into her bag.

A couple of hours later, a somewhat-satisfied Hermione left for lunch with a bagful of copies of Wizengamot court records. After a late shift in Paradise, she would start reading and compiling her report. _I wonder if it's possible to organise a task force of about fifty to classify and properly file all of this. _Shaking her head, she cleared her cubicle and left for the Burrow and a much-needed snog with her husband.

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Ron dragged himself into the bedroom he shared with Hermione, after working until nearly midnight. Now that they were married, they had begun looking for a flat of their own somewhere centrally-located between the Ministry and the Burrow and Hermione's parents' place.

Hermione favoured a place in London, which would make it easy for her parents to visit them, instead of having to be picked up and Side-along Apparated to Devon or having to drive all that way. Ron had no objections, since there were loads of restaurants, cinemas and the The Tube. Even though Apparition saved time, Ron had to confess he'd come to share some his father's fascination with the Muggle world. Location wasn't the real issue—the real trick lay finding a flat they both liked and could afford. But for now, he was just plain knackered and wanted to go to bed.

Hermione had spread her collection of parchments all over the room, something that didn't surprise her husband in the least. "Hi, beautiful," Ron said softly, kissing the top of her head. "What are you researching there?"

Hermione looked up at him with a weary smile and then reached up to embrace him and give him a welcome home kiss. "Muggle-Wizard relations during the Second World War."

"I thought you couldn't find anything on that," Ron said, looking over the documents.

"Not in the session protocols, no, but I kept looking through that disaster the Ministry calls an archive, and I think I've found something significant," Hermione revealed with a smile.

"Something significant, eh," Ron asked.

"Well, I have to go to the criminal records room tomorrow to search the court records there, but I found that there was a protest in the summer of 1940 concerning a Muggleborn wizard sentenced to life in Azkaban for violating the Secrecy Act. However, all I've managed to glean on that count was that the protest was rejected," Hermione sighed. "The archives from this that particular time period are a file clerk's nightmare."

"Why's that," Ron asked, stripping off to his boxers.

"There's no rhyme or reason to any of it. It appears as though the documents were just stuffed in a file and left to obscurity." She began to re-assemble her work into neat piles so the two of them could crawl between the sheets and get some sleep.

Ron yawned deeply and stretched his body until the tips of his fingers almost touched the ceiling. "I have faith in you, Love. You'll figure it all out." He took her in his arms and pulled her close, rubbing her back and burying his face in her hair. "Mm…you smell good."

"Mm…so do you. Fancy a snog, Mr Weasley?"

"Do Dragons breathe fire?"

The two of them slipped between the covers and snuggled up together to snog one another senseless.

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That following Saturday, Hermione and Ron were both off-duty—actually, Hermione was always off-duty on the weekends, but Ron had his rotating schedule. Hermione planned to spend the morning reading through the court records so Ron could enjoy a long breakfast and a chat with his parents, and then the two of them would spend the rest of the day together. She headed downstairs to the kitchen where Molly worked on breakfast.

"Good morning Hermione," Molly chirped, whipping up some eggs for a fry-up.

"Good morning, Molly," Hermione replied with a yawn.

The two of them had decided that first names felt most comfortable for them. Molly had told Hermione that _Molly_ or _Mum_ was acceptable. Despite the fact that Molly was like a second mother to Hermione, she didn't feel all right with calling her _Mum_. During the time she'd lived at the Burrow, Molly and Hermione had formed a close friendship, but not the mother-child relationship Harry had with the Weasley matriarch.

"I'll just have a quick breakfast. I have some reading I want to do before lunch," Hermione said.

"Something interesting," Molly asked.

"Historical research—the Grindelwald era," Hermione replied.

"I remember my parents talking about those days. They were almost as dark as the ones we just lived through," Molly said.

"The Muggle world was at war at that time—the worst in Muggle history," Hermione said.

"Yes, I remember you and Harry telling us about it a few months ago," Molly said while serving them tea. "The Quasis in Germany caused the Muggle problems, right?"

"The _Nazis,_" Hermione corrected. "I'll just have some eggs and bacon, please."

Molly summoned a plate for Hermione, who quickly finished her breakfast. Before she left to go back upstairs, Arthur and Ron had joined them.

"I'll be in our room reading, Ron," Hermione said, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

"And I'll be here for a while," Ron replied with a lopsided grin as he greedily eyed all the food Molly had prepared for their Saturday morning meal.

His stomach growled and gurgled with hunger and delight, since he had all the time he wanted to have a proper and plentiful breakfast. The growling and gurgling turned to a contented purr as he ate the enormous meal his mother had prepared.

Hermione began reading immediately, eager to find out what the Secrecy Act trial was all about. In what way had the wizard violated that law, and why was he sentenced to life in Azkaban for it? Life imprisonment was, after all, the third-worst sentence, after death the penalty and the horrendous Dementors' Kiss, arguably worse than outright execution.

"Let's see here, _one John Baker, Muggleborn wizard,_" Hermione mumbled as she began reading "_accused of violating the Secrecy Act_... I know that already, but what did he _do?_ Oh, here it is. … _Mr Baker is accused of performing a powerful Confundus Charm on the Muggle Adolf Hitler_..."

Hermione stopped reading as her mind began to spin with conflicting thoughts. After reading the same text once more, she realised that it really did say _Adolf Hitler_. Intrigued, she read on.

"_Mr Baker is accused of having created and utilised an illegal International Portkey on 24__th__ May 1940 to travel to Berlin, Germany, where he used magic to reveal the whereabouts of Mr Hitler, who was in France at the time. Mr Baker used a second illegal international Portkey in his hunt for Mr Hitler, and eventually found him in Charleville. Here, he is accused of casting the Confundus Charm on said Muggle before returning to England using a third International Portkey."_

"Cricket! 24th to 26th May 1940! The German Panzer mysteriously halted on Hitler's orders, which contributed greatly to the successful evacuation of Dunkirk beginning on the 27th."

Hermione surmised that Baker must have had relatives in the Muggle army who were trapped in France. In a desperate effort to save them, he decided to take a crazy chance and use magic on enemy Muggles. Obviously he succeeded, creating one of the greatest mysteries of World War II—the halted German onslaught that saved the British and French armies.

"The war must've been very hard for Muggleborns, having the power to help friends and family but in many cases unable to do so," Hermione reasoned out loud. _And for the Purebloods this problem didn't exist since they have no Muggle relatives. _"But what about Wizarding homes? The Blacks must've cast magical protection over Grimmauld Place in London against the bombings."

Hermione further realised there was more to read about John Baker, and that there was loads more to the Grindelwald/Second World War years. She had no idea how wards around a Wizarding home might stand up to a bomb, but it seemed unlikely that a standard ward could withstand the blast of the bombs poured over British cities. Wards were designed to keep _people_ away, not artillery.

Hermione read on until Ron interrupted her. "You look excited, 'Mione."

"I've made an interesting and important discovery," she answered and proceeded to tell him about Mr Baker's fate.

"Bloody hell. Poor sod," Ron said sadly. "That's not on at all."

"Ron, do you know how…or if…Purebloods protected their homes from being blown to bits by bombs during the war?"

"Huh," Ron asked. "What do you mean, Love?"

"Well, in the summer and autumn of 1940, the German Luftwaffe hammered England with dozens of vicious bombing raids. Coventry was more or less levelled, leaving old cathedral a ruin. London took the worst of it, but other cities suffered too. People like the Blacks, with houses in London, must've done _something_ to protect their homes, not to mention the Ministry of Magic and St Mungo's."

Ron thought for a while. "It's before my parents' time, but why don't we ask Professor McGonagall or Professor Flitwick? They might remember stuff that's not recorded in the Wizengamot archives," he suggested.

"Good idea. And I'd bet my NEWTs that there's more information still hiding in the archives as well," Hermione said definitively. "By the way, what would it take to magically protect a house from a direct bomb-hit?"

"They used pretty powerful bombs," Ron asked.

"Compared to a _Reducto_, yes," Hermione assured him. "I know a strong shield charm can hold against a powerful blasting curse, but what about a roughly quarter-tonne Muggle bomb? Bugger! We'll have to research that, too."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," Ron agreed. "But right now, how about a decent snog before we decide how to spend our day off?"

Hermione smiled. "Sounds like a splendid idea," she cooed, wrapping her arms around her wizard and pulling his head down for a searing kiss.

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On Sunday morning, Ron, Harry, and Bill took a few hours to just be the boys, leaving Hermione, Ginny, and Fleur to help Molly with the family Sunday meal. Before Hermione could really engage in any of the work, Arthur approached her with a thoughtful expression.

"Hermione, could I have a word, please," Arthur asked Hermione.

"Um…sure, Arthur. Is something wrong," she asked nervously. Her father-in-law rarely asked anyone for a word in private unless it was something important or slightly dangerous.

"Not at all, my dear," Arthur assured her. "Come with me to the orchard."

"All right," she replied, still a little nervous. She looked around at Molly, Fleur, and Ginny, who nodded encouragingly as if they knew what this was all about. She threw he cloak over her shoulders and took Arthur's offered arm and accompanied him out the door and down through the back garden to the apple orchard near the pond.

Neither spoke as they walked, but Hermione found comfort in the slight smile on her husband's father's face. Still, her curiosity needled her, begging to be satisfied at that moment. Finally, they stopped at the centre of the grove of trees and Arthur took her hands and began to speak.

"Hermione, you are now a fully-fledged Weasley. As such, it's my duty as head of House Weasley to impart a special bit of knowledge and power to you," he said gravely.

"Special knowledge and power? Ron never mentioned—" she replied, but Arthur cut her off.

"No, Ron wouldn't have mentioned it because he can't. You see, this special power can come to Weasley women only through the current head of our family," he explained. "My father passed it to Molly after we were married, but he's since passed away. My older brother, Bilius, passed away suddenly some time ago, leaving me head of the family. I passed this on to Ginny when she turned eight years old, to Fleur just after the war, and now I'll pass it on to you.

"Eight? But—" Hermione countered.

"Yes, I know. She was too young, but with six older brothers, Molly and I agreed that she should be able to defend herself—especially against the twins, if you catch my meaning," Arthur explained. "We gave Ginny her grandmother's wand and the rest is history."

"Oh yes—the Bat-bogey hex! You're going to teach me the Bat-bogey hex," Hermione gushed excitedly.

"Precisely," Arthur grinned. "As a Weasley woman, it's time for you to learn this special bit from our Grimoire. When I'm gone, this duty will fall to Bill."

"Of course, since he's the rightful heir, right," she guessed.

"Right in one, Hermione," Arthur laughed. "So are you ready?"

"Sure," Hermione said, her fingers itching for her wand. "What do we have to do?"

Arthur drew his wand and indicated that she should do the same. "Okay, this actually rather simple to learn, but a real bugger to master. It might take you a bit of practice to get it just right."

"Right," she said, holding her wand parallel to Arthur's.

"Right. The incantation is _Mucus Chiroptera_. Repeat it, please."

"Mucus Chiroptera—slime bat," Hermione repeated.

"Yes, quite right, my dear," he confirmed. "Now, I'm sure you've seen Ginny cast this at school, am I right?"

"Oh yes, many times," Hermione giggled. "In fact, she did it just the other night after the Falmouth game. She just flicked her wand, but didn't say a thing."

"That's our Ginny. She's quite adept at this particular hex by now, I'm sure. I'm not surprised she can cast it silently now," Arthur laughed. "I assume that'd be Harry's influence."

"Right in one, Arthur," Hermione confirmed. "He's quite taken with non-verbal spell-casting."

"All right, then. A simple flick of the wand with the incantation, Mucus Chiroptera," Arthur coached. "Give it a go, then."

Hermione took a few deep breaths and concentrated, as she did whenever she learned new spells. _You can do this, Hermione. You know you can_. "_Mucus Chiroptera!_" She flicked her wand deftly and faint brownish-green light left her wand and impacted a small boulder several metres away.

"That's quite remarkable for a first try," Arthur said complimenting his newest daughter. "Go on, then. Give it another go."

"All…all right," Hermione stammered, a little disgusted with herself. She usually got spells right the first time and mastered them rather quickly. This one, however, was definitely going to be the bugger to master her father-in-law told her it would be. She squared her shoulders and made to try again when Arthur stopped her.

"Hermione, you need to relax your shoulders. You're too tense and it's inhibiting your magic," he coached some more. "And please keep in mind that you're not being graded on this."

Hermione could have slapped herself. She had approached this lesson as she approached all lessons—the idea that her performance would be evaluated and graded. "Right. Here I go, then." She took a few more deep breaths, relaxed her body, and cast again. This time, the light that left her wand glowed much brighter and actually turned a small patch of moss that covered the boulder into a slimy goo.

"Well done, Hermione," Arthur barked. "You'll have this down in no time!"

"Thank you," she said, blushing. "I'm sure I'll have it with a bit more practice."

"Then I'll leave you to it," he said, pocketing his wand. "I'd say that boulder's in for it today." He patted her shoulder and made his way back through the gardens to the house. He could hear her blasting away at the boulder as he opened the kitchen door.

"'Ow eez she doing," Fleur asked.

"Once I got her to relax and remember she's not being graded, she did very well," Arthur replied. "She's out there turning the moss on a small boulder to slime as we speak."

"Was there any doubt," Ginny asked sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "She's not called the brightest witch of her age for nothing, you know."

"Yes, quite," Arthur agreed. "I pity the poor sod who tries to take the four of you on!"

"And don't you forget it, Arthur Weasley," Molly giggled, rising on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

Later on that day, the rest of the family gathered for the meal and the distribution of presents. Ron and Hermione regaled the gathering with stories of romantic walks along the beach, interesting food, the marketplaces and island artisans who created many of the mementos they'd bought.

The witches and Helen Granger received peasant blouses and colourful flowy skirts, hand-crafted jewellery, and a recipe book containing many island favourites, and a cou-cou stick. The men received bottles of locally-produced rum for the flasks Ron had given them as attendant gifts, and handmade shirts to match their wives' or significant other's skirts.

"So did you blow it all," Harry asked, sipping a bit of rum Ron had bought to share in addition to the gift bottles. "Oh, that's smooth stuff."

"Hardly. Hermione's a right miser," Ron laughed. She shot an annoyed look at him only to have him blow a kiss at her. She raised her hand and pretended to catch it and put it in her mouth. She mimicked a swallow and returned the gesture.

"But seriously, mate, we appreciate it. We wanted to kill you, but—well, we know why you did it and…well…thanks," the redhead continued.

"Yes, and we're saving what's left for a flat and the wherewithal to decorate it," Hermione added.

At this, Molly raised her head. She knew this was bound to happen, but she didn't think it would be so soon. Helen seemed to pick up on Molly's mild distress and placed a sympathetic hand on her friend's shoulder. "You'll get used to it, Molly."

"I know. It's just—well, you know," she replied. "The silence is going to be deafening."

"Yes, but remember: Silence is golden." The two women considered one another for a moment and then burst into private laughter. "Besides, we'll have loads of time to double-date!"

"You know, that sounds really nice, Helen," Molly agreed. "Maybe the four of us should go to Barbados and leave these fledglings of ours to their own devices!"

"You're on," Helen agreed. "Next year, we storm the beaches!"

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Hermione had picked though the entire Baker trial, minute by agonising minute. It was more obvious that he'd broken several laws trying to protect his Muggle relatives serving in the British Expeditionary Force, and Mr Baker had been found guilty of all charges. Mr Baker had been sentenced to life in Azkaban, but the decision to condemn him so was not a universal consensus. To Hermione's delight, she found a record of the protest logged 21st June 1940 and added to the verdict itself.

_I, Lord Edward Harry Potter, Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, hereby officially protest against the disproportionate verdict against John Baker, following yesterday's trial before the Wizengamot on Thursday 20__th__ June 1940. I urge the Minister for Magic to grant Mr Baker a reduced sentence in favour of a reasonable punishment that better fits his crimes. While it is true that Mr Baker has broken several laws and committed relatively serious crimes, it is, in my opinion, an equal crime to cast him into Azkaban Prison for the rest of his life._

She guessed that Edward Potter must have been Harry's grandfather. Even though Hermione wasn't a Potter, having been adopted as Harry's sister-by-blood, she took pride in Edward's protest. Clearly, he viewed the verdict as totally unjust, despite the fact that he fully agreed that John Baker should receive some penalty for having broken the law. The Potter sense of honour that was so typical of Harry seemed to run in his family.

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Later on that week, Hermione took a personal day from the Ministry to visit Hogwarts. Diggory had been breathing down her neck, convinced she had been neglecting her duties since her return from her honeymoon. Selma had done all she could to run interference between her friend and their rather intolerant boss, but in truth, Hermione had kept up with her own RCMC work admirably in addition to the extracurricular work she had taken on for ELF. Her work on _Dobby's Law_ needed a bit more tweaking before she dared present it to the Wizengamot. If she were honest, she wasn't sure when it would actually make the docket once she finished it.

Hermione Apparated to the point just beyond the gates, which swung open for her when she politely asked them to allow her to enter. She started across the frosty grounds toward the castle, breathing in the brisk Scottish air and taking in the sounds of the various creatures in Hagrid's menagerie. As she passed, she noticed the great man teaching a CMC class near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. _Thestrals? Centaurs?_

Stepping into the castle, she made her way toward the headmistress' office. She hadn't any idea how much she missed these old halls until she found herself wandering them once more. She scheduled her meeting with Professors McGonagall and Flitwick to end in time for lunch, which she planned to share with the Munchkins at the Gryffindor table before returning home. The Gargoyle leapt aside at her approach, and she rode the stairs to the office at the top of the stairwell. In only a few moments, she found herself seated comfortably in the circular office with her two favourite professors.

"Mrs Weasley, what can we do for you today," Professor McGonagall asked, greeting her with a hug.

"Well, I'm doing a bit of historical research about Wizard-Muggle relations. My hope is that we can learn from past mistakes so we can avoid further hostility in our community."

Professor Flitwick nodded. "A noble cause for a member of the Wizengamot," he chuckled. "And quite frankly, I can say we have seen quite enough hostility for several lifetimes."

Hermione related the tale of John Baker and then asked her questions about how the Muggle war affected the Wizarding world. Professor McGonagall considered her favourite former student's questions before she answered.

"I was in my third year at Hogwarts when the Muggle war began," she said. "I left Hogwarts in 1944, the year before both the end of that Muggle war and before Albus defeated Gellert Grindelwald, but I can assure you there was a lot of talk about it among the student body. There were Muggleborns among us who lost family members in the bombings, as well as those whose fathers served in the British Army.

Pureblood students were more concerned with the Grindelwald revolt, not truly understanding that the Muggle war raging on the continent and on our very shores might have an awful effect on us as well. As you know, Tom Riddle was a student here at the time in the class just behind mine. We know now that it had been he—not Hagrid—who opened the Chamber of Secrets in 1942, resulting in the death of a second-year Ravenclaw girl."

"Moaning Myrtle," Hermione interjected.

"The same," Minerva replied.

Hermione hadn't given much thought to the fact that Minerva McGonagall had been a student at the same time as Tom Riddle. "And after that, things calmed down here?"

"Indeed. Professor Dippet and the rest of the staff tightened security for the rest of the war. We know now what Tom was up to during his last years as a student here, but tension filled the air at Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall added. "Returning home in 1944, I didn't notice much, but then again, Scotland lay out of reach of the German bombs, and by then, the war was all but lost to them."

"I didn't know you knew so much about the Muggle war, Professor," Hermione said, awestruck.

"There was no one who didn't know about the war, Mrs Weasley, although many of our kind tried to ignore it. Before I returned to Hogwarts to teach in 1956, I studied the Muggle world and its culture because I wanted to understand the world our Muggleborn students come from," Professor McGonagall said in recollection of her early days as an educator. "My knowledge of the Muggle world was the primary reason I was posted outside the Dursley home after that terrible night in 1981 when Mr Potter's parents were murdered."

"So you're a Pureblood," Hermione assumed, realising she knew very little about Professor McGonagall's background.

"Yes, the McGonagalls are an old Scottish Pureblood family, running back at least to the fifteenth century."

Hermione had to force back the urge to ask more about the McGonagall family, but that was not why she was here today. Instead, she turned her attention to the diminutive Charms master. "What can you tell me, Professor Flitwick?"

The little man adjusted himself and his eyes lit up with fond memories. "In the 1930s, I was a rather irresponsible young man living on the gold I won at duelling, but the Grindelwald revolt changed all that drastically," Professor Flitwick said sadly.

"I had earned my initial reputation as a duelling champion as a student at Hogwarts, and upon graduation, I decided to make a career of it, since I enjoyed it so much. However, when Grindelwald came along, I found myself drafted into the resistance against him. Let's say that engaging in almost constant battle from 1940-1945 changed me. Duelling for fun lost its appeal. I got to see the effects of the Muggle war first-hand and it was not a pretty sight. War is a filthy, ugly business, Muggle or Magical notwithstanding, as you well know, my dear.

Ultimately, though, I got to know Professor Dumbledore very well during the war. In the late 40s and early 50s, I tried to work as a liaison for Gringotts, but it just wasn't for me. When Albus asked me to return to Hogwarts to teach Charms, I leapt at the chance," he said with a shrug.

"What I'm really curious to learn more about is the effects the Muggle war, such as the German bombings, had on the Wizarding world," Hermione said, steering the conversation back to the issue at hand.

Professor Flitwick was the one to answer. "The Muggle bombings were something we had to protect ourselves against. In the resistance, we used to add a Transfiguration spell to our wards that caused any metallic objects to transfigure into something relatively harmless," he explained. "I think many families protected their homes in much the same way. Of course, it wasn't entirely safe. If a bomb landed just outside the wards, it was only a Ministry-controlled shield charm that could withstand the blast."

"The use of that charm should be recorded in the Ministry archives, shouldn't it," Hermione concluded.

"Of course it is," Professor McGonagall said.

"I would guess that the Wizengamot had to approve its use," professor Flitwick added.

Hermione paused before she asked another question to consider the ramifications._ And since Purebloods dominated the Wizengamot, I wouldn't be surprised if their homes received this protection while Muggleborn homes didn't. If I find evidence of this, I'll really have to take care as I present these facts to Gumboil. He'll go spare for sure._

"Thank you very much for your time, Professors," Hermione said, gathering her notes. "Unless there's anything else, I'd love to join my favourite Gryffs for lunch."

"I can't think of anything else at this point. Can you, Filius," the headmistress asked. He shook his head in the negative as he slid off his chair. "Well, then, let's have some lunch, shall we?"

Hermione entered the Great Hall in the professors' company. As they took their places at the head table, Hermione approached the Munchkins at the Gryffindor table who didn't notice her.

"Is there an open seat?"

Patricia looked up at her. "Hermione," she screeched. "Blimey, of course there is!" She scooted to the left to make room next to her for her idol and role-model.

"Still happily married," Erica asked with a grin. The girl had held a crush on Ron since she first met him the day he signed his Famous Wizard card for her.

"Oh yes. Ron and I had a great honeymoon," Hermione replied. "But I won't share any details."

Hermione sat next to the quartet of second years, but there were a number of jealous older witches and wizards at the table who wished they could have lunch with the famous guest.

"Thank you. Two newlyweds. We get the general picture and please spare us the details," Joseph said, rolling his eyes. He winced and grabbed his arm where Emma elbowed him for his remarks.

"How are things at Hogwarts," Hermione asked. "I heard about a prank involving a box of fudge."

"Oh that," Patricia moaned, rolling her eyes. "Actually, Peeves caused the real chaos."

"We haven't heard from George, though," Emma said.

"Well, from what I'm told, he's still trying to adjust the recipe so the fudge will work properly, _and_ he's working on a few more simple projects," Hermione grinned.

"We're having our first Quidditch match of the year in two weeks. Will you be able to come," Erica asked anxiously.

"I think so. Ginny should be home, since the Harpies are about to launch a five-match home stand. I'll tell Ron and Harry to make sure they're off-duty for your match."

"That'd be great. It's really tight this year. Still all four teams can win," Emma said. "By the way, what are you doing here anyway?"

"I had a chat with Professors McGonagall and Flitwick," Hermione told them.

"Are you coming to teach," Patricia asked hopefully.

Hermione giggled. It was a dream of hers that she one day, she would return to Hogwarts as a professor. "Sorry, no. I need to gain a load more experience before I might be considered for tenure. It takes more than good grades to become a Hogwarts professor."

"Professor Longbottom's from your year," Erica pointed out.

"And he's exceptionally talented in Herbology," Hermione agreed. "But he also worked as an Assistant Professor at Beauxbatons last year while I finished my NEWTs."

"Well, you're exceptionally talented at... _everything,_" Patricia exclaimed. "What more could they want?"

Hermione blushed at this, partially because it was a well-founded claim, considering Hermione's NEWT scores that matched those of the great Albus Dumbledore. "I'm perfectly happy working at the Ministry," Hermione said in order to change the subject. "I hope to improve rights for magical creatures, especially House-elves."

The young Gryffindors spent their lunchtime catching up on the news of the Golden Quartet and sharing several laughs before Hermione had to leave for home and more research. Promising to pass along hugs and kisses to Ron, Ginny, and Harry, she took her leave with a wave to Fiona at the staff table, who had been engaged in conversation with Hagrid and Professor Slughorn throughout most of the meal.

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It took a few hours of digging through dusty piles of parchments before Hermione could find the Wizengamot record for the approved use of the protective ward against Muggle bombs. Reading it through twice confirmed Hermione's suspicions—the Pureblood supremacists had indeed be allowed to use the specially-designed ward to protect their homes and properties, which in Hermione's opinion violated the Secrecy Act, since Wizarding homes had been left unharmed in blocks otherwise levelled by raids.

The Muggleworthy Excuse Office and the obliviation teams seemed to have been dispatched frequently to keep the Wizarding world secret, but Hermione's most shocking discovery was the warding of St Paul's cathedral. The wards had been cast September 13th 1940, the day after a time delayed bomb had hit the church but been defused by a Muggle team. She remembered the photos of the unharmed church surrounded by the burning rubble that used to be people's homes and businesses. The Ministry of Magic must have been housed directly underneath the cathedral and if it had collapsed, the massive building would have destroyed the Ministry too. In Muggle primary school, Hermione learned that it was a miracle that St Paul's had gone unharmed in the bombings; in truth, the sacred landmark had been shielded by magic.

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Kingsley arrived at his desk and glanced at the pile of memos he couldn't seem to avoid. The one from the Auror Office was the only one he was even remotely interested in. It was a memo from Harry and Ron concerning the Duelling Tournament.

_King,_

_Here's the basic idea for the tournament._

_The initial round shall be limited to the use of disarming and shield charms. For each round, more spells shall be allowed until the final round, during which any non-lethal spells shall be allowed._

_The Auror Office will conduct open training sessions during the weeks prior to the tournament for anyone wishing to brush-up on rusty skills or learn a few new spells to increase their chances._

_The purpose of the tournament is to have fun and hone one's defensive skills._

_Anyone breaking the rules will be disqualified immediately—no questions asked._

_The winner receives an award of some sort from you. Might I suggest the Gawain Robards Trophy and corresponding medal?_

Kingsley forwarded the proposal to his department heads asking for their individual opinions before making his final decision. Personally, he favoured the idea. Everyone at the Ministry knew what the House Cup meant at Hogwarts—it primarily served to strengthen the bonds between students in each individual House, but it also invited friendships between the Houses. But a duelling tournament allowing everyone to participate, rather than only one team per department, was a much better idea. And quite frankly, regulated duelling was a lot safer than having people performing stunts on a broomstick, despite the fact that they might not have flown in years. Much to Kingsley's surprise, all the department heads had replied the following day. A majority approved of the idea, including the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries.

"I'd better ask Harry and Ron to ban Divination or any other means of predicting the future in the unauthorized betting pools that certainly will be formed." Kingsley grinned.

He immediately penned an affirmative go-ahead to Harry and Ron. "Go directly to the Head Auror," Kingsley told the memo before it swooped out of his office. _I've gone barmy. I'm talking to the ruddy pests now._

Minutes later, a most-persistent memo buzzed around Harry's head as he and Ron jogged their way to the training facilities. "What's wrong with that one," Ron asked, annoyed, although the thing harassed his partner instead of himself.

"I don't know, but judging by its behaviour, I'd say it's important," Harry guessed.

"But that thing can't _possibly_ know that," Ron argued. "And besides, they _all_ behave like that."

Harry's Seeker reflexes allowed him to catch the memo in a way similar to catching Pig when the tiny owl flew about, tittering like a mad Snitch. He unfolded the memo and read it. With a big smile, he looked at Ron.

"What?"

"My brother, we have a duelling tournament to arrange," Harry declared.

"That's bloody brilliant," Ron declared, punching the air. "This is going to be so much fun! C'mon, let's go and practice. One of these days, Potter, I'll take you down one-on one."

"You wish. Bring it on, Red," Harry challenged.

Harry was the champion individual dueller in the Auror Office, and only Ron, Seamus and Cho could give him a real challenge. Ron knew one secret to Harry's success—his bond with Ginny. But Harry was also an unconventional fighter, hard to predict and full of surprises.

Two hours later, two very sweaty and panting Aurors luxuriated under the hot spray of the showers. "Harry, I've been thinking," Ron called from his stall. "You know 'Mione's done all that reading about that Muggle war and it got me to wondering if we might be able to apply a few things from Muggle military and law-enforcement tactics and strategy."

Harry knew Ron had thought about this off and on since their holiday in Normandy. "And you have an idea," Harry asked.

"Well, 'Mione explained why the Germans were so successful, initially, and how they forced the British army into the channel at Dunkirk."

"You're really learning your Muggle history, mate," Harry noted with a chuckle. "I'm proud of you."

"Marriage to Hermione makes it easy to do that," Ron replied. "Anyway, they used a new tactic they called something outlandish and Mugglish, but they used heavily-armoured automobiles with gun mounts and coordinated their attack with aeroplanes."

"_Blitzkrieg,_" Harry clarified. "They called it _Blitzkrieg_. It literally means _lightning war_."

"That's it. That's the word," Ron confirmed excitedly.

"Have you thought of a way to adapt those tactics," Harry asked, interested in any means to improve his force.

"Actually, you and Ginny gave me one big part of the idea."

"Really? How," Harry asked with raised eyebrows. He couldn't imagine what he or Ginny might have said or done that would have inspired Ron so.

"Montrose, Harry. You and Ginny attacked from the air," Ron reminded his friend. "With the right training, a broom-riding squad could provide a killer tactical advantage. Eyes in the sky could help direct ground troops with reports about enemy positions and numbers."

Harry had to agree. The four of them had virtually stopped a rioting crowd on their own, and Harry's and Ginny's attack from the air had done a lot to slow down the mobs.

"Think of it," Ron explained "A broomborne Auror unit blasting the way clear in front of the ground troops."

_Ploughing the road_. "Broomborne." Harry repeated. "That's a great name. And I think Cho would be the one to lead them, yeah?"

"As Head Auror and Supreme Commander, you couldn't lead it, so Cho is the next best choice. We both know she wasn't a bad Seeker; you were just better," Ron said in agreement.

"Let's bring it up to Dad, then," Harry suggested. "It'll take a lot of work to train a whole new branch of Aurors. And what's more, I think we can use a hand from the rest of the DMLE with the tournament."

"I'll ask him about it tonight when I get home and then we can set up a meeting," Ron promised. The two friends made their way to the Atrium where they vanished in a burst of a green flame—Harry to Ionúin Bhaille and Ginny, and Ron to the Burrow, his beloved Hermione, and his mother's fantastic supper.

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Hermione stopped by Ionúin Bhaille to have an afternoon tea with Ginny, since Harry and Ron had to put in extra hours in preparation for the upcoming tournament. She Flooed in directly from the Atrium and arrived safely in Ginny's fireplace moments later.

"Hermione, come in," Ginny said, giving her newest sister a hug.

"Thanks, Gin."

"You know I missed you while you were gone, and since you've been home we haven't had much time to talk. From what you told us at dinner that day, you had a great honeymoon—even if you did have to share it with my darling brother," Ginny grinned.

"We had a great time, but I'll spare you the juicy details. You heard enough," Hermione grinned back while Ginny served tea.

Ginny huffed loudly. "Hermione, you're my best friend and my sister, but there are things I simply don't want to know."

"Uh…likewise," Hermione said, sipping tea from her cup. She didn't want to know about her Harry's _exploits_ any more than Ginny wanted to hear about Ron's.

"You look a bit tired. Rough day in Paradise," Ginny asked.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I've been working on some research not related to my work. Now that I'm allowed unlimited access to the Wizengamot archives, I can't stay away from them."

"Blimey, you sound like Percy," Ginny snickered.

Hermione countered with a patronising simper. "Anyway, I've discovered something pretty big, but I haven't the slightest idea how to handle it." Hermione told Ginny about the Baker trial and how the Purebloods circumvented the law as they use the Ministry-controlled law that protected their property, while Muggle and Muggleborn property fell to the bombs.

"You're saying that a Muggleborn who broke that law to rescue his family was sentenced to Azkaban for life, but a Pureblood who broke the same law wasn't even brought in for questioning," Ginny concluded.

"Essentially, but it appears that a few Purebloods didn't think it was right. The Potters, Harry's grandfather in particular, lodged an official written protest, but the more _charming_ Pureblood families broke the law without hesitation and got away with it," Hermione clarified.

Ginny pondered what Hermione told her while she nibbled a scone slathered generously in Molly's strawberry jam. "Hermione, do you realise what could happen if Gumboil's lot gets hold of this information—and uses it?"

"All too well, Ginny," Hermione sighed.

"But on the other hand it's something pretty specific that shows the injustice that still exists in our world," Ginny added.

"That's how I see it too…and that's why I'm not sure how to proceed—or if I should at all," Hermione replied.

"Why don't you write about it and publish it in some newspaper or something," Ginny suggested "You're a highly-regarded and decorated war hero, so you know any paper would accept it."

"The_ Prophet_ has been rather kind to us lately, and of course, there's Xeno Lovegood's _Quibbler_," Hermione thought out loud.

The two witches discussed the idea at length and decided that Hermione should write the article, but publish a condensed version in the _Prophet_ and the unabridged version in _The Quibbler_. The full version Hermione also intended to send to Gumboil after it was published in the Quibbler. That way, Gumboil couldn't take credit for Hermione's work and any questions about it would be posted to her instead of the ELF leader. Simply put, Hermione made sure that she was in a position to provide sensible answers to any questions or concerns the public may have without putting a spin on them.

"Ron's been honing your tactical skills," Ginny smirked. "It's nice to know he's good for something."

"He's not a bookworm, that's true, but he's a really bright wizard, Ginny. You really need to give him more credit," Hermione smiled, proud of her husband. "He truly is an amazing man."

Ginny agreed to assist with the drafting of the article, much to Hermione's relief. She really appreciated this, since Ginny had a way of seeing things at their simplest. It proved to be really helpful to write down each point of knowledge Hermione had acquired in a way that would be appealing to the general public. A good hour later, Hermione read their draft for the shorter article. The longer simply explained the historical events in greater detail.

_The Muggleborn Pureblood_

_After taking the Black seat in the Wizengamot, I have given much thought to how deeply the British Wizarding community has been rooted in matters of Blood-status. The Pureblood family I married into hold one's Blood-status in very low regard—it just doesn't matter to them. Weasley brothers have so far married women who some would label a Demi-human and a Mudblood; the only Weasley daughter in several generation married the Half-blood son of a Pureblood and a Mudblood. The Weasleys love and accept us as sisters and daughters, brother and son._

_I have recently uncovered a very interesting, if not disturbing, few months in our history covering late-May 1940 and through the following few months. At this point in history, a devastating war raged throughout the Muggle world._

_One wizard in particular gave in to the temptation to use his magic to rescue his Muggle brother who was surrounded and trapped in France by enemy forces. He travelled illegally to the continent and confunded the enemy leader, halting the attacks for three days. This made an heroic evacuation possible that ultimately saved hundreds of thousands of lives. In addition, I learned that the Muggle brother was indeed among the many who made it back to safety. In the Muggle world, this evacuation and the circumstances that fomented it are considered nothing less than miraculous._

_Of course the wizard in question had violated several of our laws, among them the Secrecy Act. As a result, he faced trial before the Wizengamot, which body sentenced him to life in Azkaban, despite the extenuating circumstances._

_A few months later, Britain was ruthlessly bombed by enemy airpower and many of our large cities were severely damaged. The Wizengamot, at this point dominated by Pureblood supremacists, decided to protect certain properties (their own) from destruction by the use of a powerful Ministry-controlled shield charm._

_Among the protected buildings was St Paul's Cathedral, which stood above the Ministry of Magic at that time. While the surrounding blocks were hit and all but destroyed, the cathedral remained untouched. Muggles consider this yet another miracle of the war. No wizard or witch was ever tried or even questioned for the erection of said wards around St Paul's or any other building._

_What is it I want to show with these two examples? I merely want to point out that there are still differences in our community, based Blood- purity ideals, which leave us sorely divided. Since the vast majority of our community do not subscribe to those ideals, we can make the necessary changes that can ensure our survival._

_I am, according to those archaic ideals, a contradiction—a Muggleborn Pureblood. Personally, I consider myself, my quarter-Veela sister-in-law, my Pureblood sister, and my Half-blood brother no more or no less than very talented and compassionate witches and a wizard. I think my family show that the Blood-status doesn't apply the way it did centuries ago. It's time for sensible changes and I welcome suggestions from the members of our community and I'll make sure they are brought before the Wizengamot._

_Hermione Weasley-Black, OMFC_

"I think it's good," Ginny said.

"Thanks for your input, Ginny," Hermione said with a sigh. "I hope it doesn't cause any riots."

Ginny read it again. "I don't think so. You're simply making a few observations about our world, and asking the reader to think about it and bring their ideas to the Wizengamot."

"I'm hoping that if there are enough voices, the laws will have to change to keep the peace."

Ginny nodded. "As Fiona always says: Hope springs eternal."


	35. Chapter 35 Needful Things

**Chapter 35 – Needful Things**

Harry couldn't take much more of the boredom. Ron wouldn't be in until five to relieve him for the next shift and he still had half of his own shift to wait out. He was thrilled to have the Auror Office functioning normally again now that Ron and Hermione had returned from their honeymoon, and scheduling shifts was so much easier, but he still lamented that he could use more bodies.

_Time to talk to Kingsley about the Hogwarts Auror Training Programme again_. Surely his class had been more than evaluated by now, leaving little doubt as to the program's success. But Harry still had to admit that the entire enterprise needed a bit of tweaking if it were to become a standard course of study at the castle. There were so many logistics to work out and soon, if it were to be implemented for the 2000-2001 school year.

He didn't really feel like training at the moment. He and Ron had all but set their wands on fire over the past few days' one-on-one sparring, and he still had to work time into his schedule to train with Ginny and her new wand. It suited her perfectly, but such a powerful wand in the hands of such a powerful witch could cause mass devastation with the simplest of spells. Her Bat-bogey hex at Falmouth testified to that. The poor sod had Bat-bogeys the size of seagulls pouring out of his nose and if Harry hadn't insisted Ginny release him when he did, the man would have been left with mince for a face.

He figured he would start with the art of meditation. After all, if she harboured any hope to gain some modicum of control over her high-powered magic or the important art of Occlumency, she needed to learn to centre herself first. Snape's admonition, _close your mind_, was about as useful as teats on a boar warthog, but there was really no way to _teach_ Occlumency, as such. It was something that had to be learned on one's own, beginning with the ability to organise one's thoughts and memories through meditation, and then build mental shields around them. But in Ginny's case, Harry could stand right beside her in her mind, which would make the process a lot easier for her, although it would still require a lot of training and discipline.

Perhaps a visit to Lee's office for a quick chat with Parvati might help. Harry imagined that the Patils' ethnic background included practising many Hindu relaxation techniques. After all, the entire family wished to learn the art of Occlumency, and so far, Percy had yet to present any pearls of wisdom from the Ministry library. He'd have to ask him about that when he had the chance.

_But what is there to do now? I have no Glumbum—er—memos to answer, all the reports are copied and filed, and all's quiet on the western front, as it were_. "No memos? How in Hell did that happen," he muttered to himself.

Still bored, Harry decided to have a look at a few old files to pass the time. He stood and stretched, then walked over to the filing cabinets that lined the rear wall joining his and Ron's offices. He had to stifle a laugh, for nearly one entire cabinet had been devoted to one FLETCHER, MUNDUNGUS ALOYSIUS. Only the files containing the rap sheets and trial records of notorious Death Eaters filled more drawers.

Harry decided to leave the Death Eater files alone as he'd had enough of that lot for the time being. Instead, he thought he'd have a look at the criminal life of his favourite habitual thief. "These ought to be interesting…or entertaining," he muttered to himself with a smirk. He leafed through the case files until he came upon one dated September-October of 1969. _Fletcher, Mundungus A. Possession—Controlled Substances._ "Dung? A smuggler," he asked himself.

_Dung's a thief, so it only stands to reason he'd probably have been involved in trafficking at some point, you prat_. On several occasions during the war, Fletcher had raided Grimmauld Place and stolen all manner of Black family treasures—countless solid silver items including a couple of rather ornate tea services, crystal goblets, and…Slytherin's locket, which he'd ultimately sold to Dolores Umbridge of all people. _Selwyn heirloom, my hairy arse._

He pulled the file and returned with it to his desk. He slouched down in his leather desk chair—a Christmas gift from his amazing and beautiful Ginny—conjured a mug of black coffee, and propped his booted feet up on the desktop. He couldn't help but chuckle at the trouble Dung managed to get himself into with highly-dangerous and illegal potions ingredients, magical street drugs, and overall mischief.

Reading further on, Harry found that he wasn't the first to work out that Fletcher was at least a kleptomaniac. According to his file, three St Mungo's Healer-Psychologists had classified him as mildly deranged and susceptible to impulse and suggestion due to a childhood accident involving a bull belonging to a Muggle farmer near York and some accidental magic, and testified to that effect in court. In the end, his sentence included a year-long stay on St Mungo's psychiatric ward and forfeiture of…_bloody hell!_ "Could it still _be_ there," he gasped.

Harry quickly dropped his feet to the floor, banished the now-tepid coffee, and all but flew out of his chair. He quickly scribbled down the catalogue number of the item in question on a slip of parchment and returned the case file to its proper place in the file drawer. _Please let it be there. Please let it be there_. He repeated this plea to whichever gods might be listening as he raced down the stairs to Level Ten where the Wizengamot courtrooms and Ministry holding cells were located. Also housed on that level was a room few ever gave much thought to unless they actually had to visit it—the DMLE Evidence Storage Repository.

Harry had to pass through the gaol section in order to access the repository. Although there was scarcely a magical soul on earth who didn't know who he was on sight, he still had to present his badge and Ministry ID, as well as register his wand to pass through the guard station.

Former Head Auror Gawain Robards had implemented elevated security measures immediately following the war to prevent imposters and other shady characters from gaining access to restricted areas of the Ministry during the trials of captured Death Eaters and others compliant with Voldemort's policies—essentially, suspected war-criminals. During her trial, the twisted and evil Voldemort copycat-criminal, Mafalda Prewett, resided there in a specially-built isolation cell.

"Very good, Chief Potter," the Hit-wizard at the desk growled, handing back his credentials. "Ain't nobody been down 'ere since they snapped that barmy Prewett-bint's wand and locked it up."

"They didn't burn it," Harry asked, aghast.

"No, sir," the man replied. "They say You-Know-'Oo's wand's in there too. Right creepy if you ask me."

In truth, the whereabouts of Tom Riddle's yew wand were currently unknown. He had discarded it in some fashion in favour of the Elder Wand, proclaiming himself its master. But that wand's true master had never been Voldemort or even Severus Snape, the man he killed to take control of it. No, its master had been Albus Dumbledore for more than fifty years. The night the old headmaster died on Hogwarts' Astronomy Tower, control passed to the young wizard who disarmed him—Draco Malfoy. The reluctant Death Eater never knew he had been a master of the legendary instrument.

Control passed once again the night Harry, Ron, and Hermione escaped Malfoy Manor. In a short battle, Harry disarmed his schoolyard nemesis, alleviating him of his hawthorn wand, which robbed him of control over the Elder Wand, which Voldemort held. At that moment, the Elder Wand turned its allegiance to Harry Potter, proving itself when Voldemort's point-blank Killing Curse failed to kill the young wizard yet again, resulting in his own demise. That wand now rested in a locked case in a secured wall safe hidden behind a painting somewhere at Ionúin Bhaille. Only Harry knew its exact location.

"Well, thanks—er—Carstairs. I'll just have a look, then."

"Right you are, Chief," the man said, handing Harry a large brass key. "Don't know why they didn't give you one o' these keys, sir. As 'Ead Auror, you're s'posed to 'ave one. Just be sure to check out wiv us when yer done so we know yer all right.

Harry waved his arm in reply without looking back, as he jogged toward the Evidence Repository. His mind reeled with thoughts about what could be hidden behind the door and how long it had all laid there collecting dust…and Merlin knew what else. When he arrived at his destination, he stopped to catch his breath. It hadn't been the jogging that left him breathless, but the sheer size and makeup of the door itself that took his breath away. The steel door boasted finely-cast brass fixtures and must've have measured at least three metres in height. Judging from the design and craftsmanship of the key, Harry surmised the lock mechanism must've been Goblin-made. _Good thing_.

Harry inserted the key into the lock, sucked in a deep breath, and then released it as he turned the mechanism. With a series of loud clicks, the tumblers fell and the door swung free. "_Lumos_," Harry whispered with a wave of his hand. He had managed to develop some minor talent with wandless magic during his Auror training. He suspected the ability came with the removal of the Horcrux from his scar, but he didn't find it important enough to pursue. Still, he didn't want that bit of information to get out, so he never used it in the presence of anyone other than Ginny, Ron, or Hermione.

At his command, small torches resting in iron sconces blazed to life before him. As he moved through the aisles, more torches ignited, lighting his way through the stuffy room. It appeared much larger than Harry expected it should, much like the Ministry library. In fact, it rather reminded him of the Hall of Prophecies in the Department of Mysteries, except the shelves held not thousands of glass orbs, but hundreds upon hundreds of tagged items collected from cases dating back to the seventeenth century.

It took him the better part of an hour to reach the twentieth-century aisles, which shelves groaned under all manner of cursed Muggle artefacts, confiscated wands—some snapped—and sealed crates of what Harry guessed were the controlled and illegal substances and potions ingredients. He'd all but despaired of ever finding the one item he was looking for until he came to the end of a particularly dark aisle. He peered around the end of the shelving unit and blinked a few times to allow his eyes to adjust to the diminished light. Moments later, he caught a glint of metal and his pulse increased. This time, he drew his wand and lit the end of it in order to illuminate the darkened niche. He whooped with glee, for there he found what he hoped would still be here—a beautiful Harley-Davidson custom chopper!

The Head Auror reverently approached the classic motorcycle, extending a shaking hand to stroke the front fender. The tyres had long-ago dried out, so they lay flat on the floor. _Tyres are easy enough to replace_. Stowing his wand in his robes, he grabbed hold of the handlebars and released the kick-stand, and then thought better of trying to roll it out into the open. Since the tyres were flat, he didn't want to damage the rims, so he drew his wand again and pointed it at the wonderful machine. "_Scourgify_," he murmured, clearing it of the thick patina of dust that had built up over the years. Satisfied with that, he swished and flicked his wand to levitate it from its 30-year-old parking space. Slowly, the motorcycle lifted into the air and floated out of the shadows into the yellow-orange light cast by the torches in their sconces.

"Merlin's headers," he whispered to the bike as he guided it carefully to the floor. "You're magnificent. Ron's going to love you, old man." Harry began to examine the old Harley. The fenders and fuel tank that once shined coal-black, were festooned with classic flames in blue and gold. _Ron'll want red and gold for sure—and probably orange and yellow flames_. The chrome elements showed scratches and bits of blistering due to weather and the ravages of time. _Perfectly repairable_. Harry couldn't be sure, but the engine appeared to be a 1966 or '67 1200cc Shovelhead V-twin. He suspected that since the bike had been thoroughly customised, that engine probably had been as well. _If not, we'll bore it out a bit and give it some more go._

Harry had developed a love for petrol motor-powered vehicles ever since his father-in-law presented him with Sirius' fully-rebuilt and restored 1969 Triumph Bonneville 650. In addition, the young Auror harboured a secret desire to one day own an Aston-Martin DB5, a high-end British sports car reminiscent of the silver-gray model Sean Connery drove as super-spy James Bond in the 1964 film, _Goldfinger_…less Q's_ toys_.

He and Ron, under Hagrid's tutelage, joyfully learned to ride the 650 just last spring, so there was no doubt in Harry's mind that Ron would love riding the Harley as much as he loved riding the _Bonny_. "We'll have to do something about your handlebars, mate," Harry told it with a shake of his head. "Ron's a big bloke, so it's ape-hangers for you."

Harry continued to inspect the old chopper, letting his thoughts wander concerning the magical modifications he and Arthur would make to further customise it to magical standards. He thought they might install the flying and cloaking features that graced his Triumph, not to mention the ever-full fuel tank.

Concerned about how he might move the bike from that room to Ionúin Bhaille, Harry stroked the day's worth of growth on his face. After a few minutes' pondering, he got an idea—requisition. As Head Auror, he could requisition any evidence for any reason. Since he'd had legal dealings with Dung already, he could use that as his excuse. _Now to talk Dad into this_.

Having decided on a course of action, Harry levitated the chopper back into its space, conjured a proportionate patina of dust onto it, and turned to leave. As he walked back through the aisles of the detritus of cases long-since investigated, solved, tried, and filed, he decided it was time to clean house. He guessed that many of the items contained in that massive room had been there long enough to be of no further use to DMLE, so they should be returned to their rightful owners, their families or their heirs, or auctioned off outright.

Harry also decided that all wands stored in that room should be destroyed and that he, personally, should be the one to do the deed. If Voldemort's yew wand truly did reside there, he could ensure that it would never be used to hurt another human being ever again. As for the rest, it would take a veritable army of Ministry interns several months to inventory and re-classify it all to accomplish the task. But the Shovelhead had to be removed and sequestered before any of that would ever happen.

Harry exited the Evidence Repository and locked the door, checking it for security, and then returned through the cell block, bidding a good afternoon to Carstairs as he passed by. As soon as he reached the stairwell, he began a seven-floor sprint to Level Two and the office of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Breathing heavier than usual and sweating slightly from the physical exertion, he burst through the doors into the corridor that led to Arthur's office. _You're going soft, Potter_.

Harry stopped outside his surrogate father's office and bent over to catch his breath, hands on his knees. He cast a drying charm over himself to evaporate the sweat from his face and clothing, and then with a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped through. "Go on in, Harry," Arthur's secretary said. "He's just going over your reports."

"Thanks," Harry replied politely, and continued into Arthur's inner office.

The balding redhead looked up at his son-in-law over his reading glasses. "What can I do for you, son?"

"Dad, I need to talk to you about something I found in the Evidence Repository," Harry said, taking a seat in one of the easy chairs provided for visitors.

"Oh? What did you find," he asked, setting the pile of reports aside. "Something dodgy?"

Harry chuckled. "Dad, there's loads of dodgy stuff in there, but this particular item—I need to _requisition_ it."

Arthur sighed, removed his reading glasses, and then allowed a little grin to grace his lips. "Okay, Harry. You've got a Kneazle amongst your Pixies. What are you up to?"

Harry smirked a little and then did his best to school his features. "There's no beating around your bush, is there? Okay, look—I was bored today, so I decided to read a few old case files. I found a whole drawer devoted to one Mundungus Aloysius Fletcher." Harry then launched into his story of the case file he'd read and what he discovered in it that led him to the repository.

"Ah—so you want to requisition the motorbike, is that it," the older wizard asked. Harry nodded. "But you don't want it for yourself, is that right?" Harry nodded again.

"Sir, I want to see if we can fix it up for—"

"Ronnie."

"Yes, sir," Harry admitted. "He loves to ride Sirius'—my—Triumph, and here's a golden opportunity for him to have a bike of his own. I think it'd be the best present we could ever give him."

"Harry, sometimes Molly and I wonder if you're too good to be true," Arthur said, leaning across his desk in order to speak with a diminished voice. "Actually, this little requisition of yours should be relatively easily done. Just a few forms to fill out and submit to…me! Once I sign them, the bike's yours to do with as you see fit. If anyone asks—or even cares—we'll call it a re-opened investigation."

"Brilliant," Harry cheered quietly. "Once we're clear, I'll just shrink it and stow it a robes pocket. When I get it home, I'll hide it in a closet until I can bring in the Phelps brothers to build us a garage to tinker with it in."

"We? Us? You're including me in this," Arthur chuckled. "I assume, then, you want the same custom package I installed on the 650?"

"I want Ron's bike to be every bit as magnificent as mine," Harry told him with conviction. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all, Harry. It's about time another of Ronnie's dreams comes true," Arthur promised. "What say we get started on those requisition forms? I'll file them first thing in the morning and we should be able to take the bike _legally_ at the end of the day."

"You won't regret this, I promise," Harry gushed.

"I'm sure I won't, son. Now about those forms," Arthur said, rummaging through the file drawer contain within his desk.

"Right," Harry agreed, quill at the ready. "Bring 'em on, Dad."

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Alastor Gumboil walked doggedly along Diagon Alley with the latest issue of _The Quibbler_ hled tightly in his grasp. He had read Hermione's article in the _Prophet_ and would now read the full story in Xeno Lovegood's paper. He had very mixed feelings about the article, but past experience told him that Lovegood would print only the truth where the Weasleys or the Potters were concerned.

On one hand, it annoyed him that Hermione published such an article without telling him, and even more annoyed since he could do absolutely nothing about it. He was downright outraged about the discoveries Hermione had made, but immensely proud of her skills of digging up the historical events showing the unjust treatment of Muggleborns. In Gumboil's view Hermione was the personification of the modern Muggleborn witch, with her vast magical talent and power combined with her position as Lady Black in the Wizengamot. On the other hand, the fact that she rated as one of the most beautiful witches in Britain was a good thing too.

"Of course _Witch Weekly_ has to park two Purebloods in the two top positions—Ginny Potter and Cho Chang," Gumboil spat to himself. "Hermione Granger is far better-looking than those two put together."

The fact that the Most-Beautiful-Witch list was voted on by the readers and not the magazine itself was something Gumboil disregarded entirely, as it didn't fit with his agenda. Muttering further to himself about the injustice of Wizarding publications, he reached The Leaky Cauldron and quickly found an empty table.

Hannah Abbott Longbottom approached with a warm smile and notepad at the ready. "Mr Undersecretary, what might the Leaky serve you today?"

Gumboil looked at the menu, despite he'd already decided. "I'll have fish 'n' chips with mushy peas and a pint of Butterbeer, please," he growled, trying not to sound too peevish.

"Thank you, sir," Hannah replied and turned on her heel to deliver the order to the kitchen, leaving Gumboil to read the longer version of Hermione's article in _The Quibbler_. Her way of laying out the facts in a way that anyone could understand never ceased to amaze him. What he didn't know was that Ginny Potter had been most helpful to this end.

Hannah returned with his food and Gumboil levitated the magazine to hover just before his eyes, allowing him to continue reading while he ate. This article explained the fate of John Baker in greater detail, and also described the warding of Pureblood-owned properties with more facts. Gumboil remembered his parents struggle during the war. Their home had not been hit by the bombs, but nearby explosions had shattered windows on several occasions, not to mention the worry they'd lived with.

Following the Battle of Britain, his father enlisted in His Majesty's armed forces in 1941, fighting with Montgomery's 8th Army in Africa and later, under new commanders, on Sicily and in Italy. Gumboil had heard many tales of his father's experiences during the war and wasn't surprised that Baker had taken action. In Gumboil's view, the man was a hero.

Once he finished the article, Gumboil tried to summarize his thoughts and feelings. He was barking mad at the injustice. _What if the Purebloods had decided to protect their properties by confunding or imperiusing the Muggle leaders to stop the war? Would anyone have been sent to Azkaban?_ "Not jolly likely," he muttered to himself in reply.

He was more than willing to bet a hefty number of Galleons that the hypocritical buggers would've decided in the Wizengamot that even the use of the Unforgivables in this case would've been for the greater good. After all, they would've used it on only a few Muggles—Churchill, Hitler, Stalin and a few others and they'd have ended the war. In the Muggle history books, it would've all been recorded as a neat little cease-fire followed by a lovely little peace negotiation.

Gumboil folded _The Quibbler_ and ordered a cup of tea. He still couldn't decide whether he was impressed or annoyed with Hermione's way of publishing this article unilaterally. He knew she was very careful to make sure anything she wrote wouldn't be misused, but it galled him that she had the audacity to make such a move on her own. _Yes, she's careful to protect her good name_. _After all, she can't put her brilliant protective charms on every issue of the Prophet or the Quibbler_.

With a smile on his lips, he left the Leaky and Flooed to the Ministry. Arriving in the Atrium, he headed for the lift and Level One where his office was located. The first thing he noticed in his Inbox was a memo addressed to _Undersecretary Alastor Gumboil_. The handwriting was undoubtedly Hermione's. Thrilled, he opened it.

_Dear Mr Gumboil,_

_I suppose by now you've read the article I published in _The Daily Prophet. _In case you're unaware, there's also a more-detailed version in the latest issue of _The Quibbler_. My hope is that the historical—yet recent—injustices I revealed in my exposé will raise questions about the Wizarding community today. As stated in the article, I intend to work though official channels in the Wizengamot to right wrongs such as these and award people like John Baker the recognition and accolades they so richly deserve, if only posthumously. Furthermore, I believe my article will afford ELF opportunities to lobby important issues in order to change a number of archaic laws and bring our world into the twenty-first century._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione J Weasley, OMFC_

"She's good. Really good," Gumboil admitted under his breath. "Why _shouldn't_ she use her position as a member of the Wizengamot?" He reluctantly agreed that it would benefit her more than publishing the article through ELF. Furthermore, ELF would probably benefit more from the article being published this way, too. _Validation_. But it still annoyed him that Hermione acted independently and that he hadn't been able to peruse the article beforehand and put his ghost-stamp-of-approval on it. Hermione was a great asset for ELF, but she effectively closed every possible avenue to him to make her the poster-child for the organisation.

"Time for a special meeting," he grumbled, popping the lid off a new bottle of ink and checking the nib on one of the several quills he kept in his desk drawer. "Let Hermione work with the Wizengamot—_I'm_ going to work with my people." With a low chuckle, he began to write.

_S—_

_It's time for the storm, without P or W._

_G_

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Minerva McGonagall sat in her office reading over the latest issue of _The Quibbler_, Hermione's article in particular. She couldn't help smiling to herself as she read. It was just like her favourite student to have enough conviction, smarts, and guts to pen such a report and then publish it for the entire Wizarding world to read, regardless of popular opinion or her Blood-status.

"Come in," she said absentmindedly as a knock sounded on the door. She had scheduled a weekly coalition meeting with the Heads of House in order to share the latest gossip, report on upcoming events, and address issues concerning the management of the school as an institution of magical learning and as a home for its students. Professor McGonagall barely looked up from the magazine to greet Professors Hagrid, Flitwick, Sprout and Slughorn. Each Head took his or her seat and waiting a few moments while the headmistress finished with her reading.

"Hermione Weasley is one brilliant witch," Professor McGonagall stated, her lips twitching into a mild smirk. "Have you read this article of hers in _The Quibbler?_"

Everyone but the Gryffindor Head nodded. "But I 'eard what it's all abou'," Hagrid, who wasn't much for reading anything, asserted. "Poor bloke, tha' Baker fella. Sent ter bloody Azkaban fer savin' all them lives. The place still gives me nightmares, it do."

"I surely hope Miss Gr..." Professor Slughorn began, but remembered he spoke of a married woman. "... _Mrs Weasley_ will achieve some change in the Wizengamot. My House consists primarily of children of the old Pureblood families and quite frankly, they're right terrified after the things that have happened over the past few months, and I can't say as I blame them. And Should a group of children be judged according to the sins of their elder relatives who sided with Voldemort, or decided to toss Baker into Azkaban, while they gladly warded their own homes?" The portly Potions Master wiped his shiny brow with a rather lacy handkerchief as his eyes darted around the room seeking support.

"I think we, as a school, housing the future Wizarding generations should answer Hermione's call," Professor Sprout suggested.

"In what way, Pomona," Professor Flitwick squeaked, clearly intrigued by the idea.

"Mrs Weasley promises to present new legislation to the Wizengamot, so why don't we ask the students to write their suggestions," Sprout replied. "It's time magical children learned how their government works."

Professor McGonagall nodded in agreement. "If there are a decent number of House Points to earn, I think our students are liable come up with many fine and viable ideas. And the more ambitious would most likely read a lot more Wizarding law than we currently include in our curriculum," the headmistress said.

"Any amount of reading would raise that standard, since Hogwarts has all but dropped that course of study from its curriculum," Flitwick added. "Perhaps Civics might be included as a required course of study for the fifth, sixth, and seventh years."

"Filius, you may just have something there," Minerva agreed. "It's time we pulled our collective head out of the sand and got down to some good old-fashioned education beyond—what did Severus call it?"

"Incantations and silly wand-waving," Pomona snickered.

"Right," Minerva agreed, pointing at the Herbology mistress.

"Rubeus and Minerva, you're closest to Mrs Weasley. I only taught her for two years," Professor Slughorn said. "Would it be possible to invite her for tea, show her what the students have suggested, and then decide which of their ideas, if any, she'll bring to the Wizengamot. Those students whose work is approved might be rewarded with some token of appreciation?" Some things never changed. Professor Slughorn enjoyed promoting talented students through his Slug Club via dinner parties and other events, but this would be an opportunity for all students.

"Sluggie, you're a genius," Professor Flitwick exclaimed, clearly supporting the idea.

"There's a lot o' them kids looking up ter our 'Ermione," Hagrid said. "An' we 'ave Madame Bones on our staff, an' since she's the Chief Warlock, we should include 'er inter this plan."

"Excellent," Professor McGonagall beamed, clapping her hands together. "I'll ask Amelia if she'd be willing to act as an advisor to students with questions concerning Wizarding law. And if it would interfere with her Transfiguration lessons, I could take a class or two for a couple of weeks."

It was decided that Professor McGonagall would contact Hermione to present the idea and ask if she would be willing to carry the best ideas from Hogwarts to put before the Wizengamot. The rest of the meeting progressed in the usual fashion, with each Head presenting the latest news from their Houses and their concerns for their students' marks and progress. At the close of the meeting, the four of them left the headmistress' office chatting excitedly about the prospective resurgence in interest in British Wizarding governmental procedure and protocol.

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Ron and Hermione stepped out of the Floo in the Ministry Atrium. "How's your schedule today, 'Mione," Ron asked, reaching for her hand.

Hermione dusted some soot off her shoulder. "I'm hoping for owls from Xeno Lovegood and the _Prophet_ about the article," she said. "Otherwise, it's just another day in Paradise."

"Ah. Since you wrote the article as a member of the Geezergamot, the owls would come here instead of the Burrow, yeah," Ron concluded, taking her hand in his as they walked toward the lifts in a leisurely fashion. "Mum'll be eternally grateful that you leave work at work, since Harry, Dad, and I tend to bring it home with us."

"Yes, you do," she giggled. "So…what about your day," Hermione countered as Ron pressed the call button for the lift.

"Well…Harry and I have a meeting with Dad first. And…unless there's an emergency that demands our personal attention, we'll keep working out the logistics of the tournament…apart from our standard routine."

"So lunch at noon, then," Hermione reminded him, her eyes sparkling and bright.

"A full hour after elevensies, Love," Ron grinned, stepping into the lift.

"See you at noon, then," Hermione sighed, giving Ron a peck on the cheek as the lift jerked to a stop. "Level Four," the annoying female voice announced. "Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"No kidding," Ron grumbled as he escorted his wife to her offices. With a final kiss, she passed through the glass doors. Selma waved to Ron with a warm smile before he turned and jogged to the door that led to the stairs. He feared three weeks of honeymoon had weakened his otherwise powerful leg muscles and he wanted to be in top physical condition for the tournament.

Bursting through the stairwell doors on Level Two, Ron jogged on to the Auror Office and stopped outside the door to catch his breath. It wasn't so much that he was out of breath—he just didn't want to appear that way. With a deep, cleansing breath, he opened the door to his shared office and crossed the room to the locker area where he found Jock Thompson donning his maroon robes for his shift.

"Jock, the chief and I will be in a meeting with Da—Mr Weasley," Ron told the veteran Auror.

"Aye," the man replied. "The tourney's on then, is it?"

"Aye," Ron replied with a twinkle in his sapphire-blue eyes.

A few minutes later Harry arrived too. "G'mornin', you lot!"

"Why are you in such a good mood," Ron asked. "Ginny's on the road, isn't she?"

"Yeah. So," Harry replied with a grin.

"So you didn't get any, which doesn't explain the shit-eating grin you're wearing, mate," Ron chuckled.

"Oh didn't I," Harry asked in retort. "Ginny's on the road, but that doesn't mean I didn't get any. I can _Apparate_, you know. And there _are_ such things as _Portkeys_. And _she _can Apparate…"

Jock stood there red-faced, trying to hold back his Falstaffian laughter. "What the Chief wants, the Chief gets, laddie, an' yoo of all people should know that!"

Harry just looked Ron in the face and nodded curtly. "Yeah, Ron. You should know that."

"Shut it, Chosen Prat-Who-Lived," Ron snorted. "You ready?"

"Yeah, let's go," Harry laughed, slapping his partner on the back. "We shouldn't be long, Jock. Duty roster's on the bulletin board."

"Cheers," Jock replied with a grin as Harry and Ron left the locker room. "Those two may be young, but they're damned good!"

Harry and Ron entered Arthur's office, and closed the door behind them. "Welcome, boys," Arthur greeted them heartily. "I expect you're here to talk about the upcoming duelling tournament?"

"Right in one, sir," Ron confirmed. He had already told Arthur about the tournament the same day Kingsley had given his official approval.

Arthur invited them to sit on the sofas across the room, while he retrieved a few parchments from his desk and joined them. "Before we get into that, I've had a note from Kingsley. I don't think this'll come as a surprise to either of you," Arthur said, handing a copy to each of them. "As you can see, Kingsley wants the Auror Training Program up and running this autumn and I'll need to know what kind of resources that would require."

Harry and Ron read the note. This was good news—beyond good. It was glorious news! Harry had thought about the need for more Aurors the other day when he found the Harley-Davidson.

"Dad, um... Arthur," Ron said. "Harry and I had an idea yesterday about Auror Training."

"I'm listening," Arthur said with a curious twinkle in his eye.

"Broomborne Aurors, sir," Harry declared. "Ron's idea."

"Broomborne. Intriguing," Arthur commented. "Tell me what you're thinking, son."

"Remember the effect Harry and Ginny had in Montrose during the riot," Ron began. Arthur nodded, so Ron continued. "Properly trained, we think a squadron of Broomborne Aurors can be a very effective fighting force, which will undoubtedly save lives."

Arthur pondered the concept for a while. "Do you have Aurors with enough flight skill?"

"Ron and I aren't in a position to lead a Broomborne unit, but we thought about asking Cho. She was a really good Seeker for Ravenclaw. She usually matched me manoeuvre for manoeuvre," Harry said.

"Except when you ploughed her with your Wronski Feint," Ron interjected.

"Hey, we can't all be Krums," Harry snickered, nudging his brother in the ribs.

"Stuff it, ponce. Dad, I'm not sure there's anyone else with that kind of talent in the Office today, but if Cho got to work with an apprentice or two in the Auror Training Programme, I'm sure we could have them ready for action as soon as we intern the recruits," Ron added.

Arthur nodded again, so far approving of his sons' proposal. "What Harry and Ginny did in Montrose was truly remarkable, so it's more than obvious that we should be able to train a Broomborne Auror Squadron." Arthur then shifted to a more formal tone. "Harry, speak with Auror Chang. If she's willing, you have the go-ahead to assemble and train a Broomborne unit."

Arthur didn't want to give Auror Chang a direct order, since at this stage, this venture is purely experimental. He hoped she'd jump at the chance and volunteer, but from what he'd seen in Harry's young Aurors, he was confident that she'd agree to take the assignment.

"Anything else," Arthur asked, knowing his sons. Their faces and body language belied the fact that there certainly was something else on their minds.

"I think the new Auror Training Program should be run out of Hogwarts, like our training program was," Harry suggested."

"Really," Arthur asked.

"Realistically, there will be few, if any, future Aurors to be found among the general public," Harry reasoned. "I think we'll find our future Aurors among the top sixth- and seventh-year students at Hogwarts."

"Harry, that's brilliant," Ron said enthusiastically and took up the mantra. "If Professor McGonagall's willing, we could draft them in their NEWT classes, and instead of studying for an exam, their course of study would directly connect to their chosen careers. 'Mione and I talked about this a few days ago. She was right when she said that Harry and I would have done a lot better in school if we'd known the practical use of the classes, rather than a lot of dry theory and meaningless practice."

Arthur looked at Ron quizzically. "You're suggesting that future Auror recruits—or cadets, as it were—should enroll in their five _required_ NEWT classes, but also receive supplemental Auror training to help them put the theory into real applicable practice, is that right?" Ron nodded, his blue eyes shining with the thrill of the possibilities.

"That's the idea," Harry agreed. "And once they have their NEWTs, they keep training until they're ready to pass the Auror Exam and earn their licence. Hell, Dawlish, Ross, and Thompson would be stellar instructors for Auror procedure. Percy did a helluva job teaching us Ministry protocol, and the rest of us could take part in the physical and practical parts."

"I'll bet Dennis Creevey would love to join the Broomborne Squadron," Ron said.

"He's a fantastic Seeker," Harry said with a grin. "Trained him myself, you know."

"And he's a member of old DA," Ron pointed out. He then adjusted his position on the sofa. A mischievous grin stole across his freckled face and he leaned toward his father. "So who do we harass with swarms of memos to negotiate arrangements for the training program?"

Arthur chuckled merrily, somehow suspected that if anyone could pull this off, Harry and Ron could. "It's actually you, Harry, who has the final say about the Auror Training Program. I simply provide the Galleons and as Head of the DMLE, I more than recognise the need for a few more Aurors to restore it to full-strength. Since your DA training at Hogwarts turned out so well, I'd suggest that you set up a meeting with Minerva. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to host the next Auror class."

Since the Auror training was so extreme it was always the current Head of the Auror Office who was responsible for the training, as was Gawain Robards when Harry and Ron trained last year.

Arthur conjured up some tea before they began talking about the tournament. "I've read your proposals for the tournament, and Kingsley's approval thereof," Arthur began. "Officially, DMLE has been given charge of the event as it's our department hosting it, but in reality, it's your baby. What do you need from me?"

"We'll probably need a few Troopers to conjure the stage and stands," Ron said.

"Where do you think it should be," Arthur asked.

"We need our training facilities, otherwise they'd be ideal. But I'm thinking the Atrium," Harry suggested. "We could banish the memorial fountain—temporarily—and erect bleachers and press boxes and stuff like Muggle stadiums have.

"That would certainly give the general public the chance to watch the duels," Arthur said. "I'll clear it with Kingsley."

"We'll also need qualified referees, commentators, scribes who record the results, pages to carry messages between officials, that sort of thing," Ron added. "And we'll need representatives who can visit each office in the Ministry to answer any questions employees may have before they commit to entering the tournament. And we're very likely find more jobs for the willing along the way."

Arthur took notes on a parchment. "I understand there will be both individual and team competition," he asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "But entry is limited to Ministry employees only."

"Do you realise the interest this tournament will attract," Arthur asked, and then added, "Since I assume you will participate."

Harry moaned. "Be the one to defeat Harry Potter, yeah," Harry huffed, rolling his eyes at the ceiling.

"Something like that, yes," Arthur chuckled.

They all knew how much Harry disliked his fame, but truth to be told, it would be something special to watch Harry duel, since he was exceptionally talented. Like it or not, Harry was the Saviour of the Wizarding World and had been touted in the press as The New Dumbledore. Who wouldn't want to witness as the Great Harry Potter handed opponent after opponent their arses in duel after duel.

"We'll alert Lee to handle the press," Ron said. "I think he'd make a great commentator, since he used to announce Quidditch at Hogwarts. Dean could do colour with him."

"Done. Once you set a date for the tournament to start, you'd better have him send that press release. Get with him to draw up a list of publications to notify," Arthur suggested.

"There's no need to wait. We need to offer training sessions at the Auror Office, but how about February 1st for opening day?" Harry asked.

"Sounds good, but what about security," Arthur asked.

"Troopers," Ron said pointedly. "Any of them who aren't competing can be assigned in rotation to cover the event."

"In that vein, might I suggest another Muggle practice concerning press coverage," Arthur asked over his reading glasses."

"Sure, Dad. What is it," Harry asked.

"A certified and accredited Press Corp," Arthur said. "I understand that Muggle bootball teams issue official credentials to the press, which gain them access to restricted areas of the stadiums and arenas the teams play in."

"That's _football_, Dad, and yeah, they do. You're right. Perhaps Percy can draw up an application form for no more than two from each—one sportswriter and one photographer," Harry suggested.

"The fewer extraneous people wandering about, the fewer potential security breaches. In fact, anyone working this event should be issued official credentials," Ron added. "And February 1st allows plenty of time to prepare the tournament."

"Then it's settled," Arthur said. "By the way, what do you want to call the event?"

"The individual competition will be called The Gawain Robard's Cup, and the team tournament will be The Alastor Moody's Cup," Harry declared. "We thought those two deserved some kind of tribute for all they've done for the Auror Office, the Ministry, and ultimately, the people of Wizarding Britain."

Arthur nodded approvingly. It was fitting to honour these two great Aurors this way. Both men had been skilled duellers and men who served the Auror Office with distinction. With the logistics for the Robard's and Moody's Cups in order, the meeting adjourned. Harry and Ron left Arthur's office and bolted to the Auror Offices to find Cho Chang and deliver the happy news.

As soon as they stepped into the break room, they found Jock Thompson once again munching on pastries and drinking a steaming mug of strong coffee. "Back frrom the Lion's Den, Chief?" the Scotsman grinned.

"Yeah, and in one piece to boot. Would you happen to know where Chang is," Harry asked.

"I think she and Bonesy headed ferr the cafeterria only a minute ago. Ye should be able tae join 'em if you want a bite."

Ron grinned. _Food_.

"All right mate. Another shot at that illusive Agrippa," Harry asked snarkily.

"Of course." Ron said. "And the chance to have a quick snog with my wife." Alternately, Ron's collection of Famous Wizard Cards wasn't complete without Agrippa and no matter what anyone thought about his quest to find that particular card, he had no intention of giving up the search.

Harry rolled his eyes at his friend's obsession with Hermione. "Ron, you're married. You can snog her at home. Hell, you snogged her all over the place before you married her. Why is a snog so special now?"

"Why were you grinning like a fool this morning," Ron asked in reply. "You've been married to my sister longer than I've been married to _yours_ and you can't keep your hands off _her!_"

"That's different. Hermione's home every night," Harry argued good-naturedly. "Ginny goes on the road for days and weeks at a time."

"You can _Apparate_, you know. There are _Portkeys_. _She_ can Apparate…" Ron retorted, throwing Harry's own words back at him, laughing at his deep-down body blush.

"Touché," Harry conceded. "Now let's get downstairs so you can stuff your face and snog my dear sister. You'll hold the fort, Jock?"

"Aye, laddie. I'll manage. It's a rrather quiet day. Therre was a Squad herre drroppin' off a rrattlin' box. They suspected a currse and didn't darre tae open it. It turrned out tae be a trrap ferr Garrden Gnoomes and the Gnoome in question was barrkin' mad. That's all the action we've seen today."

"Garden Gnomes. Certainly dark creatures worthy of Auror attention," Ron snorted ironically. "I take it you managed it without getting bitten."

"We stunned the little buggerr and had the Squad tak it back tae its home. He'll be up and aboot in a few oors," Jock reported amusedly.

"Fair enough," Harry replied. "We're going to have a spot of lunch while we're down there, so we'll be back in a bit. Let us know immediately if we're inundated with a Flobberworm uprising, will you?"

"Go eat, ye daft lad, beforre Red therre wastes away tae nothin'" Jock chuckled, taking another bite of his rather flaky pastry, dropping crumbs into his coffee. "Go on. Get outta herre, noo!"

Laughing and joking, the two top Aurors in Britain raced one another down the stairs like a pair of hyperactive schoolboys, pushing against one another for the advantage. Harry burst through the doors into the corridor on Level One just a fraction of a second before Ron.

Harry had gained a healthy amount of muscle since the war, as had Ron, but Harry's body was wiry whereas Ron's was bulkier. Harry's smaller size afforded him a slight speed and agility advantage over his best mate, but neither man had anything to be ashamed of, physically. The two Aurors rarely paid much attention, but they often received approving stares from the female denizens of the Ministry of Magic, all wishing they walked in Ginny's or Hermione's shoes.

Striding into the cafeteria, still exchanging banter about their relationships with their respective wives, they spied their quarry sitting at the table next to the one they usually shared with the Lunch Bunch. Glancing at the clock, Ron guessed they had about fifteen minutes before he needed to race upstairs to escort his wife to lunch.

"Mind if we join you," Harry asked with his typical Harry-grin.

"Not at all," Susan said.

Harry bought a cup of hot chocolate and Ron ordered coffee and three Chocolate Frogs to hold him until he could share a proper lunch with the others in their group.

"We heard about today's terrible and cursed box." Ron said with a snicker.

"Yeah, that was really scary," Cho giggled.

"The poor Squaddies were a bit embarrassed about the whole thing," Susan laughed.

Harry took a sip of his hot chocolate before changing the subject. "Um…we had a meeting with Arthur this morning, and we have a go-ahead on something we think might interest you Cho."

The two witches looked at Harry with great interest, Cho in particular. "Okay, I'll bite. What is it?"

"Ron, it's your idea. Why don't you break the news," Harry suggested.

Cho's eyes moved to Ron's face and she raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "Out with it, Weasley."

"Relax, Chang. It's nothing bad. In fact, it's pretty cool if you ask me," Ron replied, rolling his eyes. "What it is…is that we want to add a whole new branch to the Auror Office. A Broomborne Squadron."

Cho's eyes lit up like fireflies and her smile revealed straight white teeth. In a word, she was thrilled. "That sounds like a great idea," she gushed. "From a broom we'd have an overview of the battleground and a greater scope of attack…but it'll take a load of training and practice to learn to draw a bead on a target at full speed."

Harry and Ron could see that the former Ravenclaw Seeker already thought about the possibilities. "So you like the idea," Harry asked, his emerald eyes sparkling.

"Oh, absolutely! It's brilliant," Cho exclaimed.

"We're glad you approve because we'd like to assign you to lead and command the Broomborne unit," Ron said with his lopsided smile.

"M-me," Cho asked. "Y-you want to give me a command?"

"Oh, don't look so surprised Chang," Susan laughed. "You're a brilliant flyer and a great fighter. _Trés formidable_."

Cho tried to calm down and maintain some semblance of professionalism, but this was big news. Sure, she had led teams on several operations, but to command the first unit of its kind was something else entirely. "I'd be honoured and happy to lead the unit, sir," Cho replied, composing herself and adding _sir_ without thinking about it. "Who else do you have in mind for this unit?"

"Um…well…we're not sure yet, actually. We plan to officially implement the Auror Training Programme again this autumn and if Minerva is willing, we'll do it at Hogwarts, inviting NEWT-level students to enroll. I'm hoping Dennis Creevey will join." Harry explained "And maybe others from the House teams."

Cho thought for a few moments, weighing her words carefully. "Honestly, Harry, that's wonderful. I guess we've proven ourselves, then?"

"Evidently," Harry confirmed. "Minister Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley were all for it—no arguments."

"I'm assuming this is an experimental venture—this Broomborne-thing," she asked for clarification.

"Officially, yeah," Ron replied.

"In that case, let's not overload our arses right out of the gate. Three or four candidates should be enough to start with," she suggested.

"Sounds like a plan, Cho," Harry agreed. "Any questions at this point?"

"No, sir," she replied, once again assuming the air of professionalism. "Only I request that I be allowed to pick and choose my trainees."

"Request granted," Harry replied. "If you're going to train and command this unit, it only stands to reason that you should evaluate the candidates as you see fit."

"Thank you, sir. We won't let you down," Cho promised, blinking back tears of pride.

With handshakes and words of encouragement all around, Ron left the cafeteria to meet up with Hermione while Harry commandeered the Lunch Bunch's customary table. Ron had once again missed the elusive Agrippa card, finding his own, Harry's, and his sister's new Ginny Potter edition. _Bugger_.

After lunch, Harry planned to pay a little visit to Lee Jordan and his team to compose a preliminary press-release to be published in _The Daily Prophet_ the following day. Since that particular newspaper had worldwide distribution, the announcement was sure to create a buzz and draw the interest of several duelling journals on the international level, as well as many magical sports publications around the globe.

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Early Saturday morning, Fiona took a leisurely shower and dressed in clean scrubs. She had invited Seamus to join the Breakfast Club that day before he returned to Hogsmeade to sleep. While he slept, she planned to pay a visit to WWW to have a chat with Angelina and Verity about George before she popped off to St Mungo's for her usual Saturday shift on the pediatric ward.

If she was honest, she was worried about her favourite Weasley cousin. His usual upbeat and enthusiastic demeanour had gone flat. He seemed pre-occupied and glum, blowing off work in favour of locking himself up in his flat in Diagon Alley to brood. Fiona suspected it had to do with the spectacular failures of his last two inventions, the Ape-arition Bombs and the Farting Fudge. There was no doubt that the two products were great ideas for pranks, but George's lack of attention to minute detail nearly resulted in disaster in testing. The effects lasted too long and could have led to permanent injury to the victims.

She'd just finished plaiting her strawberry locks when a light knock came upon her door. Seamus. "C'mon in," she called merrily. Because he had been on patrol with Lavender Brown, the two lovebirds agreed to lay off last night. At Fiona's behest, the two called a professional truce, which Fiona was sure Harry appreciated. It probably made his scheduling duties much easier.

"Are ya decent, Love," a familiar brogue called from the sitting area.

"Yeah, I'm decent," she replied, bounding into the room from her loo. "And I'm hungry enough ta eat a herd of Erumpents!"

"Well, then. If the Prewetts are anything like the Weasleys, far be it from me ta stand between you and yer breakfast," Seamus chuckled, taking her hand and kissing it properly in the space between the knuckles of her index and middle fingers.

"There'll be no breakfast until ya give me a proper good-morning kiss, Finnegan," Fiona warned with a glint in her sky-blue eyes.

"As you wish, milady," Seamus grinned, pulling her close to his body. "Yer gonna be the death o' me, woman. Ya know that, dontcha?"

"Only if you don't shut up and kiss me," she giggled.

With his free hand, Seamus tipped her chin up to gaze into her eyes. "You are beautiful, Fiona Francine Prewett." The suave Irishman had known for months that Fiona was the woman for him, but he didn't want to assert that fact yet. It was too soon and he didn't want to frighten her off. No, the day he would tell her unequivocally that he loved her hadn't arrived yet. For now, he'd be content to treat her like a princess and give her as many kisses as she wanted.

"And you are hotter'n a two-dollar pistol, Seamus Patrick Finnegan," she breathed, her heart pounding in her chest. Seamus was the first man she'd ever met who could set her heart to racing like that. Even Rupert D Watson with all his charm and charisma couldn't do that to her. Sure, he made her blush, but he never set a fire in her belly like Seamus did.

Gently and sweetly, Seamus pressed his lips to Fiona's, moving them passionately while he caressed her back with one hand and held her face in his other. It took all of his considerable will to refrain from scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to the bed for an all-out snog. Instead, he reluctantly broke the kiss and drew her into a tight embrace. "Ready for that breakfast now, _chéadsearc_," he whispered into her ear.

Fiona thought she'd swoon. When he spoke the Gaelic to her, her knees turned to water and the very breath all but left her body. She couldn't decide if this was love or infatuation, but she certainly hoped with ever fibre of her being that it was love. Seamus Finnegan's attentions were never aggressive. He always comported himself like a gentleman and never attempted to touch her inappropriately, even during a full-on snog. But when he touched her face, chills ran down her spine; when he spoke the Irish…there were no words to describe it. "Mm-hmm," she moaned.

Seamus chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Come on, Miss Prewett. We'd better getcha fed before ya pass out."

Fiona nodded and stepped out of his embrace. "Deeds," she called, opening the door. "Breakfast with Hagrid!"

With an enthusiastic hoot, the great horned owl launched from his perch and led the way out the door, his majestic wings flapping and then spreading wide to glide down the stairway to the Great Hall.

"He's really somethin'," Seamus observed.

"Yeah, he is. He adopted me after me 'n' Granny fixed him up," Fiona explained. "I turned him loose, but he just kept comin' back. He really loves Hagrid."

"There ain't an animal alive that doesn't love Hagrid. Even Blast-ended Screwts love Hagrid," Seamus laughed.

"Blasted what," Fiona asked with a giggle as they descended the stairs.

"Blast-ended Screwts," Seamus laughed. "You don't wanna know."

"Yes I do!"

"Ask Hagrid. He'll be glad to tell you all about them," Seamus smirked. "Ugly ruddy beasts."

Fiona and Seamus took their seats at the head table and began to dig into dishes of scrambled eggs, rashers of bacon, Irish bangers, French toast, assorted fruits, American fries the way Fiona loved them, and assorted pastries and beverages. "I'll never get over the food here," she groaned, spearing a bit of French toast with syrup.

"It's the best," Seamus agreed. "When Harry offered me this assignment, I jumped on it just for the food." _And now I have an even better reason to be here_.

Fiona picked up her goblet of pumpkin juice. "To Harry!"

"To Harry," Seamus agreed, and they both drank deeply.

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After a satisfying breakfast, Fiona and Seamus took their leave. Seamus slung Fiona's backpack over his shoulder and escorted her from the Great Hall and out the towering oak doors onto the grounds. He insisted upon walking with her to Hogsmeade, if only to prolong their time together. By the time she'd finish her shift at St Mungo's, he'd be on duty again with Lavender and unable to visit her in her quarters, even for a few minutes.

"Here we are—Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," Seamus said with a heavy sigh. "And here I gotta leave ya, Love. There's a bed at Three-B waitin' fer me and I could use a good kip."

"Seamus, I worry that you don't get enough sleep," Fiona said, adjusting the collar on his maroon robes. "You're up wanderin' the castle all night, then ya hang around ta have breakfast with me—I just don't wantcha ta git sick over me."

"Ach, ya sound like her Aunt Molly," Seamus winced with a half-smile. "But I do get enough sleep, thanks, and ya got nothin' ta worry that red head about. And I happen to enjoy havin' breakfast with you."

Fiona blushed prettily. "What am I gonna do with you, Seamus Finnegan," she giggled, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Tie this back, will you? Ya look like a scruff!"

"You like it," he teased. "I know ya do. Ya said ya liked long hair on a man once, as I remember."

Fiona ducked her head and leaned into his chest. "Yer right. I do, but just tie it back. I don't like it hangin' in yer face, hidin' yer eyes."

"Woman, if you don't let me go, I'm gonna drop right here in the High Street," Seamus chuckled again. "But if it pleases you, I'll tie it back so you can see that I have eyes."

_Oh, you've got eyes, all right_. "Okay. I'll see ya in the mornin' if I don't see ya later tonight," she promised. "Now go!"

"I'm goin'," he laughed. Then he leaned down for a final kiss before they parted ways until breakfast the next morning. She stood on the step of WWW watching him jog back up the street to the Three Broomsticks and his warm bed.

Shaking her head and smiling to herself, she pushed the door open and stepped into her cousin's shop. As she expected, George was nowhere to be found, but Angelina and Verity were both there, dusting a stocking the shelves in anticipation of another brisk day of business in Hogsmeade Village.

"Onie," Angelina cried, dropping her feather duster. "What brings you to our humble establishment this morning?"

"Hey, Onie," Verity called from the front counter. "What can we do for you?"

"Do ya have a few minutes," Fiona asked, biting her lip. "It's about George. He's—"

"You've noticed too," Angelina sighed. "He's in a slump."

"Yeah, he is," Verity agreed. "We can't get him to leave that flat for more than a few hours at a time. He's even hired a new crew to run the store in the Alley."

"Yeah, he stationed us here because _it's safer in the Village_," Angelina said. "I don't know what in hell he's on about. The war's over, already!"

"Can I ask you ladies something," Fiona asked, once again chewing her bottom lip.

"Sure," Verity replied. "What's on your mind?"

"Before Cousin Fred…died…did either of them ever work alone?"

"Are you kidding," Angelina exclaimed. "Those two were thick as thieves! Never would one be without the other…except during—you know." Angelina's dark skin hid the blush that most-assuredly crept up her neck and onto her face.

"Yeah, George took Fred's death pretty hard, but Ron came to help out right after the war—before he joined the Aurors," Verity said. "They came up with some pretty good stuff for the hols—the Funny Floo Powder, the Stun-bombs, Carol's Candy. All big hits."

Fiona nodded thoughtfully and eyed the other two witches. "So after Ron left, did George hire another…inventor?"

"No, he didn't," Angelina said. "Why?"

Verity's eyes lit up as she caught on to Fiona's drift. "Are you telling us that George needs a side-kick? An assistant? Another…arm?"

"Yeah, I think that's it," Fiona said. "When I first came here, my Aunt Molly wasn't too inclined to accept me. I was all set ta go home and forget it all, but George stopped me and begged me ta stay."

"So…what? You're saying his slump is a result of loneliness," Angelina asked, aghast.

"That's exactly what I'm sayin', Ang. Cousin George is standin' in a river 'n' dyin' o' thirst," Fiona said. "He's surrounded by friends and family, but he's as alone as an ol' coyote. His mistakes are cries for help."

"He needs a partner," Verity concluded. "He needs another inventor to keep him grounded and focused. He and Fred worked like a well-oiled machine; when Ron came to work with us, he and George worked almost as well together. When Ron left…"

"George was sad to see him go, but he'd never stand in his little brother's way," Angelina continued. "He knew he and Harry dreamed of becoming Aurors and he couldn't be prouder of Ron."

"Then that's it. George needs a partner in the lab," Fiona said. "I'd be glad to help out, but I'm wrapped up in my apprenticeship and my work at St Mungo's. All of George's siblings have careers of their own and wouldn't know the first thing about inventin' 'n' prankin'."

"That leaves one of us," Angelina said sadly. "I was pants at Potions. I got only an 'A' on my Potions OWL, so that was it for me. I can't cook either, come to that."

The three witches laughed at Angelina's confession, but it was short-lived laughter. "So…any ideas?"

Verity's face broke into a wide smile and her eyes lit up with the light of a great idea. "Me! I could help George in the lab!"

"You," Angelina asked. "I never took you for the pranking sort."

"Yeah, me," Verity cried. "I got an 'O' in Potions. If I'd been a Slytherin, ol' Snape would have surely offered me an apprenticeship for a mastery. But alas, I'm just a lowly Ravenclaw and wasn't worthy of the greasy git's notice."

"You know…" Fiona began. "If that's true and you still want to go for a Potions mastery, I could put in a good word for ya with Sluggy—I mean, Professor Slughorn. If you're that good, he'd be tickled pink to take you on."

"Do you think so," Verity asked excitedly. "Do you think George would let me work with him in the lab? Angie?"

"I think we need to sit him down, sober him up, and put this idea to him," Angelina said with absolute conviction. "And when we convince him to let you, you can write Professor Slughorn about that apprenticeship. I mean, can you imagine what the two of you could do for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?"

"Ladies, looks like we got us a plan," Fiona said. "Now it's up to you two to put it into action. I'll do what I can, but Miss Verity's George's only hope at this point. You gotta convince him of it and drag him up outta this slump he's got himself into."

"Fiona, you're a genius," Angelina cried, tears pooling in her dark eyes. "You've given me hope for my George." She stepped forward to give her man's cousin a heartfelt hug.

"After work tonight, we'll go to the flat and drag him out for a chat," Verity said determinedly. She turned to Fiona and looked into her eyes pleadingly. "Can we tell him this was your idea?" Verity knew very well how much weight Fiona's opinion carried with her boss.

"You tell my cousin whatever you gotta tell him to make him listen," Fiona said. "If he gives ya any mess, Floo me and I'll set him straight with a healthy kick up the ass. But I really don't think it'll come to that. He loves Angie dearly and thinks the world o' you, Verity, so yer chances're pretty good. Just keep me posted."

Angie stood stunned at Fiona's declaration of George feelings for her. "He—he loves m-me? G-george really l-loves me?"

"Of course he does," Verity and Fiona said together. "Ain't that man ever told you that?"

"No. No, he hasn't. I think it's…I dated Fred before he was killed—pretty much all through school," Angelina confessed. "George and I were just good friends, but we started talking at a party and…well, he hired me for the shop and we just started hanging out together."

"_Hanging out?_ Ang, you've been dating for over a year," Verity argued. "He invites you to just about every Weasley function there is! If that's not dating, I don't know what is."

"Yeah, but I can't help but wonder if he invites me just to be nice, you know," Angelina argued. "I mean, they're all nice to me and treat me like I belong, but…"

"Ya _do_ belong and I'll tell ya why I know that: That day Georgie took me ta the Burrow ta meet Aunt Molly, she took one look at me and asked him where _you_ were," Fiona told her pointedly. "And Ronnie did the same when he showed up. Maybe Georgie ain't said anything because he's afraid he'll _dishonour_ Fred's memory or somethin'."

"Do you think so," Angelina asked, her eyes wide with hope.

"I'm no shrink or nothin', but that's how it looks ta me," Fiona assured her. "An' for what it's worth, when George talks about ya, he gets this goofy grin on his face and a kind o' far-away look in his eyes."

"You _could_ take the initiative once we pull him out of this slump and work his confidence up again," Verity suggested. "One night when you're out together…"

"Angie, just tell him how _you_ feel; he needs ta know that," Fiona said flatly. "It might help him _get over himself_, as Ginny would say."

"Right, and then assure him that you're over Fred and that it's okay to grieve—and that you always will," Verity added. "And you'll grieve together. You've lost the same loved one and you're both hurting. It's time to heal, and it's apparently up to you to start the process."

"Miss Verity's right, honey. It's time," Fiona agreed, glancing at the clock mounted on the wall over the service counter. "And speaking of time, is that there clock right?"

Angelina looked up at the clock and then checked her watch. "Yeah, it's right."

"Then I need to get a move on. I'm due at St Mungo's at noon and I've got a twelve-hour shift ahead o' me," Fiona said with a sigh. "It's a good thing I like kids."

Angie drew her into another hug. "Thanks again…for everything, Onie."

"Hey, no biggie," Fiona assured her.

"Um…be sure to say hello to Seamus for us," Verity added with a smirk. "Don't think we didn't see you two making eyes at each other outside."

"That's a talk for another day, thanks," Fiona blushed. "But he is pretty hot, ain't he?"

"Show me an Auror who isn't," Verity giggled. "That Tony Goldstein's looking pretty good these days…"

"_All right!_ This is where I came in," Fiona laughed, moving toward the door. "I'll see you ladies later!" She opened the door and rushed out to the sound of a klaxon, which Verity silenced with a flick of her wand.

As she passed the Three Broomsticks, Fiona quickly stole a glance at the second-story window that looked into Seamus' rooms. She blew a kiss at it and Disapparated to London and St Mungo's Hospital. Back inside the shop, Angelina and Verity continued with their work, all the while discussing a strategy for Operation Weasley.

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Harry and Arthur met in Arthur's office under the guise of working out more logistics for the tournament. In reality, they were there to requisition a certain Muggle-related artefact _for further investigation_. All the proper paperwork had been filled out and filed, stamped and approved, and now it was time to put their plan into action.

During the week, Harry had contacted Phelps Brothers Builders about a fully-functional and stocked garage, suitable for housing at least two cars and a motorcycle, and a workshop, complete with pit. Harry ordered a complete set of Snap-On® tools, cabinet, and every sort of fluid, oil, cleaner, and lubrication a tinkerer could ask for and all the accessories necessary to work with it all.

Construction was set to begin the following Monday morning, so Arthur determined that they would shrink the Harley and stash it in a secure container which Harry would hide in one of the wall-safes at Ionúin Bhaille. Once the garage was finished, they'd take the Harley out into the woods, away from the village where Bill would break whatever curses that tainted it. At that point, the three of them would sneak it into the workshop, tear it down piece-by-piece, and clean every still-functional component, replacing what they needed to, and then rebuild and restore the chopper in time for Ron's birthday on the first of March.

"Why go to all the trouble of cleaning the parts by hand," Arthur asked, having little understanding of the intricacies of the combustion engine. "All I had to do with Sirius' bike was to replace damaged parts and _Tergeo_ or _Scourgify_ the dirt and grime away."

"Dad, the Triumph hadn't been sitting idle for forty years; this Harley has," Harry explained. "Since wizards don't know squat about these things, they just parked it down here without at least draining the fuel tank. The inside of that tank is coated with sludge about the consistency of varnish. The oil left in the engine has turned to tar—these are things we can't just fire spells at without inflicting irreparable damage. Besides, think of the greater sense of accomplishment when we're finished."

Arthur cast an amused smile at his son-in-law. "Harry, to hear you talk, we're restoring a work of art."

"We are, Dad," Harry smiled wistfully. "We _are_."

With a flick of his wand and a softly-spoken _Reducio,_ the big Harley-Davidson shrunk to the size of a 1/24 model, which Harry sealed in a hard plastic box. He then slipped it into his robes and the two of them left the Evidence Repository with a cheerful wave to Trooper Carstairs.

"Coming for supper, son," Arthur asked as they rode the lift to the Atrium level. "Molly cooked all your favourites—including treacle tart for afters."

"Wouldn't miss it," Harry agreed. "Just let me pop home and change out of these heavy robes."

"Fair enough," Arthur agreed. "See you at the Burrow in a bit, then."

The two of them Disapparated—Arthur to the Burrow and Harry to Ionúin Bhaille. Upon arrival home, Harry headed straight to his study where a framed print of his dream Aston-Martin hung on the wall behind his desk. With a wave of his hand, the picture swung forward revealing a small safe. He turned the dial left, then right, and then left again until he heard a faint _click_. He opened it and slid the box containing the chopper inside. With a sly smile, he closed the door and spun the dial. He waved the picture back into position and left the study.

"Mischief managed."


	36. Chapter 36 Foreign Exchange

**Chapter 36 – Foreign Exchange**

Gallatea, or _Taya_ as she preferred to be called, had just placed the finishing touches on breakfast when an owl swooped into the kitchen. It stretched out its leg with a hoot and waited patiently while Taya removed the official-looking document. It was addressed to Jayce, so she put it on the table at his place, as she knew well that to open someone else's mail without permission was a federal offence.

"Jayce! Breakfast," Taya called, and almost instantly, Jayce appeared, seemingly from out of nowhere. He gave her a peck on the cheek and a slight squeeze on the bum. "Flirt," she giggled and pushed him into his chair at the table. "There's a letter for ya by your plate."

Jayce opened the letter and read it, his brown-black eyes widening in pleasured surprise.

"Well…what do they want," Taya asked.

"It's an official summons to the RFK Building in DC. There's a set of Portkeys waitin' to take me there as soon as I get to work."

"DC," Taya gasped. "I sure hope that passel of bureaucratic boneheads don't try to park ya behind a desk!"

Taya would be proud of Jayce if RFK wanted him for a special assignment or offered him a hard-earned promotion, but she didn't want to move there. Washington, DC's crime rate is one of the highest in the country, not to mention the traffic back-ups whenever old Billy-Jeff took to the streets. _But we wouldn't actually have to live in DC, since the Holler's within Floo and Apparition range._

"They don't say, babe, but if it's a desk-job, it ain't happenin'," Jayce concluded after reading it over a second time. "I guess I better be off. It's not nice to keep HQ waitin'."

Jayce all but inhaled his hotcakes and sausages, then stood and gave Taya a lingering kiss. "Tasty as always. Listen, I'll be in touch if I can't come home this afternoon."

"I know ya will. Now get a move on, Fulla Bull," Taya urged him with a shove toward the door. She watched as he jogged to the middle of the back yard and disappeared with a _pop!_ Shaking her head slowly, she returned to the kitchen with a sigh. She still had a couple of hours before she had to leave for her job with the Parks Department.

This time of year, cross-country skiers and snowshoe hikers liked to follow the trails and some were even brave enough to camp along the Big Sioux River. Once in a while, a few college students would get drunk and get themselves lost, which would require search and rescue teams to comb the trails and surrounding trees for them. Taya was often called in to join the teams due to her uncanny ability to find just about anyone lost anywhere. Her supervisor often made wisecracks about her parentage, because he insisted she must be a quarter Bloodhound and a quarter St-Bernard. It was a good thing for him that Taya had a sense of humour or he might find himself hexed into the middle of the next century as soon as his back was turned.

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About twenty minutes later, Jayce appeared on Floor 3 1/3, magically concealed between the third and fourth floors housing the secret headquarters for the Magical Division of the United States Marshall Service.

"Good morning, sir," the receptionist greeted him as she magically filed a memo. "Can I help you?"

"Good morning Miss…Walker," Jayce replied. "I'm here to see the director. I'm Deputy Marshall Jayce Silvercloud."

"Oh yes, of course," the young African-American witch smiled. "Follow me, please."

Jayce followed her to a set of double bronzed doors that led to an opulent inner office where two men in rather expensive-looking business robes waited. The first man he recognised as Director Alexander Compton Blackthorne, but the other man's identity was a mystery to him.

"Sir, Deputy Marshall Silvercloud is here to see you." She stood aside, allowing him to pass. He nodded politely and entered the office. _Our tax-dollars at work_.

"Thank you, Althea," one of the men, presumably the director, said with a slight New England accent.

Jayce assumed an at-rest stance while he waited for the director to invite him to sit. _Sounds like a Masshole, as Barber would call him._ Jeff Barber served with Jayce during Desert Shield and Desert Storm. Their battalion served as the base unit for "Task Force Ranger" during Operation Gothic Serpent in Somalia.

Following their tour of duty in Somalia, they returned to Fort Benning with the 3rd, but Jayce chose not to re-enlist, instead opting for a little respite before taking a shot at the United States Marshall Service. While hiking and camping in the mountains of western North Carolina, he came upon the village of Rook Holler where he met the most beautiful pair of strawberry blondes he'd ever seen—Gallatea Prewett and her twin sister, Fiona.

"Silvercloud," the Director Blackthorne greeted him, extending his right hand. "Welcome to Washington, DC."

"Thank you, sir," Jayce answered respectfully with a hint of military decorum.

"Silvercloud, this is Secretary of Magic Arlan Listenbee," the director said, introducing a tall but stocky African-American male of about thirty years of age.

"Mr Secretary, a pleasure," Jayce replied, shaking the man's hand.

"Likewise, Deputy Silvercloud," the secretary replied in a deep rumbling bass.

"Please sit down, Deputy," the director said, gesturing to a walnut chair with burgundy leather upholstery held in place with capped brass tacks.

Jayce nodded and took his seat, waiting for the two of the highest-ranking wizards in the entire United States to tell him why they'd invited him there. He didn't wait long.

"Let me get straight to the point," the director said, handing him a file. "The secretary has learned that the British Ministry of Magic is arranging a duelling tournament open to its employees."

Jayce nodded, but said nothing.

"The British Wizarding community has been an object of interest for us as they rise from the ashes of war against a maniac known as _Lord Voldemort_, but what I'm particularly interested in is their Auror force," the secretary intoned importantly. "You're maybe aware that its Head is one Harry James Potter, aged nineteen years, the man who is reported to have personally disposed of said maniac singlehandedly."

"Yes sir. I'm familiar with the case," Jayce answered. He wondered why on earth they'd want him—a Deputy Marshall—to concern himself with some Limey inter-office duelling contest. _What does this have to do with me? I've got drug-traffickers to bust._

"It appears our British cousins have taken to developing a whole new fighting style. I've read reports describing how they stopped a rioting crowd and how they diffused a rather violent fight in a pub in Northern Ireland," Blackthorne explained. "What we don't have are hard facts. We want to send someone in to observe and evaluate their progress first hand."

"Interested in the job," Secretary Listenbee added, fixing the Sioux Deputy Marshall with a stare that brooked no argument. In fact, his question came across as a thinly-veiled order, rather than an invitation.

"Me," Jayce replied in utter amazement. "Why me?"

"Yes, Silvercloud, you," the director replied pointedly, shifting his position in his high-backed black leather desk chair. "You have experience from your time in the Middle East and in Somalia."

"I've had a few run-ins with So Damn Insane's Republican Guard-mages, yes," Jayce said, confirming the director's assertion.

The director and the secretary ignored Jayce's less-than-respectful moniker for the Iraqi president, as they didn't harbour any kind thoughts for the man either. "And from what I've heard, you have ready-access to Aurors Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley," the secretary averred.

"They're my…Gallatea's…cousins, if that's what you mean. Her sister moved over there last summer. Their uncle's Head of the British Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Jayce said.

"Arthur Weasley, yes," the secretary confirmed. "The Weasley family is highly-spoken of by their Minister for Magic."

"So, you can see why you are perfectly suited for this job, Silvercloud. The tournament has only just been announced, but we want you in England as soon as possible so you can connect with the Weasleys. During the tournament, you will evaluate the fighting capabilities of the British Aurors, and if there's a chance for an exchange of knowledge, we're interested in a deal that might mutually benefit our countries."

"If the opportunity presents itself to have a friendly duel with the Aurors, you should take it," the secretary added.

"Of course, sir," Jayce replied. "I understand camaraderie." His head spun with the possibilities. This could be big and do a lot to advance his career. But that aside, Jayce realised he couldn't say no because in essence, he had been given an order, but he worried about what Taya would feel about him running off to England for who knew how long.

"Well, Mr Silvercloud. How about it," Blackthorne insisted.

"Personally, I'd love to go, sir. But this assignment will last several weeks and I'd like to talk to Gallatea about it first."

"Understood. However, we've already petitioned the State of South Dakota and the City of Sioux Falls to grant Miss Prewett a leave-of-absence so she may accompany you, since her presence could greatly increase the potential for a successful mission," the director assured him. "By the time you return to your home, she will have already been informed of the arrangement."

Jayce knew Gallatea had wanted to go to England for their vacation in June so she could visit their father's and uncle's graves, meet her extended family, and reunite with Fiona, who appeared to have fallen in love with the country and planned on staying on indefinitely. "If I could use your Floo I'll give her a heads-up right away."

"Of course," the director agreed, gesturing to the stone fireplace behind him. Jayce could hardly claim an intricate understanding of the ins and outs of the Floo network, but he knew calls could be made safely from place-to-place on the American continent; however, if someone should try to step through the Floo in DC, aiming for LA, they might end up anywhere from a lodge house on the Alaskan Tundra to a hut in the jungles of Nicaragua. To avoid such disasters, the Federal Department of Magical Transportation had installed permanent Portkey stations all over the country, allowing wizards to literally leap-frog around the continent in relative safety.

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Taya returned home at lunch time, as she had been placed on a sudden leave-of-absence at the behest of the United States Department of Justice. She figured it had to do with Jayce's summons, but for the life of her, she couldn't figure out what that meeting would have to do with her.

Deciding to give up worrying about it until Jayce came home, she set to work separating the laundry to wash. She could have simply scourgified it, but since she had a few hours to kill, she chose to use the beautiful washer and dryer that came with their rented house. As she worked, she hummed an old mountain tune Granny had taught her and Onie when they were little girls. _Many hands make light work, but a melody makes cheerful work_. She just about jumped out of her skin when a flash of green flame from the fireplace interrupted her reverie.

"Taya," Jayce's voice called. "You home by any chance?"

"Right here, honey," she replied and walked over to the Floo. "I take it you know why I'm on LOA?"

Jayce explained the assignment and that he'd been all but volunteered outright. Taya sat down—or rather dropped down—on a chair, shocked, happy, and proud for Jayce's sake. "So this is why I'm on LOA? I get to go to England with you? Oh my gosh, Jayce! Really? Honest?" Tears of joy streamed down Gallatea's face. After many long months, she'd see her twin sister again and that was worth a dozen LOAs to her.

In truth, there were probably many wizards and witches in America who were more experienced than Jayce, but his connection to the Weasleys automatically moved him to the head of the line. No one else had his law-enforcement and military experience, and certainly no direct access to the Weasleys or by extension, Harry Potter.

"You're the best, my Tay-O-Wee," Jayce smiled broadly in relief, since he could hardly say no to the Secretary of Magic or the Director of the magical division of the US Marshall Service. "Now, they want us to leave ASAP, so I need you to start packing for us. I'll need a few uniforms, but otherwise, just pack what I usually wear and maybe that nice western-style suit you love so much. I'd suggest you pack a couple of dressy outfits for yourself. What we don't pack, we'll buy if we need it. When I get home this evening, I'll know more about how and when they want us to leave. Call Dad and Jett and tell ask them to look after the place while we're gone."

"Okay, darlin'. I'll get on it, but you know full-well the old buffalo's gonna wanna to bless us before we go," Taya said, her Carolina twang escaping in her excitement. Since she'd moved west with Jayce, she worked very hard to suppress it as it didn't fit with the broader upper-Midwestern pattern of speech.

"See ya in a bit, babe," he said with a grin and the green flames vanished.

Taya felt waves of excitement and anticipation wash over her body from head to toe. She paced around the living room, muttering a to-do list to herself until she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks.

"Granny," she cried. "I have to tell Granny!" She dug through the junk-drawer in the kitchen until she found a notepad and pen. She scribbled a message to Granny Tyree saying that she and Jayce would be heading to England within the next few days and that if they could, they'd stop in. If they couldn't, they'd Floo her from DC before they left.

She checked her laundry and discovered that she had about ten minutes before the washer would finish its cycle. She waited it out, tossed the wet load into the dryer, and started the next one. She grabbed her keys and Apparated to the United States Owl Post to send her letter. She paid the $2.50 fee and watched as a large barn-owl flew off to the southeast on its way to the magical hamlet of Rook Holler, tucked away in the mountains of western North Carolina. Upon her return home, she finished the laundry and began to pack their two large ballistic nylon suitcases.

Jayce arrived home that evening feeling overwhelmed after a day he understood would change his and his love's life. As he stepped out of the Floo, Taya jumped into his arms and crushed her lips to his.

"Baby, this is so great! We'll see Onie," she cried, attempting to squeeze the stuffing out of him. "And you'll get to meet Harry Potter."

"It's somethin', huh," he replied with a boyish smile and a kiss to her cheek. After a few more moments of warm embrace, he loosened his hold and allowed her to step back. He caressed her beaming face and couldn't help beaming back at her himself. "Look, the RFK's fixing our itinerary as we speak. We're off to HQ tomorrow morning to pick up our passports and plane tickets, and then they'll take us to Dulles for our flight to Heathrow, London."

Taya stood in shock. "We're going tomorrow? I thought stuff like this took time," she said. "I mean…I won't even have time to tell anyone we're coming."

"Usually, yes, but they want us there as soon as possible to hook up with the Weasleys as soon as possible before the tournament. I also need time to meet with the British Minister and, I assume, his staff." Jayce explained. "They didn't actually say so, but I suspect some confunded Muggle is working on our credentials right now. They'll just charm them tomorrow so our pictures appear on them."

Taya nodded and took a deep breath. "Can we go to the Holler? I'd like to see Granny before we leave."

"If the packin's done, yeah. We can go whenever you're ready," Jayce assured her.

"It is and your dad and brother should be here in a bit to give us the blessings," Taya said, taking one last look at the bags. "Yep. It's all here."

Within the hour, John Silvercloud and his eldest son and heir, Jett, arrived to confer travel and safety blessings on the two travellers in the tongue and way of the People. The ceremony lasted about twenty minutes, complete with anointing their heads with purified water from the Big Sioux, a protection amulet for Gallatea, and a strong medicine bag for Jayce.

"Thanks, Dad," Jayce said tearfully, drawing his father into an embrace. He grasped arms with his brother and gazed into his deep brown eyes. "Jett, keep an eye on the old buffalo, okay? Don't let him overdo it."

"Not a chance, brother," Jett replied. "You two be safe and let us know as soon as you land."

"Will do," Taya interjected, kissing both Medicine Men on each cheek. "Please give our respect and regards to the Grandfathers."

"Go, now, my children," John said, giving them both chaste kisses on their foreheads. "Until we meet again." With that, John and Jett left the house and Disapparated back to the reservation.

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Jayce and Taya checked their bags one last time before they shrunk and stowed them in Jayce's backpack. They locked up the house from the inside, and began their Apparition itinerary, following a modified version of the route they had taken to Rook Holler for Rhiannon O'Reilly-Prewett's funeral. Two hours later, they arrived at the edge of the village where they were met by its mayor of sorts, Coy Dennis.

"Mr Coy, is that you," Taya asked into the darkness.

"Come on out, boys," Coy called to a group of four men standing several yards behind him. "It's Taya 'n' Jayce." Emery Johns, George Cox, and Jack and Ed Carver strode forward with welcoming grins on their faces.

"Mr Dennis," Jayce said, stepping into the light of Coy's lantern and offering his hand. "Good to see ya."

"Likewise, Jayce. Taya treatin' you right," he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Couldn't ask for a finer woman, Coy," Jayce replied. "We're by ta see Granny before we fly out to the UK tomorrow mornin'."

"That a fact," Coy asked rhetorically. "What's takin' you two there?"

"Jayce's gonna be on assignment there for several weeks," Taya added. "We're finally gonna meet our cousins and spend some time with Onie while we're there."

"Well, if that don't beat all," Coy laughed. "Come on, then. We'll take y'all on up ta the cabin in the truck. I expect yer plumb tuckered from all that Apparatin'."

"That's the truth," Taya laughed. "Granny doesn't know we're comin', though. I only told her we was gonna Floo her from DC. I didn't know we'd have time to stop in."

"I'm sure Miss Eula Mae'll be pleased as punch ta see ya," Emery said, passing a jar to Jayce.

"Oooh-wee, that's some good stuff," Jayce howled, wiping his lips with his sleeve.

"It's the latest run," Ed grinned. "Wanna take some over ta that whiskey-swillin' bunch in England? Show 'em some real drink!"

"Can ya get me a case by first light," Jayce asked, rubbing his palms together.

"Jayce Silvercloud, are you meanin' to tell me you're gonna smuggle moonshine into Great Britain," Taya cried, slapping his shoulder.

"Hell, why not, Taya," Jack Carver hooted. "Feds got the best weed and the best booze in the country. Ever'body knows that!"

Jayce shook his head in amusement, knowing that what the younger Carver brother had said was true. "Taya, I'm an Army Ranger and a Federal Marshall. If anybody can smuggle anything anywhere, it's me," he chuckled, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. "Besides, I can configure it to look like a case of vanilla candles."

"If your red skinned ass gets detained, I don't know ya," she huffed. The others on the truck burst into laughter as they banged along the dirt road that led to Granny Tyree's cabin.

"Same price," Jayce asked, reaching for his wallet.

"You bet," Emery confirmed. "We'll leave it on the porch under one o' the benches. We'll even transfigger it for ya."

"No, I'll do my own transfigurin', thanks," Jayce said, handing a small wad of cash to the man. "Look out for them _revenooers!_"

"T-men? Please," Ed laughed, slapping a faded denim-clad thigh. "They don't come around these parts. Even if they did, they'd never find Rook Holler."

"True, dat," George Cox agreed, taking a last swig from the jar. He turned it upside-down and shook it. "Damn. All gone."

"Good thing, too. We're comin' up on Granny's place and you know how she is about drinkin' 'n' drivin'," Coy called from the cab. He pulled the battered old Ford to a halt in the yard, scattering a family of raccoons into the trees. "Still feedin' that clan o' coons."

"You know Onie started that," Taya said in defence of her adoptive grandmother. "They don't know any better now." She carefully stepped to the now-opened tailgate of the truck and allowed the Carver boys to help her down.

Jayce tossed his backpack to George and back-flipped off the end, landing squarely on his feet. "I still got it!"

Coy escorted them to the door and knocked. After several tense moments during which Taya worried Granny might have fallen or taken ill, the door opened a crack. "Who in tarnation's knockin' at my door at this hour?"

"Granny," Taya cried. "It's Taya 'n' Jayce!"

"Taya-girl? Jayce," Granny repeated with a broad grin. "Well, come on in here 'fore ya catch her death! Coy, thank ya fer bringin' 'em in safe."

"My pleasure, Eula Mae," Coy replied, tipping his John Deere ball cap. "Taya, Jayce—good ta see y'all again. Give my best ta Onie when ya see her."

"Will do, Mr Coy," Taya agreed, giving the man a brief hug.

"We'll see that package gets here by dawn, Jayce," Coy promised, shaking his hand. "Y'all have a safe trip."

"Will do…and thanks, man," Jayce replied. He craned his neck to the four younger men assembled in the yard. "You guys keep the faith and look after this ol' possum!"

"Every day, man," Jack called in reply. "'Night now!"

Granny, Taya, and Jayce watched from the porch as Coy and the Rook Holler Guard drove away into the night. Once the Ford's tail lights faded from view, Granny shepherded the younger ones into the house and put on a pot of coffee to brew.

"So tell me 'bout this here mission yer on, boy," Granny said, setting out some leftover biscuits and cornbread.

Jayce related the tale of their rather long and interesting day and how he'd been assigned to observe and train with the British Auror force and the Ministry duelling competition. While Jayce filled Granny in, Taya wandered around the cabin, stopping and touching certain items here and there until she came upon the room in which her mother drew her last breath.

Looking over her shoulder to the table, she slipped into the room. It looked the same as it ever did, only anything that had belonged to her mother had been long-since packed up and sent to her in South Dakota. She promised herself that should Fiona ever come back to the States for a visit, she'd sit down with her and go through it all.

"We miss ya, Momma," she whispered into the quiet of the now-spare bedroom. "I'm goin' ta see Onie in England. Jayce's gonna work with the Aurors there. She's workin' on her Healer's licence at that school you 'n' Daddy went to." She lay herself down on the bed and curled into a ball, allowing a few tears to fall. She caressed the quilt that covered the bed and breathed in, hoping to catch some small hint of her mother's rosewater scent.

She must have fallen asleep there, because all of a sudden, Granny was shaking her awake so she could change into a nightgown and move to Fiona's old room. "Granny, I'd rather stay here if ya don't mind. Jayce can sleep in Onie's room."

"Ya sure yer all right, child," Granny asked softly, moving some hair from her face. "I wasn't sure ya'd wanna sleep in here since…"

"No, it's okay. I want to," Taya assured her. "I'll see ya at breakfast?"

"Bright 'n' early," Granny agreed. "Jayce tells me ya gotta be in Washington by eight."

"Yes, ma'am. Could ya send Jayce in before he turns in?"

"Course, darlin'. Good night now," Granny said, shuffling out of the tiny bedroom.

A moment later, Jayce came in and sat down beside her on the bed. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I think so," she sniffled. "Just memories is all." She leaned into her man's shoulder and cried her heart out until she couldn't produce another tear.

"Get some sleep, babe. We've got a long day tomorrow," he murmured into her hair. He helped her into the bed and covered her up, leaving her with a kiss on her forehead. "See ya in the mornin'."

"'Night, baby," she replied and drifted off to sleep.

Jayce awoke to the smell of frying bacon, eggs, biscuits and gravy, strong coffee, and grits. Granny never could send anyone off without a full belly. He cast a quick cleansing charm over himself and his clothes from yesterday and dressed just in time to join Taya and Granny at the table. Granny filled them in on all the news around Rook Holler and prepared a care package for them and Fiona. She would have sent some vegetables she and the other witches in the holler had put up, but Jayce had to decline, informing her that it would be confiscated and destroyed, since it hadn't been commercially prepared.

"Dang fool revenooers," she spat under her breath. "Oh well, take Onie this afghan 'cuz I know it gits cold in that England. Tell Miss Hermione when ya see her that we started them quilts she asked fer and she's not to send a red cent for none of 'em. It's our pleasure."

"Okay, Granny. I'll tell her, but it's up to her if she listens," Taya agreed. She turned tear-filled eyes to Jayce and took his hand. "We better get goin'. Did you pick up your package?"

"Got it right in here," he told her, patting his backpack. "One dozen vanilla-scented moonshine candles."

"Jayce Silvercloud, you are a caution," Granny cackled. "You could-a transfiggered the jars, ya know."

"So I could. Go get them quick, Granny," Jayce laughed. "What do ya think, babe?"

"Um…gosh, I don't know. How about…oh I know! Doilies," Taya giggled. "We're already toting an afghan, why not a pile of doilies?"

"Doilies it is," Jayce laughed and flicked his wand at the box of jarred vegetables Granny had set on the table. He carefully packed them into his backpack with the "candles," and zippered it closed. "All set."

"You two be good and give Onie my love," Granny sniffed, hugging them close. "An' if Miss Molly wants any more o' my recipes, just have 'er drop me a line."

"Will do, Granny," Taya said. "Love you."

"Love you too, honey. Now git before yer late," she laughed, shoving them to the door. She watched with her arms crossed over her chest as they Disapparated from the front yard.

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Praying for the protection of whichever gods might be watching, Jayce and Taya passed passport control and customs at Dulles, slipping their contraband through security. Perhaps Jayce's badge and USMS identification had much to do with the ease of their passing. They prayed again as they deplaned in London and had only just entered the arrival hall at Heathrow when they noticed two people holding a sign saying _Jayce Silvercloud and Gallatea Prewett_.

"Looks like our welcoming committee," Jayce smirked, re-shouldering his backpack. Just before they left the RFK building, Jayce restored their bags to full size so as not to arouse suspicion that they were boarding an international flight with no more baggage than a hiker's pack.

"You knew about this? Who are they," Taya asked.

"I was told we'd be escorted to the Ministry and formally welcomed to Britain and after that, Arthur Weasley's supposed to meet us."

They approached the two men dressed in maroon robes and black fatigues and boots. "I'm Deputy Marshall Jayce Silvercloud and this is Miss Gallatea Prewett."

"Mr Silvercloud," the taller of the two greeted him, and then turned to Taya. "Miss Prewett, on behalf of Wizarding Britain, let us be the first to officially welcome you to the United Kingdom. I'm Senior Auror John Dawlish and my colleague here is Senior Auror Donald Ross." Ross nodded a greeting.

Taya felt a slight blush being addressed as _Miss Prewett_ by the polite Brit.

"Shall we be on our way, then," Dawlish suggested, reaching for one of the bags. Ross took hold of the other and the four left the hall and headed into the tunnels that led to passages between the terminals or to the Heathrow Tube and bus station.

"We'll take you Side-along to the Ministry as soon as we're out of sight of the Muggles," Dawlish told them.

"Muggles? Oh, yes, we call them _Mundanes_ in the States," Jayce said.

"Or _Aints_ in the holler," Taya added.

"Well, we've learned something new today, JD," Ross said, nudging his comrade. "Mundanes. I like that."

"So we have," Dawlish grunted. _Mundanes, Muggles, Aints—whatever. They're non-magical no matter what we call them._

Jayce and Taya glanced at each other and smirked. These two were obviously nearing retirement age, but it was also clear that neither of them had any intention of turning in their robes anytime soon.

Soon enough, the two Aurors offered their guests an arm each and instantly, they Disapparated with a soft _pop! _Jayce and Taya Apparated into the impressive Atrium of the British Ministry of Magic on the arms of their Auror escorts. They were directed to Eric to check their wands and receive a guest badge. Dawlish and Ross led them to the lift, which carried them to Level One and the office of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic.

"Welcome to Britain," Kingsley boomed in greeting, offering his hand to shake.

"Thank you, Minister," Jayce and Taya replied in chorus, shaking his huge hands.

"I hope your journey here was comfortable," Kingsley continued.

"It was very good, thank you, sir," Jayce said.

"It'll take some time to acclimate, though," Taya added "Yesterday morning we had no idea we'd be going to Britain, and we haven't had much sleep. The jet-lag is murder."

Kingsley chuckled. "Ah yes, it's seven hours from your home, is that right?"

"Yes, sir, but we actually flew out of DC this morning, so we've only lost five hours," Jayce explained. "We spent the night with Gallatea's grandmother in North Carolina last night and then Apparated to Washington this morning."

"Secretary Listenbee seemed quite eager to send you here as soon as possible," Kingsley reported. "And the tournament you're here for is still a few weeks off, so you'll have the time you need to acclimate. Tea?"

They accepted the offer, as Rhiannon had taught her girls British custom. An offer of tea could be interpreted as an offer of friendship and it might be considered an insult to refuse. Whether that was actually true or not, Taya didn't know, but she didn't want to take any chances and had informed Jayce of this tidbit of information on the flight over. Jayce commented that it sounded more like a Japanese custom than a British one.

Kingsley summoned a kettle along with cups of milk, sugar and a couple of BLT-sandwiches. The Ministry cafeteria housed a special cabinet stocked with items suitable for tea or a light lunch for the strict use of the Minister when he entertained special visitors in his office.

"We've arranged for a few days for you to acquaint yourselves with your family and catch up with Fiona, of course. In the meantime, I'll arrange for Deputy Silvercloud—"

"Jayce. Please just call me Jayce, sir," he interrupted politely.

"Very well. Jayce it is. And please call me Kingsley," the Minister acquiesced. "Now, as I was saying, Jayce, I'll arrange for you to visit the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and other departments of interest. If you, Miss Prewett, need anyone to show you around, let me know, but I suspect your family will see to this more than adequately. I believe Ginny's road swing wrapped up last night in Appleby and so she's home for a couple of weeks again. The Harpies are on deck to take the championship," Kingsley said while they enjoyed their tea. "Rumour has it she might make Rookie of the Year."

Like Fiona, Gallatea wasn't much of a Quidditch fan, opting for America's second-favourite past time, NFL football. Her heart belonged firmly to the Minnesota Vikings® and their promising young quarterback, Daunte Culpepper, while Jayce favoured the Green Bay Packers® and their star-quarterback, Brett Favre. When the two Central Division titans met on the field, there was much friendly banter between them of a Sunday afternoon. But if her cousin played professional Quidditch, she'd support her and her team.

"Thank you, Minister. I hope to catch one of her games," Jayce replied, wondering why Shacklebolt made such a fuss over him. "Would it be possible for me to work out with the Auror Corps and participate in some of their training exercises?"

"The Auror _Office_ are holding open training sessions for all employees, and as our guest, I'm sure you'd be more than welcome to join. When it comes to the Aurors' own training, I'll let Chief Potter decide. He'll probably want to test your skills first, since their regimen is quite demanding and not without injuries much of the time."

Jayce nodded before taking another sip from his cup. _Bring it on_. "Excellent," Jayce said. "I will of course submit to any test of my skills Chief Potter requires."

"I learned about your background from your secretary, Mr Silvercloud, and I think we can learn much from each other." Taya felt rather left out of the conversation, but her presence in this meeting was little more than a courtesy, as the purpose of this trip was not exactly social. Jayce had been sent here on government business and she had been allowed to tag along because of her status as a relative of the Weasleys.

"So…you know my sister, Fiona, Minister," Taya asked hopefully.

"Oh yes, Miss Prewett," Kingsley replied. "She's a talented young witch and it appears she's shaping up to be a fine Healer. In fact, I understand she's dating one of our top Aurors."

"Please—it's Gallatea, sir," Taya replied. "And yes, she wrote me about him. Seamus, right?"

"Seamus Finnegan, yes," Kingsley confirmed. "He's our Third-in-Command and an exemplary law-enforcement officer."

As soon as they finished their tea, Kingsley flicked his wand. The door opened admitting Auror Dawlish. "John, would you mind escorting our guests to Arthur Weasley's office? I sent a memo telling him to take the rest of the day off in order to welcome his niece."

"My pleasure, King," Dawlish replied and turned to the guests. "If you'll follow me please."

He led them to the lift and stepped out as the disembodied voice declared that they'd arrived at Level Two. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Office, and Office of the Head."

"I'm about to meet Uncle Arthur," Taya gasped. "After reading Onie's letters, I feel like I know the Weasleys already."

Jayce smiled and squeezed her shaking and clammy hand. Fiona had certainly described the Weasley family in her letters, as well as her co-workers at Hogwarts. As Dawlish ushered them into Arthur's office, Taya took a deep nervous breath. Looking around, they noticed that it didn't feel to them like they were about to meet a total stranger.

Leaving them in the outer office, Dawlish bowed slightly and headed back to the Auror Office. They'd seen him on the picture Fiona had sent from the evening she'd been made an honorary Gryffindor, so they at least had an idea as to what Arthur Weasley looked like.

"My goodness, you certainly are Fiona's sister," Arthur Weasley uttered spontaneously before he cleared his throat. Jayce and Fiona jumped in surprise as they had been too busy breathing to notice he'd left his inner office. "Miss Prewett, and Mr Silvercloud welcome to England. I'm Arthur Weasley."

"Thank you…Uncle Arthur," Taya replied, giving him a peck on each cheek. "Onie's letters are full of stories about you and the family."

Arthur shook Jayce's hand and grinned his warmest grin. "This was really a big surprise. I told Molly, my wife, only this morning. She's already planning to gather the troops for a proper welcoming feast."

"She doesn't have to do that, Uncle Arthur. We don't want her to fuss over us," Taya said.

"Don't worry. You'll understand when you meet her. She thrives on things like this and with Ron's and Hermione's wedding over, she's thrilled to throw another feast," Arthur said with a chuckle. "Now, would you like to get settled and have a kip after your long trip?"

"Our flight left DC very early Greenwich Mean Time—in fact, it was the middle of the night—and and now it's late in the afternoon," Jayce explained. "I think we might as well stay up and sleep tonight."

Taya nodded in agreement. "As we told the Minister—the jet-lag's murder, but we'll survive. And our luggage is under a shrinking charm in Jayce's pack, so there's really no need to unpack until later," Taya added. "By the way, we haven't been told where we're supposed to stay."

"You're staying at the Burrow. We have several empty rooms now," Arthur offered.

"We don't want to intrude Mr Weasely," Jayce tried to argue.

"It's Arthur, and you're not intruding. You're family, and what's more, Molly will insist. If I came home without you, telling her you're staying at the Leaky Cauldron or the Three Broomsticks, I'd be joining you in a flash with a high-powered stinging hex to the backside."

The three of them shared a cleansing laugh and it was finally decided that Jayce and Taya would stay at the Burrow for the time being.

"Well then, I guess you must be eager to see Fiona, my dear," Arthur said with an impish gleam in his clear blue eyes. "She has no idea that you're here."

Taya already liked her uncle. He was exactly as she imagined him from Fiona's letters. "I haven't seen her since last summer," Taya said, tears welling again. "Is she okay?"

"I promise you she's more than okay, Gallatea. She's never been better, I'm thinking," her uncle assured her. "So…I guess it's Hogwarts and then supper. Let me just send a memo to Harry and suggest that he and Ginny join us at the Burrow this evening."

Arthur led his niece and her boyfriend to the Apparition point in the Atrium and offered them his arms to hold onto. They spun down together and in the next moment, they appeared outside the gates of the Hogwarts grounds.

"It's rather chilly up here. You're in the Grampian Mountain region in northeastern Scotland," Arthur informed them and cast a warming charm on his robes; the Americans did the same. Taya looked around as they passed through the gate and walked toward the castle in the fading light of a Highland January afternoon.

"This is Momma's school," she asked, although she already knew the answer.

"Yes, this is where your parents met as students. Hogwarts has been training young wizards and witches for a thousand years," Arthur explained. "Many married couples met at school, including Hermione and our Ronnie and Harry and our Ginny. Hogwarts has quite a history—romantic and not-so-romantic."

"Amazing," Jayce said. "You've had a school for so long. Until the white men arrived in America—and subsequently overran us—each tribe and nation taught their own wizards and witches, and we lived alongside our non-magical brothers and sisters. We were known as _Conjurers_, _Healers_, or _Medicine Men _or_ Women_. It was because of the influence of the white men that many left the traditional way of life and adopted the Secrecy Act. There's still magic known only by certain tribes, but most of it is taught in all of the Magical Academies."

"Jayce graduated from the Black Hills Academy," Gallatea said. "I'm sure Onie told ya that Momma and Granny home-schooled us."

"Fascinating, and yes she did," Arthur said, realising he knew very little about other Wizarding communities. He would be sure to sit down with this interesting young man and learn all he could about his culture and magic. _It's not every day a British Wizard has the privilege to meet and talk with a Native American one._

They reached the massive oak and iron doors. Taya and Jayce stared up at them in awe. They had never seen anything quite like a thousand-year-old castle, although Jayce had seen plenty of antiquities in his travels with the Rangers. With a heave and a shove, Arthur opened one of the doors. Warm golden light spilled out onto the grounds as they stepped into the cavernous Entrance Hall, which teemed with students.

"I believe classes have just ended for the day," Arthur chuckled. "Let's go to the hospital wing and see if we can find Fiona there."

As they walked though the castle, Taya and Jayce ogled at everything—the suits of armour that seemed to sense Jayce's rank as a military veteran and United States Deputy Marshall and snapped to attention, the portraits that welcomed them with a warm "Welcome to Hogwarts" and the torches that blazed to life in their wrought-iron sconces as they passed.

Finally Arthur stopped short on the last flight of stairs. "You'll want to jump over the third step in this flight. It's known to protest by hitting you with a jelly-leg jinx if you step on it." Shrugging, the two Americans complied by stretching their legs to reach the next stone step.

Finally they reached the hospital wing where they found two witches cleaning up before supper. Taya's heart skipped a beat—one of them had to be Fiona! She turned around and smiled when she saw Arthur.

"Uncle Art! What a pleasant surprise. What brings you..." Fiona stopped mid-sentence and mid-hug as she noticed the witch and wizard in Arthur's company. "Merlin's pacemaker! Taya! Jayce! Holy hippogriffs! What are you doing here?" She threw herself into Taya's arms and cried for joy. "You're here! You're really here!"

"What in Sam Hill did you say, Onie? _Merlin's pacemaker,_" Taya asked with a giggle as she clung to Fiona for dear life.

"Guess I'm gettin' Britified," Fiona laughed, wiping tears from her eyes. "Everything here is Merlin's-this-or-that. But you haven't answered my question. What are you _doin'_ here? When didja come? Jayce, gimme a hug, man!" Fiona enveloped her basically common-law brother-in-law in a strong embrace.

"We're here because Jayce was sent to watch our Auror cousins and their buddies in the upcoming tournament," Taya explained "His orders came only yesterday. You know how Uncle Sam is—you either hurry up and wait or they don't give you enough time to blow your nose."

"Uncle Art, did you _know_ about this," Fiona asked suspiciously.

"I only just heard about it from Kingsley today," Arthur replied with a chuckle.

"The tournament's still a few weeks off and will last... you'll be here over a month," Fiona realised with a start. "Where y'all gonna stay?"

"Uncle Arthur's already invited us ta stay at the Burrow," Taya replied. "He says Aunt Molly's throwin' a feast or somethin'."

Fiona hugged her sister again. "That's Aunt Molly all right. Really, though, you'll _love_ the Burrow. It's so homey!" A longing filled her sky-blue eyes as she turned to Poppy, who seemed to know what her apprentice was about to ask.

"All right Fiona, you take the evening off to spend with your family. Just make sure you're back tomorrow morning."

Fiona gasped and covered her face in embarrassment and grabbed the matron's hand. "Where's my manners? Taya, this is my mentor, Madame Poppy Pomfrey. She's the matron who delivered us down in Somerset." She then turned to Madame Pomfrey and grabbed Taya's hand. "Poppy, this is my sister, Gallatea—or Taya—and her man, US Deputy Marshall Jayce Silvercloud."

"I'm pleased to meet you once again, Gallatea, and welcome to the United Kingdom," Poppy said graciously. "You must come and see us once you're settled."

"I'd love to. Onie's told us so much about all of you, I feel like I know y'all already," Taya gushed.

"Well, we best be off. Molly'll be having kittens if we're too late," Arthur interjected. "Poppy, good to see you. We'll be sure to have our Onie back for breakfast."

"Fair enough, Arthur. Do give my best to the family, will you," she replied warmly.

Halfway to the gates Fiona stopped. "I ain't told Seamus I'll be gone 'til tomorrow," she said.

"Seamus? Is that the Irishman you wrote about," Taya asked slyly. "Is it that serious?"

Fiona blushed and decided to tell her sister. "He's my boyfriend," she said "We flirted a bit until we started datin' at New Year's. He's the Chief Liaison Officer here at Hogwarts."

"Floo him from the Burrow and invite him for supper," Arthur suggested. "He's Molly's eighth son, after all."

"Are you sure, Uncle Art? Aunt Molly ain't ready for a full onslaught."

"We'll order take-away from the Dragon if we need to. It'll feed Ron, anyway," Arthur smirked.

Fiona nodded. She was so happy about the unexpected arrival of her sister and Jayce, that all cohesive though escaped her. They walked on until they reached the gates. They passed through and Apparated to the Burrow, Jayce on Side-along Arthur and Taya with Fiona.

They arrived just outside the wards and took in the oddly-appointed house. Arthur though Molly must have used the Weasley Floo Chain because the Burrow was full of people chattering excitedly and laughing. The wonderful food aromas emanating from the building set all their stomachs to growling.

"Looks like word got out," Arthur said with a sigh.

"They're _all _here," Fiona asked, aghast.

"Apparently."

"You're in for the full Weasley experience," Fiona grinned. "If you don't wanna leave the country by tomorrow, I'd say you'll like it here."

Arthur stepped up to the door and opened it to usher his two nieces and Jayce inside. Sure enough, the entire Weasley Assemblage had gathered, leaving the house fairly bursting at the seams. The scrubbed oak table groaned under pots, platters, and dishes full of food. Ron had already been to the Dragon for Dinner for Sixteen. Molly had certainly cooked a hefty amount of food to go with it all. Ginny and Harry brought the chocolate-dipped strawberries, because only they would know how to find strawberries in January. There was also a delicious smell coming from the covered dishes that Fleur had brought, while several bottles of French Elf-made wine chilled in buckets of ice. There was initial chaos when Fiona Flooed Seamus while Jayce and Taya were inundated with hugs and handshakes all around.

As soon as Seamus had stepped out of the Floo, Molly called everyone to the table. "Now, maybe Fiona could start by introducing us to our new family members," she said warmly.

"All right, Aunt Molly, I will. Jayce and Taya, meet Aunt Molly—the best cook and housewitch in Britain..."

"Fiona, really, dear..." Molly chided with a full-body blush.

Fiona continued. "... according to _Witch Weekly,_ where she has a column. Daddy 'n' Uncle Gideon were her brothers. Now, y'all already met Uncle Art, Law Enforcement's finest and interested party in anything Muggle...er…Aint."

"You know me too well, Fiona," Arthur chuckled merrily.

"Next to Uncle Art is Cousin Charlie, the Dragonmaster, followed by Ireland's most-handsome Auror—"

"So this is the famous Seamus," Taya teased. She leaned up into her sister's ear. "He's adorable!"

"He's the _only_ Auror from Ireland," Harry said with a grin. "Don't let his head grow any bigger!"

"He'd still be the most-handsome to me, even if you had ten more on the force," Fiona growled.

"Thank you, Love," Seamus winked at her. "And my head can't get any bigger because Fiona'd be all too glad to shrink it for me."

"And don't you forget it, you silly prat," Fiona giggled. She then looked to her left to continue the introductions. "On my left is Cousin Bubba, also known as Percy."

"Really, must you..." Percy protested without any luck.

"Yes, she must. Every family needs its Bubba, and if Onie says you're Cousin Bubba, then you're Cousin Bubba forevermore," Taya giggled, accepting a high-five from her twin.

Fiona stole a glance at George, who winked and gave her a thumbs-up. "_Well done,_" he mouthed silently.

"Lucky you, Percy," Jayce snickered. The middle Weasley son rolled his eyes as if to say _thanks loads_.

"The two lovebirds next to Percy need no introduction. Taya and Jayce, meet Ginny and Harry Potter, who love strawberries, and yes, they did some fighting in the war, too. On Harry's left is Harry's sister, Hermione Weasley. She's married to that mountain sitting next to her, Cousin Ron, the little Weasley brother."

"Little?" Taya said and giggled. "If that's little, I'd hate to see big!"

"Sure you're not a Texan, Ron," Jayce asked snarkily. "They say everything's big in Texas, including the lies. You'd fit right in—you're big."

Titters of laughter travelled around the table at Ron's expense, but he took it with a grin and pointed at Fiona as if to tell her to watch her back. "I'm the _youngest _of the Weasley brethren," Ron said. "Percy's the _littlest_."

"And next in line is Cousin Bill Weasley, the Curse-breaker, and next to him is his lovely bride, Fleur and their baby girl, Victoire. And now, may I present the King of Pranks and proprietor of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Cousin Georgie and his girlfriend, Angelina Johnson? George was the first Weasley I met when I came here." Fiona finished and looked around at them all. "Weasleys, meet my sister, Taya, and her man, Jayce Silvercloud of the Lakota Sioux."

Arthur stood and summoned a bottle of Old Ogden's finest and poured out fourteen shots. "Family and friends, welcome! Sláinte!"

All except Jayce and Taya called the reply and they all tossed back their shots. Realising they'd missed the cue, the two newcomers repeated the toast and drank.

"Tuck in, Weasleys," Molly called and they all began to pass dishes and fill their plates.

The completely bodged dinner consisted of several family favourites, including shepherd's pie, coq au vin, roast pork with vegetables, corn muffins, bread rolls with butter, pumpkin juice, sweet potato casserole—recipe courtesy of Fiona and Granny Tyree— and winter greens salad, with treacle tart and chocolate-covered strawberries for afters.

While the women cleared away after dinner, the men retreated to the sitting room where they proceeded to integrate Jayce into their circle by firing question after question about his military background, which had Ron's attention from start to finish, his work as a Deputy Marshall, which had Harry riveted, and Native American magic and mysticism, which fascinated Arthur and Bill. Seamus had to leave, since he had duty at Hogwarts again that night and didn't want to leave Cho in the lurch. He shook hands with Jayce and Taya, and Fiona walked to the Apparition point with him for a quick snog before he disappeared.

"So what is it that your government wants to know about us," Bill asked. "Doesn't America have and Auror Office?"

"Oh yeah—we have a huge force and they're pretty good at what they do, but you folks appear to have raised crime-fighting to a high art. That's what they're interested in, first and foremost," Jayce told them.

"So what do you hope to learn from the tournament," Percy asked next. "It's a friendly competition and hardly an illustration of our new Aurors' prowess in the field."

"I think I can answer that," Harry said before Jayce could answer. "Great Britain and the United States have a lot of history, Perce. Once America established herself as a viable nation, we became her allies rather than her antagonists."

"Right," Jayce continued. "For decades, the US and England have been tight allies, from the Crimea to the present. Together with France and the then-Soviet Union, the Americans and the British brought Hitler's juggernaut to a halt, which led to the fall of the Third Reich."

"So what you're saying is that this is a sort of diplomatic visit," Arthur presumed.

"Yes and no," Jayce replied. "I'm to observe the tournament and even train with the Aurors if I may, Harry, to see if I can take some new techniques back to the States…and maybe leave a few of ours—especially on the federal level—might benefit you as well."

"Were you really in the army, then," Ron asked, his sapphire eyes shining with anticipation.

"I did a double-hitch with Bravo Company, 3rd Battalion, of the 75th Ranger Regiment," Jayce told him. "We got into a few scrapes with some rag— Arab terrorists in the Persian Gulf and a few warlords in Somalia."

"Were you successful," Ron asked.

"That's all up to a man's point of view, Ron," Jayce said sadly. "We had Saddam Hussein pretty much dead to rights, but our then-president took some rather lame advice from his aides and we left before we finished the job. Somalia was a disaster, pure and simple. That country was and still is overrun by warlords who have terrorised their people for years. We went in to try and put a stop to it—purely humanitarian, you see—and wound up losing a mess of good soldiers. Did we accomplish our missions? Yes and no. We ran the Iraqis out of Kuwait, but had burning oil fields to save for our troubles, but Somalia…it wasn't pretty."

The men remained quiet for a while, turning over the events of their own wars and those lost in their minds. They understood Jayce's mixed feelings, for they had defeated Voldemort, but still had clean-up to do that included taking down Mafalda Prewett and her band of rag-tag Death Eater leftovers and now they were on the edge of civil war, what with the Blood-purity bias that still permeated their society.

"Jayce, as soon as Kingsley clears it, come by the Auror Office. I think you'll like what you see, but I'll have to put you through your paces before I can let you train with us," Harry said.

"Yeah, we'll want to know what we're dealing with," Ron snorted. "Sergeant Silvercloud."

"Fair enough," Jayce agreed.

"Now that that's settled, please—tell us about your culture," Arthur suggested. "How did you meet my nieces, where did you grow up, what is a Medicine Man?"

"Okay…well, I grew up on a reservation in northeastern South Dakota, and I have an older brother called Jett. We were brought up in the Way of Our People for the most part, since my dad is a Medicine Man. I say _a_, because there's more than one. Jett's the other," Jayce grinned.

"I finished school at the Black Hills Academy, class of 1990—"

"So you're a few years older than the girls," Charlie interjected.

"Yeah. My birthday's July 10, 1972," Jayce replied.

"Cool! Mine's December 12, 1972. I graduated Hogwarts in '91," Charlie said, thrilled to have someone his own age in the family now. He and Bill had been close growing up, having been tasked with keeping an eye on the little ones once in a while, but they were still two years apart.

"Rock on, my man," Jayce laughed. "So anyway, I enlisted right out of school because I wanted a career of my own, since it was Jett who would inherit the family business. I guess I wanted to be all I could be—army recruiting slogan. I attended basic training at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri and graduated near the top of my class. Another buddy and I received orders to Fort Benning, Georgia—we'd been selected for duty with the 75th Ranger Regiment, not to be confused with the Ranger _School_, however. That's something else entirely. They train the 10th Mountain, which is a crack unit based in New York state. They really saved our asses in Mogadishu—Somalia."

For a moment, Jayce's expression turned dark. He had all he could do to keep hold on his thoughts as he remembered the downed Blackhawks they'd tried to rescue. But they were pinned down by snipers that seemed to be everywhere above them. By the time it was over, the pilots and crews of two of those beautiful choppers were dead, save one man, who they were able to pull out of there once the 10th showed up.

Jayce had wounded as well and needed to get them out of there, so as soon as he could, he cast a flash charm that knocked them out and then created a Portkey from a length of rope. He slipped it under each of their arms and activated it, taking them away from the city so he could call for help.

Upon debriefing, he reported that once the 10th Mountain arrived to take the heat off his unit, he was able to get his wounded to safety. He had to plant a memory into Jeff Barber to corroborate his story, but that was a secret he'd take to his grave. He hadn't even told his Tay-O-Wee that part. Officially, he credited the grace of God for the rescue, which satisfied his superiors, earning him and Barber a few more ribbons for their "fruit salad," including the Bronze Star. Upon his return to Yankton, the Grandfathers presented him with the coveted Eagle feather on behalf of his People for his bravery.

"I take it the Eagle feather award is quite an honour, then," Arthur guessed.

"For the Sioux, the Cheyenne, the Arapahoe, and many other tribes, the Eagle feather is like the Congressional Medal of Honor or your Order of Merlin, First Class. They're held as sacred, not easily won, and they are never _just given_," Jayce told them. "They're to be handled and treated with the utmost respect, as the eagle is the Creator's master of the skies. If I ever have occasion to wear full ceremonial dress, you'll see it."

"You have your full…costume…here," Percy gasped.

"I take it everywhere I go if I'm going somewhere for any length of time. It went to war with me twice," Jayce told him. "It's sacred to me. It keeps me close to my People."

"Damn…" George breathed. "That's bloody brilliant, mate."

"What happened after Somalia," Bill asked, wanting to know more of this man's fascinating life.

"Well, I had the option to muster out or re-enlist. My unit returned to Fort Benning where I took the last few months of my hitch to decide," Jayce explained. "I took a two-week furlough and went hiking in the Appalachians, campin' 'n' thinkin', thinkin' 'n' campin'. One day while I was out trampin' around, I found a little village tucked into the North Carolina hills."

"Rook Holler," Ron finished for him. "Is that how you met our cousins?"

"Yep. They were havin' some kind of craft and food festival in the area, so I decided to have a look around. That's where I met Tay-O-Wee and Oh-Nee-Tsah—Taya and Onie. They were sittin' with some people who were singin' and playin' on the square. I never saw such pretty white girls as the two of them," he laughed. "The minute I laid eyes on Taya, I was lost. We got to be friends and Granny Tyree let me camp on her land rather than _have a run-in with the loonies higher up_.

"Then what," Charlie asked, prompting Jayce to continue.

"Well, I spent the rest of my furlough in the holler, then reported back to Fort Benning. I'd decided I wanted to muster out, go home to South Dakota for a while, and then decide what to do with my life. I kept in touch with Taya and her family until I could see them—her—again. A few months later, I'd decided to try my luck with Uncle Sam's Marshall Service, so just before I reported to DC for training, I dropped in," Jayce explained.

"It was like I'd never left, you know? When ya find the right girl, you can't even see any other." Harry and Ron understood perfectly.

"So we wrote back and forth all through my training and when I graduated, Taya, Fiona, Rhiannon, and Granny came and met my family for the celebration. RFK assigned me to Sioux Falls, so I took Taya aside and asked her to come with me. After a discussion with our families, she agreed and the rest is history."

"There's got to be something about Prewett women," Arthur chuckled. "I knew Molly was the one for me the day I met her."

_And Ginny_. As soon as Harry managed to pull his head out of his arse, he knew Ginny was the one for him, too. Seamus appeared to have been smitten with Fiona that first day on the platform as well. Hell, even young Joseph Pointer lost his heart to a Prewett…and now Jayce Silvercloud to Cousin Gallatea Prewett. _What was Muriel's excuse?_

Harry smirked to himself, but Ron caught it.

"What're you smiling at," the red head asked.

"Prewett women. Dad, Seamus, Jayce, Joseph, and I have been smitten with them," Harry snickered.

"What's so funny about that," Ron asked. "I think it's pretty cool."

"Oh it is, but I was just wondering what Muriel's excuse is," Harry said, breaking into a quiet belly laugh that shook his whole body.

Ron snorted and joined him, the two elbowing one another. "Family dog?"

"Rabid dog," Harry laughed some more.

"Ruddy nightmare, that one," Ron agreed, trying to compose himself. They returned their attention to the conversation.

"So…is there dessert," Jayce asked. "Fiona told us their Aunt Molly's quite a cook. If dinner's any indication, I have to agree."

"Bloody hell! Mum's made treacle tart," Harry cried and leapt up from his place on the floor and darted to the kitchen.

Once the women finished cleaning up the kitchen, they sat down to the tray of chocolate-covered strawberries and cups of tea. Fiona and Gallatea regaled the others with tales of their exploits running wild with the Carver boys in the hills of North Carolina. Molly sobbed as the twins assured her that Rhiannon had been a wonderful mother and how she mourned their father until her dying day. They decided, as a group that included Angelina, that they would gather at the Prewett family cemetery in Somerset to visit Fabian's and Gideon's graves. There wasn't much snow laying about, so they might even be able to tidy it up a bit. "But don't tell Aunty Muriel," Ginny insisted. "We don't need one of her scenes out there."

"You get no argument from me," Hermione agreed, and they all giggled while they nibbled on the fruit.

"Hey, save a few for Harry," Ginny said, setting a half-dozen aside.

Taya was finally left to tell them about her work on the trails and even related a few funnier stories about hikers and campers they'd had to rescue because they weren't properly prepared. "Greenhorns," Taya snorted. "They have a habit of leaving the trails to establish their own camps, rather than set up housekeepin' in designated areas. I can't tell you how many college students we've dragged out of the woods, shiverin' and half-starved."

"You always were a good tracker, though, Taya," Fiona reminded her. "You know that's why Jackie and Ed always wanted you to go huntin' 'n' fishin' with 'em."

"Yeah, they couldn't track a bulldozer…let alone the fact that I knew the woods better than they did," she agreed. "They're great—don't get me wrong. Crack shots, both of 'em, but no real hunting skills."

"Crack shots," Hermione interjected. "They hunt like Muggles, then."

"Of course," Fiona said. "Magic is great, but in the holler, we do things the Aint way, too."

"Right," Taya agreed. "We get Aint tourists that come around in the summer and early fall ta buy antiques 'n' quilts 'n' dulcimers 'n' all kinds of artisan crafty stuff. Occasionally, they wander into our holler to pick up jars of honey, sorghum, preserves—but they never stay around more than a few hours."

"Wards," Fiona clarified. "We got wards on the holler that compel non-magical visitors to leave after so long. We gotta keep a Statute o' Secrecy, too."

Harry raced into the kitchen and startled the giggling witches. "Um…hi?"

"Harry, what on earth are you running about the house for," Molly asked, wiping the liquid mirth from her eyes.

"I…we…treacle tart?"

"Oh, so you're ready for pudding, then," Ginny asked snarkily. "We were about to have it all to ourselves, but we're full of strawberries."

"Straw—Ginny, tell me you didn't eat them all," Harry moaned, leaning over her to find only a few left in the bottom of the ceramic bowl.

"No worries, my love," she cooed, caressing his face. "I kept some out for you."

"Honestly, Harry, you didn't _really_ think we wouldn't save you some, did you," Hermione chided her brother with a smirk.

"Well…I…"

"Forget it, Harry—you know you can't win," Angelina giggled.

"Bugger. I swear, Ginny, I'll get you for this," he growled, burying his face in her neck and biting softly.

"Hey—virgin eyes, here," Taya called.

"Yeah, Victoire's," Fiona snorted. "Your eyes haven't been virgin since 1994!"

"Zat eez right, 'Arry. Victoire is much too young to see such sings," Fleur laughed. "She is zhust a bebe!"

"Hermione, could you give me a hand with the tart, dear," Molly asked, handing a knife and a tart to her daughter-in-law. "Harry, since you're out here, you can help serve."

"Sure, Mum," he replied and began to deliver plates of dessert to the men.

"What do ya call this," Jayce asked, glorying in every gooey bite.

"Treacle tart," George replied. "Harry loves it."

"It tastes a bit like Shoo-fly pie or pecan pie without the pecans. It's really good," Jayce groaned, savouring another bite. "Taya makes a damned good pecan pie. She lightly toasts the pecans before she adds them and then tops it with nuts she hasn't toasted. Bury it under some caramel swirl ice cream and it's pure dessert Nirvana."

Ron's eyes grew wide at the thought of something that sounded so sinful. "Think she'll make us one while she's here?"

"I think we can persuade her at some point, especially with her sister helping out. Those two love to cook together."

"Onie's come up with some really great stuff," Ron gushed between bites. "Corn muffins, biscuits, and chocolate chip cookers!"

"_Cookies_," the other men corrected him. "Chocolate chip cookies!" They all burst into laughter at Ron's expense, and then continued to discuss one another's careers well into the evening. In the kitchen, the women ate their tart while discussing Molly's column.

"The care package! Tarnation," Taya gasped.

"Care package," Molly asked. "Whatever to do you mean, dear?"

"Granny. She sent a care package for ya. She puts up veggies and fruit every fall. She sent some for y'all," Taya said. "It's in Jayce's backpack."

"Taya, how did you bring Granny's cannin' over here? Yer not s'posed to bring that stuff overseas. He knows that," Fiona scolded.

"Jayce is hell at transfiguring, Onie. He transfigured it all into doilies," Taya exclaimed. "He also managed to bring another little goodie from the holler that he transfigured inta vanilla-scented candles."

"He didn't," Fiona gasped again. "Tell me he didn't!" She wasn't horrified in the least. In fact, Fiona was thrilled. She'd told her family about moonshine and now it appeared they were going to get to taste it at some point.

"He did! A whole case. He bought it when we stopped by Granny's before we flew out. The gang says hey, by the way."

"What are you on about," Hermione asked, a bit perturbed that she couldn't figure out what the other _goodie_ might be.

"Let's just say Jayce managed ta spirit some…um…spirits out of _them thar hills_," Fiona giggled. "He brought a case of moonshine disguised as dec'rative candles!"

"Bloody hell," Molly murmured and they all burst into another round of laughter.

"Well, since we're stayin' here, I s'pose we can unpack it in the mornin'," Taya said. "And speaking of the mornin', I'm plumb tuckered."

"I'm sure you are, dear," Molly agreed. She looked up at the clock and discovered that it was nearly midnight. "I think it's time we wrapped this party up and put everyone to bed."

Ginny yawned hugely and nodded her head. "Sorry," she blushed.

"Ron and Harry have a long day ahead of them tomorrow. I suppose we ought to collar them and put them to bed, too," Hermione said.

"George needs his rest," Angelina said. "He didn't sleep well again, last night."

"Did you and Verity talk to him yet," Fiona asked.

"No, but we're going to tomorrow night. Hannah's fish and chips, Butterbeers, and a very long talk," Angelina assured her. "But Verity did write to Professor Slughorn. She's still waiting on an answer."

As the women rousted their men from their visit, Percy decided to stay the night, as he had only an empty flat to return to. He would rise early and Apparate home to shower and dress for work. Those not sleeping at the Burrow bade Jayce and Taya another welcome and a fond goodnight. Harry and Ginny Flooed back to Ionúin Bhaille with an invite to the newcomers to come for Harry's special breakfast that Sunday, Bill and Fleur invited them to a dinner at Shell Cottage, and George and Angelina invited them to a tour of Hogsmeade and a visit to the shop.

Once everyone who was leaving were gone, Molly, Taya, and Onie washed and put away the dessert dishes while Arthur, Percy, and Jayce straightened up the sitting room. An hour later, the Burrow lay silent for the long Devon January night. After all, tomorrow was another day.

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Ron and Hermione snuggled together in their bed as the house fell silent. Hermione thoroughly enjoyed meeting Jayce and Taya and spending a bright evening getting to know Taya better. She and Onie reminded her of Fred and George in many ways in that they shared the love only twins could share. But there were blatant differences, too.

"Sickle for your thoughts, Love," Ron murmured into her hair. "I can hear the wheels turning."

"I was just thinking about Gallatea and Fiona," she replied, tracing circles on her husband's broad chest.

"Okay, what about them?"

"They remind me of Fred and George. I mean, they have the twin-thing—that special something that only twins have. But they're completely different, too."

"Uh…would you mind explaining your—what is it—juxtaposition?"

Hermione giggled and rolled over onto his body so she could see his face. "Fred and George were alike in every way. They not only genetically identical, but they were identical in essence and personality, too. There was no way to tell them apart until you really got to know them."

"Yeah…"

"But Taya and Onie—they're obviously genetically identical, but other than that, they're as different as night and day. Taya's more rugged and outdoorsy than Fiona; Fiona's compassionate and artistic—more like a homebody. They have a sense of humour like Fred and George, but theirs is more cerebral," she explained.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. They look alike, but you can tell them apart all the same. Fiona's features are a bit softer than Gallatea's, right?"

"Right, but they're still beautiful, aren't they?"

"Not as beautiful as you, though," Ron murmured again, pulling her up further to his face to kiss her. "There isn't another witch on the planet as beautiful as my 'Mione."

"I think Harry might disagree," Hermione smirked. "Or Seamus. Or Jayce. Or Bill. Or—"

"All right, all right, I get it. But, blimey 'Mione, Ginny's my sister! I'm not going to go perving on my own sister," Ron chuckled. "And I'm sure not going to perv on my cousins."

"What about Fleur? It seems you had a thing for her once upon a time," Hermione giggled.

"I got over that sixth year, Love," he confessed.

"You dated Lavender in sixth year, you prat," Hermione snorted, slapping him lightly on the chest.

"Yeah, but I wasn't in love with her," Ron said softly, stroking his wife's face. "It was you I wanted all along. I just wasn't smart enough to do anything about it until I almost lost you forever."

"Right answer, Weasley," Hermione grinned. "Now how about you prove it?"

"I thought you'd never ask," he murmured, drawing her into a fiery kiss.

Hermione moaned and broke the kiss only long enough to utter one word. "Incendio."

_A/N: RFK is the Robert F Kennedy Department of Justice Building in Washington, DC. It houses the headquarters of the United States Marshall Service and the offices of the United States Attorney General. It is named in honour of the late-Robert F Kennedy, who served as Attorney General during his late brother, President John F Kennedy's, administration._

_We've done a little bit of research into Native American/Sioux culture and based Jayce's heritage on what we could find. Please let it be understood that if we misinterpreted something or have written something wrong, it was unintentional and we would appreciate any corrections anyone can offer. We wish to pay homage to America's native peoples and in no way do we intend to dishonour their culture and heritage._


	37. Chapter 37 Countdown to a Launch

**Chapter 37 – Countdown to a Launch**

The night after Jayce and Taya arrived from America, Verity and Angelina closed the shop, counted the day's sales, set the wards, and Disapparated to London to drop the deposit at Gringotts Wizarding Bank. By the time the two witches arrived, there were only a few patrons at the counters, but the windows marked "Business" were open.

Once they'd made the deposit and pocketed the receipt, Verity and Angelina left the bank and walked straight to the Leaky Cauldron. "So we're really going to do this tonight, right," Verity asked Angelina for the dozenth time.

"We've got to, Ver," Angelina replied, also for the dozenth time. "If we don't talk some sense into George, he'll never get through this…whatever it is…this…slump and WWW will be doomed."

"Right. Well, then fish and chips and Butterbeer it is," Verity replied shakily. "You pick up the food and I'll pick up the drinks. Deal?"

"Sounds good," Angelina agreed. With a couple of deep breaths, Verity opened the door and followed Angelina inside. A little brass bell mounted over the door tinkled as they walked in. The Leaky Cauldron was just beginning to fill up with the evening supper crowd when they arrived, but the bulk of it hadn't left their own shops as yet. WWW-Diagon Alley would be open for another half-hour, which was perfect for the witches, as they'd arrive at the shop just before George closed it, preventing him from holing up in the flat.

"Angie! Verity," Hannah called. "It's been ages! How are you two tonight?"

"Yeah, well, George's had us sequestered away in the safety of the Hogsmeade shop," Verity replied, rolling her eyes.

"Well, that explains the absence from our midst," Hannah laughed. "What brings you into our humble establishment this fine evening?"

"You magnificent fish and chips and a case of Butterbeer," Angelina replied. "We're having a little tête á tête with George about WWW."

Hannah nodded in understanding. "I heard about the…um…"

"Yeah. It's about that. You've met George's cousin, Fiona, right," Verity interjected.

"Oh yes! George had her in here a few times. Why," Hannah asked.

"Well, I'm sure Neville's told you she's apprenticing with Madame Pomfrey," Angelina continued.

"Right…" Hannah said, jotting down their order. "That's three orders of fish and chips and a case of Butterbeer, yeah?"

"Yeah—and could we have an extra order of chips? George loves them," Angelina added.

"Sure. Hang on. I'll be right back," Hannah said as she hurried off to deliver the order to the kitchen. Angelina and Verity heard her tell someone to go to the cellar for the case of Butterbeer. A few minutes later, she reappeared. "Okay, now—Fiona, right?"

"Yeah. Well, she came to see us Saturday morning about George and the…ah…issues," Verity said. "We talked, and decided it's intervention time."

"Intervention? Is he okay," Hannah asked with a gasp. "I mean, he isn't…"

"No, no. Nothing like that. He's just in a kind of slump and we think we know why. That's why we're here," Angelina said. "If you want a Weasley's attention, feed him."

"Yeah," Verity agreed. "Feed him his favourite food in the whole wide world and ply him with drink." The three witches chatted until the cook called the order up. Hannah packaged the food with a warming charm and then cast a featherweight charm on the case of Butterbeer to make it less of a burden for Verity to carry.

"Thanks, Hannah," Angelina called. "Say hello to Neville for us!"

"Will do! Good luck with George," she called as the two WWW witches left the shop at the ring of the brass bell. _Poor George—he doesn't stand a chance_.

Angelina and Verity hurried up the High Street toward WWW. They had to hurry because they had only about ten minutes before George would begin to close up, starting with locking the door and setting the ward. They needed to be inside the shop with dinner before he could make an excuse to escape to the flat for his nightly one-wizard pity party.

The door-siren sounded as George's two favourite employees pushed through the door into the Diagon Alley shop. "George? Oi, George," Angelina called.

"George," Verity echoed. "Oi, George! FOOD!"

George's shaggy red head appeared from behind a line of shelves that housed the entire line of Skiving Snackboxes and their corresponding refills. "Ang? Verity? Is that you?"

"No, it's Mafalda Hopkirk and Dolores Umbridge and you're under arrest for polluting innocent minds," Angelina replied sarcastically. "Of _course_ it's us!"

"Very funny," George simpered. "Okay, so what's the caper?"

"Caper? No caper," Verity replied innocently. "We just thought we'd have a nice supper together, so Angie and I made a stop at the Leaky for some fish and chips."

"It's your favourite…" Angie sing-songed.

"Verity, Angelina, I…" George stammered. "I was planning on turning in early."

"Fine," Verity said firmly. "You can turn in early right after you eat, so why don't we just give you a hand closing up?"

"But—"

"The deposit can wait until morning," Angelina insisted. "Just lock it in the office safe and drop it off in the morning before you open up."

"But—"

"But nothing, George Weasley," Angelina barked. "You haven't eaten a decent meal on your own in weeks and your mum's worried about you!"

"That's right," Verity added. "And so we're going to feed you tonight whether you like it or not!"

"And then we are going to talk," Angelina finished. "So Verity, lock up and set the wards. George, don't you move from that spot until we're finished. I mean it."

George stood there like a stunned codfish while Verity and Angelina closed up. The three of them counted the day's sales and prepared the deposit, with Angelina supervising as George placed it in the safe and spun the dial. George knew well that there was no point in fighting these two women once they set their minds. He had a rather close friendship with his bits and hoped they'd hang around for many years to come.

"All right. Finished," Angelina announced, pretending to slap dust from her hands. "Let's eat, yeah?"

The three of them tromped up the stairs to George's flat. Verity and Angelina gasped at the sight of the place. To put it lightly, the entire thing looked like a cyclone had hit it—twice. "GEORGE GIDEON WEASLEY! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU CALL THIS," Angelina cried. The last time the flat looked like that, it was after Fred's funeral.

"Home," George grumbled.

"This is a ruddy pig sty," Verity huffed. She waved her wand and cleared a space for the three of them to eat safely. "Ang, this is going to be a long night."

"Long night," George asked suspiciously. "Listen, I didn't ask you to come up here, you know."

"No, you didn't, Love, but never mind that," Angelina said in a softer manner. "Just eat your supper and then we'll explain why we're here tonight, okay?"

"This better be good," George growled.

"Of course it's good," Verity chirped. "It's from the Leaky! Have a Butterbeer." Verity popped the cork and cast a warming charm on the drink. In late-January, Butterbeer tasted best served warm sometimes.

"Oh, that is good," George moaned. "Thanks, ladies. Really."

"So you're not mad then," Angelina asked, sprinkling some malt vinegar over her food.

"Mad? No, Ang, I'm not mad," he assured her, giving her a peck on the cheek. "I'm just…"

"That's what we're here to talk about," Verity said seriously. "We're here to talk about your being just."

"Let's just eat first, Ver," Angelina interjected. "Then we'll tidy up a bit and talk. George, is that okay with you?"

"Sure. Fine," he replied despondently. "But you don't have to clean up after me."

"Nonsense," Angelina replied gently. "We want to do it, don't we, Verity?"

"Sure we do," Verity assured him. "It's what we live for."

The three of them ate in relative silence, casting uncomfortable looks at one another. Angelina and Verity had planned what they would say to George and then offer the solution they and Fiona had come up with. They hoped against hope that George wouldn't be offended by it or angry that Fiona had come to them behind his back.

Once they finished their meal, Angelina put George to work banishing all the dirty dishes in the flat to the kitchen table where Verity would set them to washing themselves. Meanwhile, Angelina gathered George's dirty laundry, including bedding, and set to cleaning it all.

Together, they gathered the trash into bags and banished it to the bins outside—five large bags in all. When they were finished with the flat, the three of them finished the laundry together. George breathed a sigh of relief that Angelina had already done his underwear. He preferred men's bikini briefs to boxers. It was one of the few differences between himself and Fred, who preferred the relative freedom of silk boxers. Two hours later, the flat shined and smelled like a home rather than a barnyard.

Verity cracked three more Butterbeers and warmed them before she handed two of them to George and Angelina, who took a swig before she began.

"George, Fiona came to see us Saturday morning," she said. "She's really worried about you. Actually…we all are."

"Me? What's to worry about," George argued, trying to sound upbeat. In all honesty, George felt anything but upbeat. The failures of his last two inventions had taken a huge bit out of his ego and all but stripped him of his confidence. He really thought the Farting Fudge would be a hit.

"George, come on," Verity sighed. "You've been moping about like a boy who lost his Crup."

"We know you're feeling bad about the Ape-arition Bombs and the Farting Fudge, Love," Angelina said, taking his hand. "But we think we have a solution."

George sighed heavily and hung his head. "Angie, I don't know what's gone wrong," he moaned. "I can't make anything work! I forget to complete the testing—Fred was so meticulous about that! How could I forget that?"

"Well," Angelina began. "Fiona said she thinks it's because you're trying to work alone."

"Huh?"

"George, you and Fred founded WWW together and stocked it products you invented and tested together, right," Verity prompted.

"Yeah, sure," he answered, still not understanding what the witches were driving at.

"Well, after Fred…passed…Ron came and worked with you, right," Angelina prompted some more.

"Yeah…"

"You and Ron came up with some really great stuff together, didn't you," Verity said, taking up the prompt.

"Yeah—Carol's Candy, Funny Floo Powder, the Stun-bombs, and the Labyrinth game. Why?"

"They were all successes, right," Verity prompted again.

"Yeah—they're still selling…well, except the Stun-bombs. Harry said they're too dangerous for sprogs, but he ordered a dozen cases for the Auror Office," George answered. "But what's that got to do with—oh."

"Yeah. Oh," Angelina said. "George, can't you see? You've got loads of great ideas, but you're missing the partner element that makes your products so brilliant! You need a partner-in-crime."

"Exactly, George. I mean, think about it: the Marauders never worked alone," Verity added.

George's eyes shifted back and forth between Angelina and Verity while the wheels in his exhausted brain began to turn in earnest. "So who can I trust to become this…assistant? I mean, all of my brothers have careers and Fred's…Fred's gone."

Verity's eyes lit up like fireflies. "Me," she said pointedly.

"You? Verity, I don't know…"

"George, now you listen to me and you listen good," she said, staring into his eyes. "My Potions marks were such that I could easily have qualified as a candidate for mastery, but since I wasn't a Slytherin, Snape wouldn't take me on! Fiona told me to apply to Professor Slughorn."

"So?"

"So, you prat. I could help you in the lab! I could help you develop new products and together, we could test them properly—well, thoroughly—and who knows what wonderful things we could come up with together," she gushed.

"George, we want to help you and Verity's your ticket out of the slump and back into the driver's seat," Angelina encouraged him. "Once Sluggy gets a load of her OWL and NEWT scores, he's going to fall all over himself to take her on. Think about it! A Potions master at WWW!"

"Potions _mistress_, thanks," Verity snickered. "In case you haven't noticed…I'm a witch."

George eyed the both of them again, trying to decide how to answer. On one hand, never had anyone but a family member ever set foot in his and Fred's lab, nor had any female—not even his mother. On the other hand, his recent work had flopped miserably due to his own oversights. Perhaps Angelina, Verity, and Fiona had a point—perhaps he needed a partner again.

"All right, Verity. I'll take you on as an assistant…on a trial-basis at first. If you're right and you're good enough, you're on. If not, well—we can't say we didn't try," George decided. "Fair enough?"

Verity looked to Angelina for guidance. She was hoping for a more-enthusiastic response, but at this point, she'd take what she could get. She imagined that she could earn her mastery from what she learned from George and Slughorn, but if things didn't work out with George…well, she didn't want to think about that. For her part, Angelina had also hoped for a like response, but this was a start, if nothing else. Returning Verity's gaze, she nodded her encouragement.

"Okay, George. Deal. If I work out, I go full-time in the lab with you; if not, we tried and I work at the Hogsmeade shop as I always did and work on my mastery with Slughorn…if he takes me on," Verity recited for clarification.

"Done," George agreed and the two shook hands.

Angelina looked on with a broad smile across her lips. _Thank Merlin for small miracles. I'll owl Fiona in the morning._

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The Aurors gathered in the training facility to wait for the Head and Assistant Head Aurors to arrive. At nine o'clock sharp, Harry and Ron strode into the hall. To the Aurors' surprise, except Seamus', there was another man in their company who they didn't know.

"Chief's Potter," Seamus barked, and they all snapped to attention.

"C'mon, you lot. You don't need to do that," Harry said, turning pink. Discipline and etiquette was one thing, but all this _Hail to the Chief_ business went a bit overboard as far as he was concerned.

"We know, Chief," Thompson replied with a grin. "But ye rruddy well know that Ministrry rregulations rrecommend salutin' an Office Head apprropriately."

"Well, find a way that doesn't include acting like you have wands stuck up your bums," Harry huffed. "As you were."

Jayce relaxed considerably as the Aurors seemed disciplined, but also showing a laid-back attitude he was very comfortable with and recognised from other elite units he'd worked with. Harry called his Aurors to order.

"People, please welcome Deputy US Marshall Jayce Silvercloud," Harry said in introduction. "Mr Silvercloud works with Magical Law Enforcement in America and is here to see what we're up to. By his own request, he's volunteered to participate in our activities."

"Volunteered," Susan grinned. "So he's brave and barking mad. He'll fit right in!"

"Thank you, Bonesy," Harry chuckled and continued. "Kingsley requested that we begin with an evaluation of Mr Silvercloud's duelling skills. If they're deemed satisfactory, he'll join us in our training on the same terms as anyone else. Jayce, can you tell us something about yourself?"

"Indeed, sir," Jayce replied respectfully. "My background from the States is a military one. From what I understand, your Auror Office specialise in the capture and eradication of dark wizards and dark creatures. My training lies primarily with wizards rather than creatures, so I'm looking forward to learning about them. Chief Potter tells me that your rule during practice is to put no one in hospital overnight." Jayce paused for a moment and added with a grin, "I'll try to limit myself to that."

"Methinks the Yank challenges us," Terry noted with a sly grin.

"If you don't want to be referred to as _The Yank_ for the remainder of your stay, I suggest you answer his call," Harry whispered to Jayce and turned to Terry. "Boot, you and Mr Silvercloud warm up."

Terry and Jayce stood opposite each other and drew their wands. The other Aurors gathered around to watch, curious about the guest's skills. After the customary bow, Harry ordered the warm up duel to commence. Auror Boot and Deputy Marshal Silvercloud moved in a circle slowly, each uncertain about the other's skill. Terry was took the initiative. With a quick movement, he shot off two stunners and a disarming spell at the same time as he changed the direction of his body.

Jayce ducked under the first stunner, cast a shield to stop the second, and rolled to the left to avoid the disarming spell and counter any angle Terry might have gained by his movements. It was obvious that Susan's tumbling manoeuvres paid off for Boot, but Jayce proved that they're weren't anything new to him.

The duel increased in speed with the two combatants casting only stunners and disarming spells, so far. After a minute of the rapid exchange of fire, it was clear that Jayce was a very competent duellist and every Auror understood he hadn't been pushed anywhere near his limit as yet. On the other hand, they also knew Terry was going rather easy on him, except for some very rapid spell-casting.

"_Reducto_," Terry yelled, and aimed a blasting curse into the floor in front of Jayce, causing a dust cloud to erupt in front of him. Terry used this distraction to Apparate to Jayce's left side and then shot off another volley of stunners and a disarming spell. Temporarily blinded by the dust cloud, Jayce realised immediately that the blasting curse was a cover. He dropped and rolled toward the spot Terry had just stood, basically the only place he reckoned Terry wouldn't be and wouldn't aim.

Assuming a low crouching stance, Jayce located Terry and fired his series of spells—two stunners and a disarming spell. The first one impacted on Terry's shield, the second made it flicker, and the disarming spell barely got though, but struck just the same. Terry's wand flew across the space between them into Jayce's hand, but almost immediately, Terry raised his left hand, revealing a spare wand. Quickly, Jayce fired three more stunners, taking advantage of Terry's mistake to stay on the same spot instead of drawing his spare wand. One of Jayce's stunners struck Terry square in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. He fell to the floor, calling an end to the duel.

"Good one, Yank," Terry hissed between gasps and coughs as he struggled to regain his breath. "Should've moved."

Jayce walked over and extended his left hand to help the Auror up. "Yeah, you should've, Limey," Jayce agreed with a grin.

Harry stepped up and the Aurors, who'd cheered and commented on the duel, fell immediately silent. "You up for another duel," he asked Jayce as Terry joined his colleagues.

"Bring it on, man," Jayce said, realising that Harry was pleased with what he'd seen so far and now wanted to test Jayce's skills for himself.

"Don't hold back," Harry advised. "I won't."

They bowed and assumed a fighting stance. "Begin," Ron ordered.

No one in the room so much as whispered as their chief and champion duellist tested the American. Silently, Jayce felt Harry probe him with Legilimency, which was a most-surprising and downright impressive initial move. Jayce hadn't been prepared and just barely raised his Occlumency shields in time.

Harry's Legilimency wasn't meant as an invasion of Jayce's mind, but only a distraction…and it worked. The subsequent onslaught of spells and hexes caught him off-guard. With a speed and strength Jayce had never witnessed before, Harry shot off a series of powerful stunners. Jayce had no time to cast a shield and could only throw himself out of harm's way. He attempted to cast a shield mid-air, which was disrupted by two more of Harry's stunners. By then, Jayce landed, rolled, and prepared for the follow-up attack he knew without a doubt that Harry would mount to use the initiative he'd taken. _He certainly doesn't hold back, does he?_

Jayce only had a moment to grasp the situation and defend himself. Harry's attack had been full-force and merciless, surprising Jayce. Clearly, he would need to do something unconventional if he was to do anything but defend himself, until Harry found an opening and ended the duel. For a full minute, Jayce dodged spells and desperately defended himself against the younger wizard. Harry's fighting style amazed him no end, since he didn't repeat any one pattern or give away his next move, leaving Jayce no chance for a counter-attack.

His defences pushed to their limits, Jayce knew he didn't have much time left. With no simple strategy, he decided unequivocally that something crazy was all there was left for him to do. _He'll nail me soon anyway, so I'll go down fighting. _"_Aguamenti_," Jayce cast as he rolled to the left to avoid Harry's attack, following up with a quick freezing charm. To his joy, he watched as Harry slipped and fell on his ice.

"_Stupefy! Expelliarmus_," Jayce cast forcefully at the seemingly helpless Harry, but Harry didn't feel like losing, so in the fall he spun and Apparated to Jayce's left side. Still falling, Harry shot off his own stunner and disarming spell, which took Jayce entirely by surprise. In the next moment, Harry fell uncontrollably to the floor on his previously-injured shoulder. He grunted and winced, sucking in a gulp of air. _Ginny's going to have my head for this_.

Jayce felt his wand ripped from his grasp while a stunner with a tremendous force sent him flying several metres before he landed on his backside.

Harry rolled to his knees aiming his wand at Jayce. "Yield," he asked, trying to ignore the pain in his shoulder.

Jayce nodded and shook the fog from his brain..

Ron was quickly at Harry's side. "Are you daft? Apparating mid-fall," he hollered.

"Well, I won, didn't I," Harry grinned and winced. "But I think I've dislocated my shoulder."

"Serves you right," Ron huffed and helped Harry up. "Ginny's going to kick your arse, you know."

"Yeah, I know," the raven-haired wizard replied, grasping his shoulder. "Know any good armourers?" The two best friends laughed as Ron pulled Harry to his feet.

In the meantime, Terry examined Jayce for any injuries. "Just a few bruised ribs," Terry told Jayce. "Nothing to worry about."

"Harry's one helluva fighter. I'm lucky I'm still conscious." Jayce took Terry's hand and stood up to face the Aurors. He was most gratified to find that they seemed impressed with him. Jayce had proven himself to be a match for Harry, who approached him, hand extended.

"Jayce, you're one helluva fighter. I think you have more tricks up your sleeve than you've shown us," Harry said with his right hand extended.

"You're no slouch yourself, Chief," Jayce replied, taking the offered hand. "I have several, but you never gave me a chance to pull them out," Jayce admitted, also grinning.

"I think your time here will be rewarding for both of us," Harry said, releasing Jayce's hand. "Now for you lot. Ron's in charge of practice, while Mr Silvercloud and I get ourselves sorted out at St Mungo's." Harry and Jayce limped and winced their way out of the duelling room to the lifts as Ron barked orders to the others.

Later that day, Jayce composed his first mission report, trying to put words to his impression of the day.

_17 January 2000_

_Director Alexander C Blackthorne_

_United States Department of Justice, Magical Division_

_950 Pennsylvania Avenue NW_

_Washington, DC 20530_

_USA_

_Dear Director Blackthorne:_

**RE: Observation of the British Auror Office and Inter-departmental Duelling Tournament**

**Report #1**

_Today, I was introduced at the Auror Office by Head Auror Harry J Potter and Assistant Head Auror Ronald B Weasley, and was invited to participate in their practice session. The British Auror force is, on first look, similar to any elite or special unit found in the United States. There is strict discipline, as one would expect, but also an easy camaraderie among the men and women on the force._

_My first warm-up duel against Auror Terry Boot made it obvious that I found myself in a very competent group. Auror Boot's skills would qualify him for any American unit, military or otherwise. Truly, the report you already have on their activities speaks for itself._

_British Aurors capture and eliminate dark wizards and dark creatures, unlike our own who have specialized divisions. They lack the manpower to employ specialized units as we do, but their fighting skill is impressive. I have yet to see them in action against dark creatures._

_I managed to disarm Auror Boot in our duel, but I sensed he was holding back. At full-strength, I believe he would have given me a workout. My second duel was against Head Auror Potter himself. Straight to the point, he is a natural. His fighting style is completely unconventional, without any obvious patterns or hint of what he is planning. His magical power is simply amazing. He had me pinned down in mere seconds and I made a desperate last attempt to break his onslaught. Despite the fact that I managed to surprise him, he responded immediately with a devastating attack that disarmed and stunned me, landing me square on my behind. He's the kind of fighter who cannot be outsmarted or overpowered other than with greater numbers. One-on-one, I don't see a way to defeat Head Auror Potter, other than by a fluke or getting really lucky._

_After a visit to a Healer to be "sorted out," I rejoined the training, now working in small unit drills led by Assistant Head Auror Ronald Weasley. Like Mr Potter, he is also a natural, but regarding strategy and tactics, he is near-genius. The British Aurors all fight in a style inspired by Head Auror Potter and combined with the teamwork induced by Mr Weasley and some tumbling courtesy of Auror Susan Bones. Together, they form, in my opinion, one of the best fighting forces in the world, and I would be proud to serve alongside them._

_In closing, let me state that we should take this opportunity to learn as much as possible from the British Aurors. In return, we can offer them techniques and tactics from our own experiences in war and among our own people. Chances are that they will improve upon it, and that would be to our mutual benefit._

_Sincerely,_

_DUSM J Silvercloud_

_Liaison to the British Auror Office_

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While Jayce spent the day with Harry and Ron at the Ministry, Taya stayed at the Burrow with her Aunt so they could take the time to become better-acquainted. Taya produced Granny Tyree's care package, which consisted of blackberry jam, corn, beans, tomatoes, beetroot pickles, bread and butter pickles, apples, and peaches.

"It's really not that hard, Aunt Molly," Taya explained. "If ya keep a garden, you can preserve just about anything out of it, 'specially tomaytas."

"Would I need any special equipment," Molly asked.

"Well, you could invest in a canning set, which is nothing more than a big ol' kettle, a rack, and some jar tongs," Taya replied. "But really, all ya need is a coolin' rack that'll fit in the bottom of your biggest kettle and the jar tongs, for the most part. Ya just hafta buy new lids every time, but you can use the jars and rings over and over. Just make sure yer jars don't have any chips or cracks in them."

"Could you teach me how to do this," Molly asked hopefully. "I'd really like to learn how to do this so I can include it in my column late this summer. I mean, we all know how to dry herbs for cooking and potion-making, but this is something truly exciting!"

"Sure. In fact, Onie's really good at preserving jams and jellies—they're pretty fussy—but we're both good at veggies," Taya replied. "Granny used to do meat, mostly pickled pigs' feet, but that's not something many people have an appreciation for." She grimaced and shook her head in disgust.

Molly covered her mouth with her hands. "No, dear. I don't think my family or my readers would be interested in pickled pigs' feet." Aunt and niece shared a few giggles over it, and then continued with their discussion.

"Seriously though, Aunt Molly, the best way to preserve meat is by curing and smoking. You can do hams, bacon, sausages, fish—all that stuff—with little more than a commercial smoker and a mess o' wood chips," Taya explained. "But you could build a smokehouse, too, if you've a mind."

"Wood chips…any particular kind Americans like," Molly asked, now taking notes.

"Well, Granny swears by hickory and apple, but cherry and pecan are really good, too," Taya said, tapping her chin with an index finger, nodding toward the back of the house. "I see ya got an apple orchard back there. You could use the prunin's from the trees to make yer chips."

Molly scribbled down more notes as her niece talked. She truly determined that she would devote an entire series of articles to canning, preserving, and smoking. Magicals generally did very little along the lines of food preservation beyond herbs for potions and cooking. If Molly could convince Wizarding homemakers that this method of food preservation would save hundreds of Galleons every winter, it'd be worth the work. She wished she had been taught this kind of thing while the children were all at home. It would have saved the Weasleys a fortune in food costs on an already overstretched budget.

"Gallatea, dear, I'd really like to give this a try," Molly said pointedly. "We have loads of wild strawberries growing in the woods around the Burrow. I used to send the kids out to gather as many as they could carry for pies."

"Strawberries make great jam, Aunt Molly. And you can even preserve your pie filling, too," Taya added excitedly. But then her face fell a little. "But…I probably won't be here when the berries are ripe. We're only here for that tournament, then it's back to the States."

Molly took her niece's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Perhaps we can find some fruit to practice on at the Muggle market in the village, yes?"

"We could do that," Taya agreed. "But first, we need to buy some pint and quart jars, rings, and lids to start with, and then the tongs. Trust me—those special tongs make liftin' those jars out of that boilin' water much easier and less painful."

"Boiling water," Molly gasped.

"Oh yes. Boiling water is a very important component in canning and preserving. You process the jars of food in boiling water," Taya explained. "That's what the big kettle and the rack are for."

"Oh dear," Molly groaned. She stood up and walked over to the cabinet where she kept her pots and pans, rattling around until she hauled out the largest kettle she owned. "Would this be big enough?"

Taya looked over the 18-quart pot and tilted her head. "You could do about four quart jars and maybe six pints in that one. Do you have a round rack that'll fit in the bottom?"

"I think so," Molly answered, bending down to dig some more. "Ah! Here it is. Let's find out!" She removed the lid from the kettle and set the round cooling rack in the bottom. "How's this?"

Taya rose from her seat and the table and walked over to have a look. "That's a cake-rack, Aunt Molly. It's a bit too flimsy to support those heavy jars. We'd better find a sturdier one for canning."

"Then we'll make a list," Molly decided, returning to her notepad. "Fiona's off on Saturdays until about two o'clock, when she leaves for St Mungo's. How about the three of us make a morning of it? We can go to Somerset to visit the cemetery and then we'll pop up to London for the things we'll need."

"Sounds like a plan," Taya agreed. "Can Ginny, Fleur, and Hermione come along, too? They might like to learn this too."

"Ginny's on the road with the Harpies until Sunday night, but sure—we can invite Fleur and Hermione," Molly replied. "I think it'd be fun. We can Floo Fleur and Fiona this evening and tell Hermione when she comes home with Ron and Arthur."

Molly looked up at the clock and snapped her notepad closed. "It's half-three," she sighed. "Time to start on some supper. With Ginny gone, Harry'll be here for supper, which means seven tonight."

Taya didn't say anything as she understood her aunt was merely thinking out loud. "Can I help?"

"Of course, dear. What shall we have? We were just talking about ham, but I've got a couple of chickens and a roast of beef," Molly said, rifling through the cold cabinet.

"Why not ham," Taya replied. "I can whip up some biscuits and cornbread. Fiona says Cousin Ronnie likes them."

"That boy is mad for biscuits and corn muffins. Is cornbread different," Molly asked.

"A little. It's just baked in a square or rectangular pan rather than a muffin tin," Taya explained. "You can make it as sweet as you want or not, but corn muffins are usually sweet and cornbread isn't."

"Better make it sweet," Molly chuckled. "My men have a sweet tooth like you wouldn't believe."

"Sweet it is," Taya laughed. "Now where's the stuff?"

"Right over there in that cabinet on the end. We call it _Fiona's Pantry_," Molly grinned. "If it's a Fiona-specialty, the ingredients are found there."

Taya opened the cabinet and found plenty of ingredients for corn muffins, baking-powder biscuits, chocolate-chip cookies, and sweet-potato pie, among other things. _Wow, Aunt Molly! You weren't kidding, were you?_

Taya began to assemble the ingredients she would need while Molly wrestled a shank-end ham into a roasting pan and tossed it into the oven. While the younger witch rolled and cut biscuits, Molly chopped vegetables; while Taya whipped up the batter for the cornbread and spread it into a buttered pan, Molly set the potatoes to peeling. As an afterthought, Taya grabbed a jar of Granny's canned peaches for a dessert.

By the time Arthur, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Jayce returned from the Ministry, supper lay on the table, complete with southern peach cobbler and clotted cream for afters. They all sat down to eat, Molly and Taya eager to hear about Jayce's day at the Ministry.

"Well, to put it simply, I got my ass handed to me on a silver platter, courtesy of Chief Potter, here," Jayce said, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "Hey, this stuff's not bad."

"Yeah, but you handed Boot his, so it was a fair exchange," Ron sniggered.

"Jayce, language?" Taya wasn't one to correct her man's sometimes-crass language, but in the home of her aunt and uncle, she felt compelled to do so.

"Sorry," Jayce apologised to the table. "Habit."

"Not at all," Arthur snorted into his plate, knowing Molly was probably glaring at him. "So you did a bit of duelling today, then?"

"Oh yeah," Ron said, swallowing a lump of mash. "Kingsley thought it would be best to introduce the Marshal here on some common ground. You're really good, mate." Jayce nodded his thanks as his mouth was currently in the process of processing a chunk of ham.

"Did you learn anything new—any of you," Molly asked, reaching for a biscuit.

"Um…yeah," Jayce replied sheepishly. "Never give Potter an inch—he'll take the whole yardstick and beat ya with it!" The diners all laughed at Jayce's observation while he concentrated on his plate. "But seriously—in many ways, you guys are on the same level magically and physically as any of our best fighting units, and might even outstrip them in some ways. I'd be proud to fight alongside ya anytime."

Harry sat and blushed furiously. He'd received many, many accolades in his short career, but the praise of a man with the experience and talent of the Sioux sitting at the table with him meant he'd been doing his job and that his Aurors had become everything he'd hoped. "I got in a few lucky shots…"

"Lucky," Ron exclaimed. "I've never seen you so on your game as you were this morning! Scared me, really. Oh…and how's that shoulder?"

"Shoulder," Hermione asked, suddenly startled from her meal. "Harry, did you injure that shoulder again?"

Harry sighed and threw an _I'm-going-to-hand-_your_-arse-to-you-Weasley_ glare at his best mate. "Dislocated it, but it's all good. Leo Wyatt sorted me out," Harry said, rotating his arm. "See? I'm fine." In reality, he could do with one of Ginny's special massages.

"_I heard that, Potter."_

"_Gin, I'm fine—just a bit sore."_

"_Have Mum work every night after work, then heat and ice, and I'll see to it when I get home."_

"_Thanks, Love."_

"Jayce Silvercloud, did you get hurt today," Taya asked suspiciously.

"Just a bruise on my a—butt, Tay-O-Wee," Jayce assured her. "Potter tossed me across the room with a wicked disarming charm. A little bruise ointment and I'm good as new."

"Men," Hermione huffed. "You can't live with them—"

"And ya just can't shoot 'em," Taya finished.

"No, but we _can_ hex them," Molly added with a giggle.

"SO..." Ron interjected. "What's for afters?"

"Peach cobbler, courtesy of Miss Eula Mae Tyree and your dear cousin, Gallatea," Molly replied, cutting into the gooey dessert. "There's clotted cream to top it, if you'd like."

"Oh, Taya," Jayce groaned. "You didn't."

"Granny's canned peaches and her recipe," Taya replied. "You really are a genius sometimes, you know. I'd have never thought to transfigure food into doilies."

"What's clotted cream," Jayce asked, watching as Arthur dropped a dollop on his dessert.

"Oh—well, it's very nice," Hermione offered. "We use it in place of butter on toast sometimes, but it's good on desserts too. It's looser than butter, but denser than whipped cream. Oh—and a little bit goes a long way."

"In for a penny, in for a pound," as Momma used to say. "Give it a shot, Jayce. You might like it."

Jayce put a small dollop on his cobbler and took a bite. "Wow. That's different. Taya, we need to take a mess of this stuff back home."

"We can probably get it at a specialty store right in Sioux Falls, but okay," she replied, digging into her own dessert.

After supper, they all repaired to the sitting room. Hermione, Molly, and Taya had cleared the table and put the food away, so all Molly had to do was set the dishes to washing themselves. Harry took his wife's advice and asked his mother-in-law to give his shoulder a rub with some of her special liniment. He nearly fell asleep, it felt so good.

"Now, charm a towel and set it on there for about twenty minutes and then put a freezing charm on it and leave it for another twenty," Molly instructed.

"Okay, Mum," Harry agreed with his Harry-grin. He stepped through the Floo and disappeared in a whoosh of green flame, re-emerging in his own sitting room at Ionúin Bhaille. He undressed and retrieved a fresh towel from the closet, cast the charm and set it on his shoulder with a sticking charm to hold it in place.

"_Good boy."_

"_Always."_

"_I miss you."_

"_I miss you too, baby."_

"_See you Sunday?"_

"_Do you want me to come out to Holyhead and meet you?"_

"_Please. The team would love to see you."_

"_Oh, I'm sure. Give them all a hug for me."_

"_Give it yourself when you get here, you prat."_

"_Goodnight, Gin."_

"_Goodnight, Harry."_

Back at the Burrow, Ron and Hermione undressed and climbed into their bed on the fifth floor. Ron opened his arms to allow his wife to snuggle in for one of their bedtime chats.

"So how's the tournament coming," Hermione asked.

"It's getting there. Kingsley's got Percy working on credentials for the officials, the press, and the pages—and anyone else who'll need them."

"Have you and Harry picked teams yet," she asked, caressing the freckled hand that lay across her belly.

"Oh yeah. We drew lots. I got Irish, Bonesy, Chang, and Terry. Harry got LB, Tony, JD, and Jock."

"Wow. You've got quite a powerhouse team, Love," Hermione giggled. "Harry's going to have his work cut out for him."

"Don't be so sure, 'Mione," Ron countered. "Dawlish and Thompson are veterans of two Wizarding wars, and Lavender and Tony are damned good duellists. I wouldn't want to piss any of them off."

"Still…you've got Susan and Seamus," Hermione reminded him. "They took down those miscreant Puffs after they attacked Jessica."

"Those miscreant Puffs were mere students. I wouldn't measure their skills against Aurors with any real merit," Ron chuckled. "But yeah, Irish and Bonesy do work well together."

"And what about Cho? Fourth in command? Ron, you've got two, three, four, five, and six in rank on your team; Harry has himself—one—seven, eight, and two older veterans. You're going to cream them, my ginger warrior-god."

"With my goddess' standard, I go forth into battle and shall emerge victorious," Ron chuckled, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

"Too right you will," Hermione snorted, turning her head to meet his lips.

"But Harry'll be carrying Ginny's," Ron reminded her. "She's motivation enough for him."

"Details. Trivia," Hermione giggled. "Now shut up and kiss me, Warrior-god."

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Late the following morning, Harry and Ron sat at their desks, shuffling through last night's shift reports and the various and sundry memos that plagued them on a daily basis. "Hey, Ron—you know we have to do that press conference with Kingsley after lunch, right?"

"Yeah—I know," he replied with a sigh, banishing a memo to the circular file. "I just hope this doesn't turn into a circus. I mean, The Chosen Boy Who Lived to Be the Saviour of the Wizarding World is going to actually condescend to address the unwashed masses."

"Shut it, you," Harry growled, tossing a wadded up memo at his ginger brother. "You're just as much a spectacle as I am. Your work in Antrim is _legendary, _O vaunted sidekick."

"Git."

"Prat."

They were just about to launch into one of their brotherly name-games when a soft rap came upon their office door. Harry looked over at Ron who shrugged. "Come in," he called. "Door's open."

The two top Aurors in Britain watched as the door opened revealing the somewhat-nervous form of Astoria Greengrass, betrothed of Draco Malfoy.

"Miss Greengrass," Harry greeted her, standing to shake her hand. Ron followed suit. "Please. Have a seat. What can we do for you?"

"Um…well, first of all—we've set a date for the wedding. Congratulations on your test, by the way," she said, arranging herself comfortably, placing her hands in her lap and holding her head high. She was, after all, a Pureblood princess of a prominent house.

"That's wonderful. Just let me pull out my calendar here," Harry said, opening a desk drawer to retrieve his appointment book. He'd taken to using one ever since Hermione had gifted him with one back in school. "Ah. Here it is. So when's the big day?"

"The second of July. Invitations should be going out next week. You and Mrs Weasley are invited, of course," she said, nodding to Ron.

This came as no surprise to him as it was almost graven-in-granite protocol that all high-ranking Ministry officials were invited to the weddings of Ministry employees. For that reason only was that slimy bastard, Alastor Gumboil, invited to his own wedding to Hermione.

"I'm assuming Malfoy Manor," Harry half-asked, his quill poised over the month of July.

"No, it'll be at my parents' home. All of the pertinent information appears with the invitation," she assured him.

"Very well. Time," Harry asked.

"Two o'clock in the back garden," she told him. "My father asks that you arrive an hour beforehand. I don't know why."

"That's fine, Miss Greengrass," Harry said, jotting down the time. "Was there something else?"

"Well…yes, there is," she said, her regal posture deflating a little. "It's about the tournament."

"What about the tournament," Ron asked.

"Well…Auror Potter, he doesn't know I'm here on his behalf. We talked about this over dinner the other night and Draco feels as though he'd be unwelcome, what with the way things were during the war and all," she admitted.

"_Storie, they won't let me enter," Draco said dejectedly, picking at his poached salmon. "There's too much…stuff…between me and Potter."_

"_Darling, you're a Ministry employee in good standing, you're not a convicted criminal, and you're a phenomenal duellist. Bad blood between you and Harry Potter shouldn't stop you from participating. The war's over," Astoria insisted._

"_But that's just it, Love," Draco argued, his grey eyes conveying doubt. "I tried to kill him and Weasley, and the Mud—Granger, too...even after they pulled my arse out of the fire—literally. They'll never allow it."_

"_You're wrong, Draco," she countered. "You testified against your father _and_ you were instrumental in the arrest and conviction of Mafalda Prewett, both of which were the right things to do. Potter and Weasley trusted you then—"_

"Potter_ trusted me—not Weasley. And that was mostly about my mother and my job, not me," he corrected, dropping his fork against the china plate. He picked up his wine glass and drained it in one go, set it down, and refilled it._

_She didn't like the fact that he was drinking so much wine tonight, but she let it go because he hadn't made a habit of it. "Draconius Abraxas Malfoy, since when do you back down from what you want? If you want to enter that tournament, enter it," she told him point-blank._

"_Storie—"_

"_I mean it, Draco. You have just as much right to enter as Potter and Weasley. I'd be highly displeased if you didn't," she snapped. Seeing the stricken look on his pale face, she softened. "Draco, I love you and all I want is for you to be happy. You want to do this and I think you should, regardless of what anyone else thinks. Besides, this is an opportunity for you to show the nay-sayers—whoever they may be—that Draco Malfoy is not his father, but an honourable, talented wizard who wants to engage in some friendly competition with his co-workers like anyone else."_

_Draco raised his eyes to his fiancée and gave her a weak smile. At that moment, he realised he had no idea what he would have done without her by his side, encouraging him and soothing his wounded soul. "All right, Love. I'll give your…compelling…arguments some consideration, all right?"_

"_Please do. You might find I'm right once in a while," she replied, her dazzling smile lighting up his personal darkness. "Now finish your dinner and we'll have…dessert."_

"The war's over and Draco has more than proven himself," Harry assured her. "All he needs to do is see Percy Weasley for a form, fill it out, and pay the entry fee. Wands will be weighed and certified before each match," Harry told her. "That's true for _all_ participants, even me."

Astoria stood and extended her hand for Harry and Ron to shake. "Thank you, Chief Potter—Auror Weasley."

"Hey, no problem. Tell Mal—Draco hello for us," Ron said, releasing her hand.

"I surely will. Thanks again," she said with a polite smile. "Good day to you."

Astoria turned and left the office, closing the door softly behind her. She had no doubts as to how that discussion would end, but she felt like she needed to speak with the Head Auror just the same. His positive reception gave her even more ammunition to shoot down any further arguments Draco might make against entering the duelling tournament.

"Do you really think Malfoy doesn't know she came here," Ron asked Harry.

"Yeah, I do. He's too proud to do it himself, though," Harry replied thoughtfully.

"Proud or…something else," Ron suggested with a smirk.

"Proud. He may have been a snivelling ferret in school, but the war changed him. The Mafalda caper changed him," Harry said. "There's hope for him yet, and this tournament will give him the chance to show the world the new Draco Malfoy."

"He's still a git," Ron murmured.

"This is true, but perhaps now he's an honest git," Harry laughed. "And he's liable to give us run for our Galleons."

"We'll see if he comes to work out," Ron added. "He's seen us in action, that's for sure."

"Ron, Malfoy's a talented wizard—you know that. He'd have to be for all the crap he pulled in school," Harry reminded his friend. "I rather hope I get to face off with him in the arena. I think it'll be fun."

"Fun to watch you wipe the floor with him," Ron snorted. "You're twelve times the wizard Malfoy is."

"Hmm… It seems to me someone told someone else we know and love that self-same thing," the Head Auror replied.

"Neville—your first Quidditch match against Slytherin in first year when we got into it with Crabbe and Goyle in the stands," Ron recalled with a smile. "He really put up a fight."

"Yeah and after what he did during the war, I wouldn't want to tangle with him," Harry agreed. He would be eternally grateful and in Neville Longbottom's debt for the sacrifices he made to keep Ginny and the other students alive, if not entirely safe, that year. His bravery and dedication kept hope alive in the hell Hogwarts had become under the Carrows.

"Too right," Ron agreed. He too felt indebted to the mild-mannered Gryffindor for keeping his sister alive and for standing proudly in the face of Voldemort, destroying the last of the dark tosser's Horcruxes with a strong arm and Gryffindor's sword. "Good old Neville."

Harry glanced at his watch and saw that it was time to meet the Lunch Bunch in the cafeteria. His stomach began to growl instantly. "Food!"

"Food," Ron replied. The two of them left the office and locked it, racing one another to the stairwell. "I'll get you this time, Potter!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah—promises, promises," Harry called in reply. "You say that every day!"

"Today's my day, ponce," Ron called over his shoulder as he took the stairs two at a time.

"Cheat," Harry laughed, gaining on him step by concrete step.

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"_**The Event of the Year – The Duelling Tournament," **_Gumboil began to read aloud.

"Aw…Would this be Kingsley's latest propaganda stunt," Stormer noted sarcastically.

"Actually it's Head Auror Potter's idea," Gumboil told him. "Shall I read on?"

"Please do," Stiles and Stormer replied together.

Gumboil cleared his throat and began to read:

"_During a press-conference in the Atrium of the Ministry, Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Arthur Weasley, and Head Auror Harry Potter met with representatives of the international press to release more details about the duelling tournament announced earlier this month. The initial question many members of the Press Corps have asked is why this Ministry tournament has attracted international attention?_

"_People are eager to watch Harry Potter in action," Minister Shacklebolt replied flatly. "But they also wish to watch our two talented Auror Teams, led by Head Auror Potter and Assistant Head Weasley, at work in safe environment."_

_And that is, of course, the true crux of the matter. Veterans of the Battle of Hogwarts watched in horrified fascination as Potter faced off against and vanquished the Dark Lord Voldemort. A few others have seen him at work during actual Auror operations._

_This tournament is the first opportunity ever for the general public to see what makes the young man hailed as the New Dumbledore and the Saviour of Wizarding Britain such a force to be reckoned with. Since Voldemort is—or was—widely considered the most-evil dark wizard in magical history, there has been a great international interest as well._

_According to Arthur Weasley, the DMLE are not the instigators of this event, but the Auror Office, and more specifically, Potter, (Ron) Weasley, and Auror Lieutenant Seamus Finnegan. Anyone who has ever met Head Auror Potter describes him as a humble young man who generally shies away from his fame. One can only wonder why, then, he has taken an initiative that thrusts him once again into the spotlight._

"_All we really wanted was to do something fun for Ministry employees," Mr Potter explained, dispelling any suspicion that he and his Aurors might want to show off a bit. "Regulated duelling is far safer than Quidditch, and far more interesting to watch than Gobstones, Exploding Snap or Wizarding Chess. We had no idea this would ever become the big media thing it has.'"_

"He's right you know," Stormer said thoughtfully.

Gumboil nodded. "He's a lot brighter than your average 19-year-old, wizard or otherwise." _Hermione Granger must've rubbed off on him._ He continued to read:

"_No matter what the initial intention might have been, the Ministry Duelling Tournament has become an event that shall be followed closely by the entire Wizarding world. There is little doubt that the organization of this event will show just how far the Ministry of Magic has come following a terrible war. In this reporter's opinion, it appears to be very well-organised, and the opening ceremony hasn't even launched yet._

"_It's really the Auror Office who deserves the credit," Kingsley Shacklebolt declared. "My part in it has been limited to permitting my Junior Undersecretary, Mr Percy Weasley, to assist. His organizational skills and attention to detail are unsurpassed in the Ministry."_

_We're told that only reporters with special accreditation will be allowed to report from the Tournament. Each publication must submit an application for one reporter and one photographer each—no more. __Miss Audrey Martin, Secretary to the Head of the Wizengamot __Administration Services, has been selected as the official in charge of record-keep__ing, while security will be provided by members the DMLE on a rotating schedule, allowing the Troopers and Aurors to participate in the event._

"_Important to fairness and control of such a tournament is that of the referee and chief judge," Mr Potter continued. "And we're proud to announce that Professor Filius Flitwick, a former duelling champion himself, has agreed to provide his services in that role."_

_Commentary will be provided by Mr Lee Jordan, who announced Hogwarts Quidditch matches for several years during his student career._

_To minimize the risk of injury, disarming and shield charms are the only legal spells in the first rounds. More advanced spells will be allowed in each subsequent round until fully-friendly duels will be fought in the final rounds. A team of Healers shall be on hand at all times in case of injury to the participants and for any issues among the spectators that might require medical help._

"As you can see, they've covered all bases, which means we have to be very careful with our plans," Gumboil said warningly. "I intend to recruit some of the scum from Knockturn Alley to do our dirty work for us."

"What makes you think they'd want to do it," Stiles asked.

"Galleons, my friend. Galleons," Gumboil grinned. "Money talks, Frank. And besides, _we _have to stay anonymous. We can't afford another Antrim."

"So…you'll arrange an accident aimed at a Pureblood. What do we achieve by that," Stormer asked.

Gumboil smiled wickedly. "We can use it to spark a debate about the disregard for proper penalties for some Death Eaters, and fuel the general dissatisfaction I know is brewing in Britain. With luck, the international pressure will force the Minister to act. And that's when ELF moves in. We'll provide him with the right proposals, supporting them with the evidence Hermione uncovered."

"Basically you intend to cause the trouble, and then use it to further our agenda," Stormer concluded.

"The attack won't affect an innocent; I intend the unfortunate accident to befall a Pureblood criminal."

"Anyone in mind," Stormer asked, guessing who the target might be.

"Of course, but must remain a secret for now," Gumboil replied.

"So what do you want _us_ to do, Boss," Stiles asked, a little miffed that the boss wouldn't tell them who their target is.

"First of all, I think we'll take action at the end of the tournament, rather than in the middle of it. I'll need you to voice the right kind of opinions right there in front of the international press. It has to be our words in the headlines," Gumboil said.

"Splendid, Alastor," Stiles grinned, leaning back in his chair.

"You're with me, then," Gumboil asked with raised brows, already knowing the answer.

"Of course," Stormer replied. "Was there any doubt?"

"Good. I'll handle the rest," Gumboil assured them. "Just make sure you have airtight alibis at the time of the attack and are able to turn attention to yourselves to make your opinions known. You'll know when it's time."

"Um…Alastor, whatever this accident is, it's nothing illegal, right," Stormer asked, doubt creeping into his brain.

Alastor eyed his two friends for a moment, considering his reply. "Mr Potter is the greatest hero in Britain," he reminded them. He waited for acknowledgement before he continued. "But Mr Potter has revealed to me that he didn't defeated Voldemort by keeping the law. I don't know the exact details, but running and hiding from the Ministry, breaking into it—and Gringotts, up to something dodgy in that forest—something no one has ever heard a word about—it's obvious that under normal circumstances, Harry Potter would most likely have been locked up in Azkaban for a very long time. But he did it all for the greater good."

"The end justifying the means," Stiles added.

"Exactly, Frank. Whatever Potter did during the war, it led to the defeat Voldemort, so I have little doubt that reasonable law-breaking is justified in order to bring about much-needed change. Of course, we have to do this in secret as well, and that is why I didn't ask Peasegood, Waldheimer, or Dearborn for that matter, to join us today. They have the right ideas, but lack the stones necessary to see those ideas become reality. We still need them, but this kind of…let's say _shove_…in the right direction needs to be kept between the three of us."

Stormer and Stiles heartily agreed with Gumboil's reasoning. After all, the law was so full of Pureblood-favouring loopholes, it was almost impossible to cause any real change by working only within the Wizengamot Chamber. Besides, an accident that made a deserving Pureblood suffer was a lot better than killing innocent people in pubs.

Gumboil read the last paragraph of the article. "_Finally, we asked Mr Potter why the trophies were named as they were. 'Alastor Moody and Gawain Robards were both good friends of mine and great Aurors during their magnificent careers," the Head Auror pointed out. "We—Auror Weasley and I—suggested these two great wizards' names for this honour.'"_

"Wouldn't it be appropriate if the first one to win the Alastor Moody trophy to also carry the name, Alastor," Gumboil asked snarkily.

"Sure, but are you in shape," Stiles asked. _My, we're full of ourselves, aren't we?_

"I practise as much now as I did when I was active in the field every day," Gumboil replied proudly. "I think a few nasty tricks from the street might surprise the Aurors. I'll bet they think they've got this thing sewn up. Are you two going to enter?"

"Absolutely. It sounds like great fun. And quite honestly, I'm sort of interested to watch the Aurors in action. We never really understood what happened in the pub. They blew in, and in a flash the fight was over," Stormer said. "And that business in Montrose was incredible."

"The bloody git put Hermione in danger," Gumboil snarled, clearly referring to Ron.

The fact that it was Hermione herself who had joined Ron on the pitch was a fact Gumboil would have disregarded if he'd known about it, or else he would have praised her courage.

Stormer decided to ask something he'd wondered. "Alastor, what is it with you and the newest Mrs Weasley, really?"

"_Hermione Granger_ is the brightest witch in Britain and she's the perfect embodiment of a Muggleborn witch. Her magical powers are tremendous, she has the ability to create and alter charms, and on top of it all she's the most beautiful witch in the world."

"Err... Mrs Potter's been parked on the number one spot for well over a year now, Alastor" Stiles interjected. He rolled his eyes at Stormer, who had taken on a somewhat worried look at Gumboil's insistence upon using Hermione's maiden name.

"Bah! More Pureblood nonsense," Gumboil huffed. "Mrs Potter and Miss Chang are Purebloods—that's _only_ reason the hold the top spots. Do you realise who funds that blasted magazine? Purebloods! And who won their damned recipe contest? A Pureblood—Mrs Molly _Weasley!_"

"Now that you mention it," Stiles said thoughtfully. "I hadn't quite thought about it that way."

Gumboil had become rather worked up by that point. "It's just proof –positive that we have much to do. Pureblood domination isn't just about the law, my friends. It's born into the very soul of Wizarding Britain and it'll take a lot more than a few amended laws to purge our community of this centuries-old injustice."

"And now is the time," Stiles agreed. "The Purebloods have never been weaker. There are many inexperienced youngsters sitting Wizengamot Pureblood seats. The general public are fed up with Pureblood supremacy. We have outspoken enemies of Pureblood ideals leading our community, and the top one is an influential leader in Magical Law Enforcement."

Gumboil and Stormer both nodded. "But what about our new Chief Warlock, Madame Bones," Stormer asked. "Where does she stand?"

"She was reported killed in the war, but in reality, she narrowly escaped a Death Eater attack and went into hiding. A very clever witch to be sure, but she's notoriously fair, too, and since the alternative was _Lord_ Greengrass, I think we should thank our lucky stars that Madame Bones was elected," Gumboil said. "Now if you'll excuse me gentlewizards, I have an errand in Knockturn Alley." With a discreet wave, he cancelled the privacy charm and left the pub.

"Frank, Madame Bones is a Pureblood," Stormer said to his friend. "What makes her so special?"

"You heard the man, Jerry," Stiles replied. "She's fair."

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The final week leading up to the tournament had the entire Ministry in a flurry of activity. Percy spent most of his days finalising plans with the contractors who would convert the Atrium into an arena suitable for a duelling tournament, including specially-charmed mats that would encircle the duelling platform to cushion the fall, should he or she be blown off his or her feet. Dozens of owls were kept busy delivering credentials to the international press and many last-minute entry forms.

"Dad, might I suggest that next year—if there is a next year—we set a cut-off date for entries?" Percy huffed, waving the last-minute entries over his curly red head.

"Excellent idea, son," Arthur agreed.

"Bless you," Percy replied with a sigh of relief. But for now, he needed to owl Xeno Lovegood with the newest entrants and their photos so that they could be included in the program.

Late Thursday night, the last details had been set in stone. The Atrium looked like a bona fide sports arena, complete with numbered cushioned seats upholstered in deep red instead of bleachers, section markers, and concession stands. One section of the mezzanine had been designed as a broadcast booth for Lee and the press corps and the scorekeepers, Hermione Weasley and Minerva McGonagall. The entire event had sold out within eight hours of the release of some seven thousand tickets. Those unfortunates who could not purchase tickets would listen closely on WWN.

The arena floor itself consisted of a centimetre thick layer of cork, covered with a meticulously-laid parquet of willow. The contractors had done their homework. They discovered that Muggle cricket bats as well as a Beater's bat were made of willow and would make a durable floor. The raised duelling platform was inlaid with more willow, cherry, rose, and walnut into a starburst pattern and emanated out from the centre.

All around the arena, multi-coloured banners flew, representing the different departments within the ministry: red for Magical Law Enforcement, green for Magical Games and Sports, white for Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, blue for Magical Transportation, tan for Magical Creatures, gold for International Magical Cooperation, and orange for Magical Maintenance. Black had been set aside for the Department of Mysteries, but no one from that section of the Ministry entered. Still, their banner would fly among the others, interspersed with the magnificent ensign of the Ministry, emblazoned with its golden seal depicting the Ministry's "M" logo balanced on a set of scales set in a ring declaring, _Ignorantia Juris Neminem Excusat, _which translated from Latin means _Ignorance of the Law Excuses No One_.

With the festivities set to begin a seven o'clock Friday evening, patrons began to arrive right at five, as the Ministry closed for the weekend. An army of ushers met with Percy and Audrey for their assignments and maroon robes. They would be responsible for assisting patrons to their seats, ensuring that their tickets were genuine and not conjured or transfigured fakes.

While the ushers received their orientation, the concessions arrived and found their assigned booths. Hannah and Neville, representing the Leaky Cauldron, had been assigned Space Number One, while Rosmerta from The Three Broomsticks took Space Number Four.

Other concessions included Sam Chang of The Black Dragon in Space Number Seven, a team of three from The Hearth in Space Number Ten, Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Emporium manned by its namesake's nephew and his wife in Space Number Five, and several others in between, which would sell only drinks and packaged snacks, rather than entire meals.

George, Angelina, and Verity arrived to establish their souvenir shops on either end of the arena. They hired a couple of young wizards and witches to man one under Verity and the other under Angelina, while George worked behind the scenes as a member of event staff.

By six o'clock, the seats were almost filled. There had been an incident involving a pair of thugs trying to get in on fake tickets, but they were quietly escorted from the building by a pair of young Squad Troopers and told unequivocally that they should go home and listen on the wireless if they knew what was good for them.

The Weasley-Potter assemblage, including Jayce and Taya, took their seats on Row Twelve, Section 214, which was just about dead centre, facing the front of the stage. They were surrounded by the families of many of the other prominent participants, including Narcissa Malfoy, Lord and Lady Greengrass, and their daughters, Daphne and Astoria. Molly's and Narcissa's eyes locked in what could have become a hostile stand-off. Instead, both matriarchs nodded politely and returned their attention to their families and companions.

At two minutes to seven, the house lights dimmed, bringing the noise of the crowd to silence. Somewhere, a band struck up a rousing tune as Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, stepped into the spotlight on the temporary stage that stood immediately behind the duelling platform. When the band finished their piece, he set the tip of his wand to the side of his neck and whispered the Sonorus charm. "Honoured witches and wizards," his magically-amplified voice boomed. "It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to the inaugural Alastor Moody's and Gawain Robards' Cups Inter-departmental Duelling Tournament."

At this, the audience erupted in cheers and applause while cameras flashed and quills scratched. Lee described the events into a magical microphone that would carry his voice over the wireless to Wizarding homes all over Britain, with feeds to every nation in the world. He turned up the feed as Kingsley raised his hands, silencing the stadium. "Before we begin, please allow me to introduce our tournament staff. They have worked tirelessly to make this event a reality, and they continue to work to ensure that our tournament is a success." The arena erupted in cheers and applause once again.

"First, our organising committee: Junior Undersecretary Percy Weasley, Secretary to the Wizengamot Audrey Martin, and Aurors Donald Ross and Geoffrey Smith!" The audience applauded as the quartet stood and waved to the crowd. Once they quieted, Kingsley continued. "These two fine Aurors have coordinated and organised security for the duration of the tournament, while Mr Weasley and Miss Martin have coordinated publicity, regulatory matters, and auxiliaries." The arena applauded its appreciation.

As soon as it died down, Kingsley continued with the introductions. "Presenting our Chief Judge and Referee, holder of a record _nine_ international duelling championships, Mr Filius Flitwick!" The diminutive Charms master stood and waved enthusiastically to the people, many of which study or studied under his tutelage at Hogwarts.

"Our commentator and arena announcer, Mr Lee Jordan!" More applause followed as Lee flashed a winning smile and waved both arms. "Please welcome our able team of Healers, Leonard 'Leo' Wyatt and Augustus 'Gus' Pye, assisted by Healer Apprentice Fiona Prewett!"

Fiona hated the stuffy gown and apron she had been required to wear tonight, but for the sake of appearance and ceremony, she would endure the cruel and unusual punishment. However, she would make a quick change into her signature scrubs before the actual duelling began, never to don the traditional uniform again…at least until the closing ceremony.

"May their services go un-needed!" The crowd—including the medical team—erupted in laughter, cheers, and applause while cameras flashed, capturing the officials' images as they stood together on the stage.

Kingsley raised his hands again to quiet the crowd. "And now it is my great pleasure and privilege to present our honoured participants!" Escorted by pages from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, led by Head Girl Lisa Bradford and Head Boy Dalton Townsend, the parade of duellists marched into the arena as the crowd welcomed them enthusiastically.

Ginny's heart leapt at the sight of her handsome Auror, smiling and waving at the crowd. Harry spotted her and sent a wave of the Unspoken Thing through their bond. Ron's sapphire eyes searched the scoring box for his wife. As soon as he found her, he gave her his brightest smile and blew her a kiss, both of which she returned. Molly simply wept with pride.

The Weasley-Potter assemblage followed the rather extensive program, exclaiming over how Luna had done a magnificent job with the photography. They were gratified to see that even the ushers and the pages received fair recognition for their hard work. They noticed that there were two pages from each Hogwarts House assigned to the event. Dennis Creevey and Jessica Spinnet represented Gryffindor House; Eleanor Branstone and Owen Cauldwell represented Hufflepuff House; Stewart Ackerly and Orla Quirke represented Ravenclaw House; and Irene Bletchley and Jason Felton represented Slytherin House. Each page wore robes of deep blue with white trim, with Lisa's and Dalton's robes trimmed in gold.

"Wow, Aunt Molly," Taya breathed. "You guys don't half-do anything, do ya? This is amazing!"

"It's almost like watching the opening ceremonies for the Olympics!" The others stared at Jayce with a questioning look in their eyes. Realising that they didn't know what he was talking about, he explained. "The Olympics is an international competition that takes place every four years, involving all kinds of sports. The summer games will take place this August in Sydney, Australia. There'll be a winter games in 2002 in Salt Lake City, Utah in the States."

"But you said every four years," Charlie argued, a bit confused.

"They stagger them," Jayce further explained. "The last winter games were in 1998 in Nagano, Japan, but the next summer games in 2004 will be in Athens, Greece."

"Oh I get it," Ginny said. "There are four years between the summer games and four years between the winter games."

"Right. And they have elaborate opening and closing ceremonies, too. So yeah…this reminds me of that," Jayce said. "Although this one isn't quite as grand, I'm still impressed!"

Pages and participants took their places on the arena floor, encircling the stage and facing out to the audience. The air literally crackled with excitement as Kingsley introduced the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, who was actually a well-respected witch. "Amelia, if you will, please?"

Amelia Bones rose and nodded curtly to the Minister for Magic and raised her hands to silence the assembly. "Gentlewizards and witches, it is my pleasure to declare the Alastor Moody's and the Gawain Robards' Cups Inter-departmental Duelling Tournament open!"

Music swelled as the audience stood and cheered. Amelia smiled broadly with tears coursing down her cheeks while cameras flashed. Her heart ached for the memory of the two wizards she had come to love and respect over the years. _Alastor, Gawain…you done good._

With a flick with his wand, the Minister, also blinking back tears for his mentor and friend, set off a special delivery of Weasley Whizzbang fireworks, taking the shape of a wizard and a witch casting spells at one another. As the two "spells" collided, the fireworks exploded in a brilliant multi-coloured spray, touching off a joyful celebration that would last well into the night.


	38. Chapter 38 Game On Part I

**Chapter 38 – Game On! Part I**

Bright and early Saturday morning, Molly, Taya, and Fiona arose to fix a monster breakfast for the family, but primarily for Harry, Ron, and Seamus. Before they left the Ministry late Friday night, Molly invited Seamus, citing the need for a good meal so her Aurors could be at their best in competition.

They decided on a traditional American morning feast, complete with pancakes, fresh butter and jam, sausage, bacon, biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs with cheese, fried potatoes and onions, fruit, juice, milk, tea, and coffee. Seamus had just come through the door when Molly called the house to eat. "Hurry it up now," Molly chided them all. "You've got a big day ahead of you and I'll not have my boys going into such a contest without proper nutrition. Tuck in, boys! Go on!"

There was no need to tell Harry, Ron, and Seamus twice. The three of them dug into the food heaped on platters and in bowls. Harry could have sworn he heard the old scrubbed oak table groan under its burden. "Mum, you really didn't have to do this."

"Nonsense, dear," Molly replied, patting each of their shoulders in turn. "I have to keep my Aurors in top shape and that starts with a good breakfast." The Weasley matriarch fussed around the three of them while Taya and Fiona refilled plates and platters. "Come on, you lot. Sit down and eat. We have to leave in a little more than an hour so Fiona can be on-station and these Aurors of ours aren't late for the wand-weighing! Ollivander likes to take his time, you know!"

"Ronald, don't overdo it," Hermione admonished her husband as they ate in relative silence. "You don't want to have yourself all stuffed and unable to move properly."

"'Mione," Ron groaned. "Have I ever overdone it?"

"Ron? Overdo it with food? Impossible," Ginny snickered. "He's got a hollow leg and he'll need a refill after the first round!"

"I love you too, Gin," Ron growled, stuffing another forkful of gravy-coated biscuit in his mouth.

She grinned evilly and blew a kiss at him. "Prat."

"Witch."

"And don't you forget it," she giggled, having the last word. She then turned to Harry's plate, speared a sausage, and shoved it in her mouth.

"Hey! Get your own," Harry snapped, giving her a playful shove.

"But yours taste so much better," she argued, shoving him back.

"All right, that's enough, children," Arthur admonished, his eyes twinkling. "Your mother's right. We need to finish eating so we can get to London on time. Fiona, sit down and eat. You'll need your strength too."

Fiona nodded and sat down with the others. Without a single word, Taya began to pass things she knew her sister liked best to eat. Arthur noticed that and marvelled at how his nieces reminded him of Fred and George. Their ability to communicate in silence was almost as unsettling as his twin sons' erstwhile ability to finish one another's sentences.

"They always do that," Jayce told Arthur, noticing the man's fascination. "When one needs the other, she shows up or owls or hands over… whatever." The first time Jayce visited the cabin in Rook Holler, he'd watched as the two girls moved and worked like a well-oiled machine without speaking a word. Try as he might, there was just no making any sense of it.

"It's a twin-thing," Taya said. "Ya wouldn't understand."

A few snickers and about a half-hour later, those competing, working, or officiating in the tournament took their leave of the Burrow. Molly, Ginny, and Taya cleared away while Arthur and Jayce cleaned up and met them at the Floo. There were too many of them to Apparate and there was sure to be a traffic jam at the Atrium Apparition point anyway. With several whooshes of green flame, the elder Weasleys, Jayce, Taya, and Ginny left the Burrow to the quiet of the Devon January morning.

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Lee Jordan's voice boomed through the arena as ten witches and wizards made their way onto the floor. "Please welcome, from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Ernie Dearborn, Dave Horton, Cy Reardon, Keith Sinclair, and Lloyd Johnstone!" The audience cheered and applauded them. They waved their acknowledgement to the crowd and then assembled themselves to one side of the Chief Judge, Professor Filius Flitwick.

"And now please welcome, from the ranks of our esteemed Auror Office, Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnegan, Cho Chang, Susan Bones, and Terry Boot!" The audience went wild, for all five of them were bona fide war-heroes, whose team captain held the esteemed Order of Merlin, First Class. Ron barked and order and the five of them saluted the crowd, which erupted in roars of approval that went on for more than five minutes.

Finally, Flitwick had to take control of the situation or the duel might never have a chance to begin. He gestured the two teams to his side to deliver the pre-match rules and then released them to take their places. Once the proprietary bows and salutes had been exchanged, the diminutive referee backed away.

"Begin," his magically amplified voice called. The need for amplification was two-fold: first, for the benefit of the spectators and the duellists. Second, his voice was so high-pitched that he could barely be heard in the confines of his Charms classroom at Hogwarts, let alone a sports arena with several thousand excited fans in attendance.

Ron surveyed his opponents. It was obvious by the way they arranged themselves, that they would fashion their game after basic Quidditch manoeuvres: two defenders, and three attackers, with Dearborn as central attacker. The similarity to the two Beaters and three Chasers was imaginative, if not inappropriate.

Ron glanced at his fellow team mates and nodded. Bonesy and Irish took their positions on his right, while Chang and Boot took theirs on his left. Once Flitwick gave the command to duel, all of Ron's focus fell onto the opposing team, the cheering of the crowd firmly blocked from his mind. Sometimes Occlumency came in right handy. Patiently, Ron waited for Dearborn to make the first move.

"Go," Dearborn barked. His two defenders, Horton and Sinclair, produced a shield each to guard their three attackers.

Ron decided to defend himself though counter-attack and take the initiative. "Pair up and charge," Ron ordered crisply. Bonesy and Irish immediately moved further out on his right flank, mirrored by Chang and Boot did on the left. Alone in the middle, Ron stood waiting for Dearborn's onslaught.

"Johnstone, Reardon, take him," Dearborn ordered, nodding to Ron. The other two attackers cast their disarming spells at Ron, who chose to simply avoid them, saving his shield charm for the moment. The audience gasped collectively when Ron made no attempt to shield himself and erupted in thunderous cheers when he tumbled, twisted and dodged the disarming spells.

"Good one, Love," Hermione muttered to herself, keeping notes in the scoring booth. She didn't care that her status as an official precluded her from competing, but she had no intention of allowing her husband or her brother, when his time came, to go unlauded.

"Interesting strategy," Minerva said. "It appears that Auror Weasley's team are simply letting Mr Dearborn's team wear themselves down."

Hermione nodded, her eyes still locked on her husband's form, dodging and side-stepping on the arena floor. "Yes, and what's more, he's having a wonderful time. He and Harry practice all the time."

"Indeed," Minerva smirked. "It shows. And what of your own…practice?"

"Oh. Well," Hermione began. "Arthur taught me the Weasley women's defensive spell a few weeks ago." _And I'm having my own fun with that_.

"Ah, yes. The infamous Bat-bogey, is it?"

"The same," Hermione replied. Just then the arena gasped and cheered once again, drawing the two scoring witches' attention back to the match.

Suddenly, the left defender, Horton, found himself caught in the crossfire from Bonesy and Chang, with Irish and Boot covering them. With his shield covering Dearborn, Johnstone, and Reardon, he had no way of defending himself. As a result, his wand ripped from his grasp, stinging a few fingers as it flew away.

Before Dearborn had time to do anything, the crossfire turned to Sinclair, who was promptly disarmed as well. _Damn it!_ Dearborn had to act swiftly, since his team had lost its entire defence. "Shields!" he shouted, casting his own, which was lucky for him because now Bonesy and Irish moved on Reardon while Chang and Boot charged Johnstone. At the centre, staring down Dearborn, strode Red Ron Weasley.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Dearborn howled the spell shrilly, his face wet with sweat and his eyes flashing. Ron again chose to dodge the spell rather than shield himself, throwing his own disarming spell back at Dearborn. He didn't bother with what happened on his flanks—Finnegan, Bones, Chang and Boot had Reardon and Johnstone well in hand. _They'd better be able to manage that or I'll know the reason why._

Ron and Dearborn were soon locked in a man-to-man duel of shields and disarming spells only, according to first-round regulations. Ron clearly maintained the upper hand and Dearborn's focus fell to defending himself against the ginger Auror's juggernaut. Ron cast spells much faster, and since he relied on dodging as much as he could, he could throw his disarming spells faster and more frequently as he ducked and rolled. But so far, Dearborn managed to stay in the game. _Not bad, Dearborn_.

The audience cheered the duellers on wildly, even though there were no complicated hexes or jinxes exchanged. Who knew simple shielding and disarming charms could be so much fun? In the centre of the arena, the two team captains, Weasley and Dearborn, duelled in single combat whilst two other battles continued at their flanks, each consisting of two Aurors to one Sportswizard.

In truth, Reardon and Johnstone put up a respectable fight, but even they knew they'd been sorely outclassed. In a simple contest such as this, tactical precision proved to be the deciding factor rather than actual skill with a wide range of combat spells. On their end, Seamus and Susan gradually moved apart, making it more and more difficult for Reardon to defend himself until Seamus finally disarmed him, sending him to join Horton and Sinclair on the sidelines.

Cho and Terry fought as one. Their rapid-fire disarming spells had Johnstone in full retreat, but still able to keep his defences up. The fight ended when he lost his footing against the short barrier and fell pell-mell into the Healers' booth, landing on his back, reducing a field cot to firewood. Cho aimed her wand at him, her dark eyes twinkling and her chest heaving. "Do you yield," she panted, a sly grin painted across her lips.

"I'm on my ruddy arse, forced out of the bloody arena and you ask _if_ I yield," Johnstone grunted, confessing his defeat. "Yes, yes. I yield."

Cho offered her hand, but Fiona and Gus had already stepped over to have a look at the fallen duellist. She bowed politely to her opponent and returned to the floor to rejoin her team, leaving the medics to check their patient over for sprains, bruises, and possible lacerations from the wrecked cot.

Ron's Aurors turned their focus on Dearborn and their captain, still hard at it in the centre of the arena. Ron had the initiative, but one-on-one fighting didn't present the greatest of avenues for the breaking of defences.

"Do you want us to finish the fight," Seamus asked, his cheeks rosy and his blue eyes dancing.

"Nah, let me give the audience a show. Tickets for this thing weren't cheap," Ron replied.

Ernie Dearborn knew he didn't stand a chance. He stood alone against five Aurors, but only Weasley engaged him, as the others backed away, their eyes still on him. _Typical Aurors. Never turn your back on an opponent_. He battled on against the mountain of an Auror, but in a very short time, the exhaustion overcame him and he couldn't hold Weasley off any longer.

Ron pushed on relentlessly, showing no signs of strain or fatigue. The intensity of the duel and the physical effort took their toll on the Sportswizard's concentration and that was when Ron struck. "_Protego_," Ron's baritone voice yelled and a shield charm appeared just in front of Dearborn. With a flick, Ron pushed the shield forward and knocked Ernie off his feet. With a wink and a grin, Ron took one more step. "_Expelliarmus_," he said conversationally and disarmed Dearborn, ending the contest.

Ron relaxed and took in the scene around him. The crowds were cheering for him—Ron Weasley! _Damn, this feels good!_ While the crowd continued to cheer its approval, Flitwick declared the duel finished as cameras flashed and Lee all but shouted the results over the WWN.

"And the match goes to the Auror Office team with a score of five to zero," he announced, barely heard above the roar of the crowd. He grabbed Ron's massive freckled hand and shook it vigorously, while Lee reported the result over the wireless. Ron gestured for Seamus, Susan, Cho, and Terry to join him. They all clasped hands and raised them in triumph, eliciting another round of cheers, camera flashes, and applause.

"They've done it," Molly squealed, hugging her family one by one. "My Aurors won! Oh, well done, well done, Ronnie!"

"Way to go, mate," Harry called from the sidelines. "I knew you could do it!" He was more than happy to look on while his friend finally earned some recognition without him in the way, for once.

"You are so getting lucky tonight," Hermione muttered.

"What was that, Hermione," Minerva asked with a smirk as she marked her score sheet.

"Oh…um…I said he was lucky," she replied with a blush, handing the score sheets to the pages who had been assigned to collect them. Hermione noticed her friend and favourite professor's expression, and so like herself, she felt the need to clarify. "Dearborn, I mean. He was lucky for Ron's sense of sportsmanship. The five of them could've buried him with one spell."

"Indeed," Minerva replied, suppressing a girlish giggle.

Team competition was scored by virtue of the number of opponents each team disarmed and sent to the sidelines. In the initial rounds, all the teams would duel one other in a round-robin sort of rotation before the intermediate rounds would begin the eliminations. At the end of eliminations, should two teams tie with an equal number of victories, the team with more "kills" would proceed to the advanced rounds.

Individual competition was scored by hit, much like a boxing match. In the first round, one could score only one hit—the actual disarming—but in the later rounds, the duels would continue until one combatant yielded or fell unconscious, or the referee chose to end the match for whatever reason he or she saw fit. This way, duels would be a more-entertaining test of skill and agility, since it could prove beneficial to score a number of hits on an opponent rather than simply knock him or her out right away.

Professor Flitwick invited the Sportswizards to join the Aurors at the centre of the arena. Cameras flashed as the people cheered them all. The Chief Judge raised his arms to quiet the audience. "Well done, Auror Weasley," he squeaked.

"Thank you, sir, but I couldn't have done it without my team," he said, again shaking the diminutive Chief Judge's hand. The crowd roared their approval again.

While they continued to cheer, Ernie Dearborn extended his hand to Ron. "Great match, Weasley. Thanks. You've given me something to think about for our next duel."

"What works for Quidditch doesn't necessarily work for duelling, mate," Ron said.

"That's certainly one thing I learned today," Dearborn replied with a chuckle. The two teams shook hands and left the arena.

While the floor crews tidied up, Lee read announcements about the concession stands around the arena and adverts for various businesses in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. They all gladly paid the few Galleons for the publicity. Rather than find its way into Ministry coffers, though, the gold would be deposited into the newly-established Magical Brotherhood Fund.

The fund, established anonymously by the Potters and administered by a board representing all sentient magical races (except the Vampires, who politely declined the invitation), now subsidized the mass-production of the very costly Wolfsbane potion. Famed Healer and Potions master Paul-Antoine Lumiére, late of the _Institut de Lycanthropie du Québec, _spearheaded the effort and even developed a means to make the foul-tasting brew slightly more palatable without diminishing its effects.

The first batches were scheduled for distribution beginning on 11th Februrary, as Lycans must take one dose per day for the week leading up to the full moon, which would rise on the 19th. Thanks to this initiative, British Werewolves now had hope for a relatively normal and productive life without fear of infecting or killing anyone.

While the floor crews levitated and arranged thick safety mats around the platform for the first individual rounds, Draco Malfoy waited in an anteroom with the other combatants scheduled to compete that day. He stepped out into the corridor only moments before he would be called to the arena. There, he found his best friend and fiancée, Astoria Greengrass, waiting for him. He took her gently in his arms and held her close, breathing in the calming effects of her peppermint and vanilla scent.

"Of all the people in that room," he said, jerking his thumb at the door he'd just exited, "I had draw Alastor Gumboil for my first match."

"And that's a problem because…" Astoria asked, not quite comprehending Draco's displeasure.

"Astoria, I was tried as a _Death Eater_ and got off with fines because I was underage during most of the war and acting under duress. Senior Undersecretary Gumboil is a strong voice for Muggleborn rights and a well-respected Hit-wizard who has made no bones about how he believes my father, in particular, should have been treated. I'm sure that warm sentiment extends to me."

Astoria nodded, not in agreement, but understanding of her love's apprehension. "But he's also rumoured to be involved with those riots last autumn," she reminded him. "Look, don't worry about that—it's behind you now. Just concentrate on the duel and win. I know you can."

She raised her hand to brush a few strands of soft platinum blond hair from his face and kissed his forehead. She then kissed one of her favourite lace handkerchiefs and tucked it in his shirt. "For luck." Draco nodded and turned his attention to Lee Jordan's commentary.

Harry wasn't scheduled to compete in any capacity until after the mid-day intermission, so he opted to stay out of the competitors' suite for the time being and sit with Ron, Ginny, and the family. They had only ever seen Draco use his wand in the classroom or a less-than-fair fight, so they were more than interested in this particular match. Two of their least-favourite people in the world had been pitted against each other and neither Auror knew for sure which of the two to support.

"Please welcome, from the senior staff of our own Minister for Magic, Undersecretary for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Alastor Gumboil," Lee announced enthusiastically. The audience cheered, though not as loudly as they had done for Ron's Auror team. But the noise left little doubt that Alastor Gumboil had many supporters in the crowd. How many would cheer for a Malfoy?

"And from the Muggleworthy Excuse Office, please welcome Mr Draco Malfoy!"

"Go on, Draco. Show that pompous prick what you're made of," Astoria encouraged him and gave him a peck on his cheek. "I love you."

Draco stepped proudly into the arena, his head held high as befitting the reigning scion of the House of Malfoy. The crowd cheered and applauded, but clearly more out of politeness than anything else, although Narcissa and the Greengrasses showed their appreciation in spades.

Astoria stayed near the duellists' entrance to greet her man when the match was over. She crossed her fingers as Draco joined Professor Flitwick and Gumboil at the centre of the platform.

"Remember: the only spells allowed in this round are shielding and disarming," Flitwick warned them authoritatively. "Any other spells will immediately disqualify you from competition. Now, gentlewizards, take your places."

Both combatants stepped to opposite ends of the platform. They each drew their wands, raising them in salute and then lowering them crisply. Alastor bent stiffly, but the Malfoy scion executed a formal bow worthy of the aristocrat he was—a flourish he'd picked up from his late-godfather, Severus Snape.

"Begin," Chief Judge Flitwick's amplified voice commanded as he moved backward out of harm's way.

Draco decided to attack immediately to prevent the far-more-experienced Hit-wizard from taking the initiative and gaining the potential advantage. He threw a disarming spell at Gumboil's feet which caught him by surprise, throwing him off-balance. He fell with a hard grunt matched only by a harder glare.

With surprising agility, Gumboil rolled backward, avoiding Draco's second attack, which aimed directly at his wand. Still rolling, the former Hit-wizard cast his disarming spell, forcing Draco to raise a shield to block it. Gumboil rose into a crouch position, balancing himself on the toes of one foot and the sole of the other, ready to continue the duel.

Draco and Gumboil watched one another closely, each trying to get a read on the other man's body language and facial expression. For a few moments, they held stock-still, mentally circling like two blooded lions prepared to fight for pride supremacy. The audience held their breath as the tension mounted. The team competition had been surprisingly spectacular, but this individual battle had proven to be exciting as well.

Astoria shifted her gaze from the two men on the platform to a pan of the spectators. She noticed from the outset that they appreciated the action so far, although most of the enthusiasm appeared to be polite on either account, as she knew neither the Undersecretary nor her fiancé were particularly popular around the Ministry. Public opinion still ran high against known former Death Eater families. Gumboil's outbursts during the Mafalda Prewett trial and his rumoured involvement in the violence in Diagon Alley and in Antrim didn't do much for his public image either, although many openly thought he asked relevant questions.

Draco remained focused and followed every little shift in Gumboil's balance and the slight tilting motion he made with his wand. He had learned from his numerous run-ins with Harry Potter and his friends that one must always remain focused and never allow pride or arrogance to cloud one's…vision…if one wished to prevail. How many times had Potter, Weasley, and Granger set him on his proud Pureblood arse when he decided to put _be stupid_ at the top of his list of things to do on a daily basis? But that was then; this was now.

The standstill lasted for only about thirty seconds, but for both duellists, it felt like hours. The audience was sucked into the rising tension, waiting eagerly for the attack that had to come.

"_Expelliarmus!_" The audience jumped as identical spells cast simultaneously collided in a flash of white light. Temporarily blinded, Gumboil cast two more disarming spells in the direction he was sure the arrogant fop still stood. In reality, Draco had moved out of harm's way immediately and mounted an attack on the blustering oaf.

Within seconds, the two were engaged in another furious exchange of spells and shields. "Is that all you've got, little Pureblood," Gumboil hissed.

Draco didn't bother to reply to the fool's banter; rather, he upped his ante by intensifying his attack. He realised throughout this exercise that Gumboil, though middle-aged by Muggleborn standards, kept physically fit, something Purebloods generally avoided. The older wizard's experience as a Hit-wizard made him a good fighter, but the younger wizard also knew that a long drawn-out duel would benefit him while it proved detrimental to Gumboil. _How very Slytherin of you, Malfoy._

Clearly, Gumboil had reached the same conclusion and intensified his own attack in an attempt to break through Draco's strong defences and finally end the match. "_Protego_," Gumboil shouted with annoyance in his voice, making an aggressive charge on Draco.

Caught by surprise, the Malfoy scion had no time to react before Gumboil caught his arm and physically threw him over his hip. Draco crashed to the floor and a sharp pain exploded across his backside.

Flitwick's shrill whistle brought a halt to the action. "Stop," the referee's voice called out. "Stand down!"

Gumboil lowered his wand. "What," he asked snappishly. "I was just about to disarm him!"

Despite his size, Chief Judge and Referee Filius Flitwick cut an intimidating figure as he approached Gumboil radiating authority and seething disapproval. "This is a _magical_ duelling tournament, Mr Gumboil," he said sharply. "Not some Muggle brawl! Physical assault will not be tolerated in this tournament, no matter how successful it might be in the field. We follow _traditional duelling regulations _as proscribed by the International Duelling Congress, sirrah!"

Gumboil's demeanour darkened for a brief moment, but he knew better than to debate with the Chief Judge, who after all, had justly caught him out. Protesting would only result in disqualification and embarrassment. _Sirrah is it, you pompous runt? You'll regret that one day._

"Alastor Gumboil receives a warning for physical assault on Mr Malfoy," Lee announced a few moments later. "A second offence results in disqualification."

Professor Flitwick looked at Draco. "Are you all right, Mr Malfoy?"

"Can I just get some bruise remover? I landed hard on my rear," he said, glaring covertly at the Undersecretary. _Cheating bastard_.

"Of course." Flitwick blew his whistle and signalled a time-out, during which Lee recapped the action over the wireless and read the rest of the schedule for the day.

Draco limped gingerly to the Healer's booth, where Fiona met him with a jar of thick paste with a slight peppery odour. "Now, where does it hurt," she asked with a smirk.

"I'd prefer that Healer Wyatt should treat me, if you don't mind," Draco winced, lowering himself belly-first on the newly-repaired cot. It's nothing against you personally, Miss Prewett, but I landed on my bum."

"I understand, honey," Fiona giggled and handed the jar to Leo. She winked at Draco and walked away as Gus conjured a curtain for privacy.

Leo quickly applied the bruise remover and resealed the jar. "That should do it, Mr Malfoy. You might be a bit sore this evening, but with some rest, the pain should pass."

"Thank you," Draco replied, redressing his lower half. He picked up his wand and left the booth with a respectful nod to the staff and a blush for Fiona. _Honey?_

Draco returned to the arena, welcomed with enthusiastic applause. Obviously, Gumboil lost a few fans as a result of his blunder. He allowed the trademark Malfoy sneer to play across his lips long enough to show Gumboil his disdain, and then schooled himself. He needed to re-focus on the task at hand. He briefly cut his eyes to his fiancée, who gave him a winning smile that strengthened his already-fierce resolve to put Gumboil in his place. _Git_.

Draco and Gumboil moved to their beginning positions on the platform and raised their wands in salute. "Resume," Professor Flitwick barked and the duel recommenced, but with greater intensity than before.

"And they're back at it on the arena floor," Lee commented. "The exchange of spells is quick and vicious. Neither Malfoy nor Gumboil appears to be in any hurry to give in. Merlin, this is something, folks! If these two meet again in the later advanced rounds, the battle should be nothing short of spectacular!"

The end of the duel came suddenly and abruptly. Gumboil's energy level had begun to fade away. He managed to shatter Draco's strong shields as he dove forward, somersaulted, and cast another disarming spell at point-blank range. His volley missed when its target instinctively cast two disarming spells, the first of which pushed them both backward as it impacted with Gumboil's shield.

The second one struck Gumboil's right arm before he had any time to react, as his head still spun from the impact of Draco's first spell against his shield. The former Hit-wizard's wand flew out of his hand in an arc and landed several meters behind Draco with a clatter.

"And in an amazing offensive, Gumboil nearly defeated Malfoy," Lee's voice boomed. "But Malfoy managed a brilliant counter-attack and disarmed Gumboil soundly. The victory goes to Draco Malfoy of the Muggleworthy Excuses Office!"

As cameras flashed and the arena roared, Draco got up slowly and painfully, wincing with every exertion of his gluteus muscles. He'd landed on his bum again and the best he could hope for was Astoria's tender loving care later on in the privacy of his flat. He'd won fairly and squarely, and the crowds were ecstatic with the performance. In fact, he was more than pleased with himself, not so much that he'd won—which was wonderful in itself—but he had done it without a single dirty trick. If he was honest, he'd have to say that winning that way felt rather good.

"You did it, Draco! You did it! You won." Astoria beamed and kissed him passionately right there in front of the thousands of spectators, officials, fellow competitors, and journalists. Hundreds of flashbulbs exploded as lenses focused on the lovers celebrating a well-deserved victory.

"You know, I'm glad Malfoy won," Ron said resolutely and then began to laugh. "Who'd have ever imagined I'd appreciate Draco Malfoy winning a fight."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "There's sure been a load of changes since the war. But check out Gumboil. He looks like a human thunderstorm."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "And he's all wet." The two of them shook their heads in laughter as they watched the defeated leader of ELF stomp away out of the arena.

Gumboil did his best to hide his anger, but he resented losing to a much younger wizard, and the prominent platinum-plated spawn of a murdering Pureblood peacock to boot. For him it was a disgrace. "Traditional rules," he spat as he left the arena alone. "Half-Goblin goon of a ruddy schoolmaster for a referee. I'll show them later on, when we're allowed to do some _real _fighting. This first round is all sissies' rules, so it's no wonder a sissy-baby won. Just wait. I'll show them. I'll show them all..."

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Several matches, team and individual, continued throughout the day until the final team match that ended 5-2 with Magical Transportation beating out Magical Maintenance, with whom they'd been stubbornly tied at 2-2 for more than half the match. It finally ended when one of the Maintenance fighters forgot the basic rule of "shield and disarm" and stunned a Transportation fighter, earning him a one-minute penalty on the sidelines. His mistake cost his team the match.

At the close of the day's competition, the Potter-Weasley-Prewett clan met at the Healers' booth to decide what they would do for the evening. They chatted amongst themselves while Fiona helped Leo and Gus secure potions, equipment and supplies.

"So what did you think Marshal," Ron asked, punching his almost-cousin-in-law in the shoulder.

"I gotta hand it to you people," Jayce confessed. "I really expected these first rounds to be pretty dull, but—damn! Who knew?"

"Yes, and the Auror lot are going to wipe the floor with the entire Ministry," Percy added. "The rest of us haven't a snowball's chance in a dragon's cave."

"Too right," Hermione announced, slipping in beside Ron and giving him a squeeze. She rose up on her tip-toes to his left ear. "You were so _hot_ today." The newlywed Weasleys engaged in a fiery kiss that threatened to become more until their siblings moved to intervene.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, give it a rest," George moaned. "There are children here, you know!"

"Oh like you care," Ron snorted. "You're the one who corrupts their little minds with—"

"Shut the bloody hell up, you insufferable prat," Ginny snapped at George, becoming annoyed with her older brother. "Our Ron kicked some serious arse today, thanks, and if Hermione wants to suck his tonsils out, that's their prerogative."

"Thank you, Ginny," Hermione grinned.

"Anytime," the redhead replied.

As the ever-expanding Weasley assemblage exchanged banter, Kingsley approached in the company of Amelia Bones. "Molly, Arthur, a word if you don't mind?"

"Certainly, Minis—Kingsley," Arthur replied. Although they stood in the Ministry Atrium, they were not in a work situation, so it was permissible to drop the formalities.

The four stepped away from the group and stood in a huddle against the wall. "Amelia and I have decided to step out this evening for a spot of dinner in Muggle London, and we thought you might like to join us."

"We'd love to join you for dinner. It'd be an honour." Molly was actually very proud of her husband. For more than twenty-five years, he'd been shunted aside into a dead-end low-paying joke of a job because of his fascination with all things Muggle. Other prominent Department Heads looked on him as little more than a buffoon—a laughingstock. But all of that changed with ousting of incompetent bigots like Fudge and his cronies and the investiture of a judicious and conscientious man like Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Excellent," Kingsley beamed. "We'll be joined by a few dignitaries from the International Duelling Congress as well. I hear they're impressed."

"Very well. Just give us a moment to notify the children and we'll be right with you," Arthur said.

Molly watched him walk away and then turned back to Amelia with a knowing smirk on her face. _Kingsley and Amelia…could be…_

"Molly Weasley, you wipe that smile off your face this minute," Amelia hissed. "I know what you're thinking and you can get that right out of your head. I'm far too old for the Minister."

"Amelia, I'm surprised at you," Molly replied in mock surprise. "I was thinking no such thing. And besides, you're not that old."

"Nevertheless, I know about your matchmaking. You're infamous, you know," the Chief Warlock said.

"Admit it, Professor Bones. You like him," Molly sing-songed, nudging her.

"Well, I—"

Arthur, returned to Molly's side, saving Amelia from having to refute Molly's assertion. "The children are going to gather at Ionúin Bhaille for a bit of a party, so the evening's ours," he said, offering his arm to his wife. The Minister followed suit and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot accepted. The four of them made their way to the hospitality room to join with the dignitaries and their companions. None of them had noticed the rather ugly beetle that had come to rest on the wall behind and above them.

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Harry knew they'd never have time to actually prepare enough food to feed everyone, so he decided on a tried-and-true stand-by for impromptu parties and gatherings—pizza. He sent Ginny on with the women, who were tasked with picking up some ice cream. He sent Seamus for a couple of cases of stout and George to the Leaky for a couple of cases of Butterbeer, while he Apparated to the alleyway near King's Cross Station to go in search of a pizzeria. Since it was relatively early in the evening, the one he chose wasn't terribly busy, so he didn't feel too guilty about putting them to work on a couple of dozen large pies with varying combinations of sauces, meats, cheeses, and vegetables.

"That'll be one-hundred and forty-seven pounds, fifty, sir," the clerk said, having finished ringing up Harry's extensive order.

Harry pulled the wallet that contained his stash of standard Muggle currency and counted out two-hundred and fifty pounds. "Keep the change and share it with your mates back there," he said.

"Thank you, sir," the young man beamed. "Thank you very much. The lads'll sure appreciate it!" He wondered if the young man who just bestowed a one-hundred-plus-pound tip on him and his co-workers was a member of the Royal Family in some capacity. He sure looked the part, but there was something about the way he carried himself that cried _regular bloke_. It didn't matter, but it was fun to speculate all the same.

It took the team of five cooks the better part of an hour to prepare and bake off the pies, but when they were finished, they smelled wonderful.

"Can we 'elp ya with that, sir," one of the cooks asked.

_Damn. I didn't think of that. Oh well_. "No, thanks. I'll be fine. Take a break—have a fizzy drink or two—you've earned it. I'll just shunt these out to my car a few at a time."

"If you're sure," another said, unsure himself.

"Oh yes. Quite," Harry replied cheerfully, backing out the door with a stack of three. He ducked around a corner, shrunk the pizzas, and stowed them in his jacket pocket. He repeated this routine seven more times, thanking the pizzaoli one last time. He hurried back to the customary alleyway to Disapparate west to Devon.

The windows of Ionúin Bhaille cast a warm light across the still-frozen front gardens. Once Harry passed through the wards into the yard, he could hear laughter and conversation emanating from the sitting room. Sweet smelling smoke poured from the chimney; Ginny must have added some apple wood from the Burrow to the fire.

Harry stopped on the flagstone walk leading to the front door and took a few deep breaths. The combined smell of the clean Devonshire air and the sweet apple smoke gave him a feeling of home—his home—and it was filled with the three things he'd desired all his life on Privet Drive: friends, family, and a woman who loved him for who he was and not who she thought he should be. With a contended smile, he continued on to the door and opened it. "PIZZA!"

Ginny and Hermione ushered him to the dining room so he could be relieved of his burden. Harry extracted the boxes from his jacket and Hermione enlarged them, with Ginny producing plates, napkins, and utensils.

"Harry, these look delicious," Hermione gasped, inspecting each pie. She lingered over one of them that had a white sauce and what appeared to be a wilted green leafy vegetable among strips of white meat. "Is this one chicken alfredo?"

"Um…I think so. I pretty much ordered one of each speciality on their menu, plus a few concoctions of my own," Harry replied. "Ron, there's a Jamaican jerk chicken one here for you somewhere."

"Aw, mate, you're the best," the big man groaned. Ron loved anything remotely spicy since he'd fallen in love with the Szechuan and Hunan dishes of southern China Sam Chang introduced him to. His brief time in the Caribbean introduced him to another world of fiery delights, so he couldn't wait to sink his teeth into this special treat."

As soon as the jerk pie was opened, there was no doubt as to which it was. Anyone within a few metres suddenly felt the need to sneeze and/or blow his or her nose. It literally cleared their sinuses in one whiff. "Oh yeah, baby," Ron moaned and tucked in with gusto. Sweat poured down his ever-reddening face as he savoured each and every bite, interspersed with swigs of the rich dark brown stout from Dublin.

"Careful, Love," Hermione whispered into his ears. "You sound rather…orgasmic."

"Close, but no sack of Galleons, my beauty," Ron countered with a shiver. "That's for later on. This is just fuel for the fire."

"Incendio," she whispered, nipping his ear.

Once each and every pizza had been demolished and every belly was full, they all congregated around the sitting room to discuss and rehash the day's events. Charlie and Percy took over fire duties on a pair of leather poufs before the grate while the couples scattered themselves around the room. Harry and Ginny took up Harry's recliner with Ron and Hermione in the easy chair. George and Angelina and Bill and Fleur spread out on the carpet while Seamus and Fiona and Jayce and Taya cuddled on the sofa.

Seamus began the conversation with his own recollection of the team duel between Ron's Auror team and Dearborn's Sportswizards. "I really thought we'd step all over 'em, but that Games and Sports lot are ruddy tough!"

"Irish, we were limited to first- and second-year charms in that round," Ron reminded him. "The real fun's going to happen in the Advanced rounds. We get to pull out all the stops and give them a real show."

"I said it before and I'll say it again—who knew," Jayce interjected. "I mean—come on, shields and disarming charms? I never thought that could be so intense."

"You want to play too, don't you, babe," Taya said. "You were like a hound on a fox watchin' that."

"Hell yeah, I wanna play," Jayce barked.

"Then come on and have a go in the trainin' room, mate," Seamus invited him. "Jock has a way o' turnin' it into all kinds o' scenes and scenarios. Keeps us all on our toes, it does."

"No way," Jayce grinned. "You mean I can come and use your facilities and equipment?"

"Yeah, mate," Percy said, joining the conversation. "Family members are allowed to use any Ministry facility…and you're as good as family." What Percy failed to include was that those family members must be accompanied or supervised by at least two Ministry employees. "Besides, you're the American liaison to the Ministry and the Head Auror himself has deemed you more than worthy."

There was a brief moment of silence as his siblings turned to stare at him in utter disbelief. "Bloody hell, Perce," Charlie laughed. "Which potions are you on and where can I get some?" This new and definitely-improved Percy, while welcome, was going to take some getting used-to.

"What, Chuckles," Percy snapped. "Jayce is just as much family as Seamus! What's the problem?"

Seamus summoned a bottle of Guinness® and uncapped it with a pop and a hiss. "Cheers…Bubba."

Percy took the drink and downed almost half of it in one pull. "Damn, that's good stuff!" They all burst into laughter as more drinks made their way around the room.

"Well…zat was all fine and good," Fleur interjected. "But ze funniest sing I 'ave ever seen was 'Arry's duel."

Harry blushed bright red. "Fleur, he just—"

"No, let her talk," Bill said, cutting his raven-haired brother off. "You've got to understand this from the spectator's point of view. Allez-y, chérie."

"We knew 'Arry would beat eem, but we never expected ze poor boy to all but geeve up before Professor Fleetwick even started ze match," Fleur explained. "Ee appeared to be ready to fight, but after ze salute, ee zhust turned white as a sheet and dropped eez wand."

"The man was scared hairless," Taya laughed. "It looked like he thought Harry was gonna kill him or somethin'."

Harry sighed heavily and buried his face in Ginny's hair. _"He was afraid of me."_

"_He was not afraid of you, Harry. He was just overwhelmed. He probably sees you as a hero."_

George watched his sister and her husband, knowing they were communicating telepathically. "All right, what are you two on about?"

"Harry doesn't think it was funny," Ginny explained.

"It wasn't. I felt bad for the poor kid," Harry added. "He'd all but conceded before we even started and I wasn't going to let it end there."

And that was the truth. Harry could see the maintenance wizard, Spall, had been intimidated at having drawn Harry as a first opponent. When it was time for them to mount the platform for their turn, the man was already soaked with sweat and shaking like a leaf on a tree. Harry had tried to offer him a comforting smile, but the man wouldn't look at him.

_Spall seemed to calm once they'd taken their place on the platform, but as soon as the bowing and saluting was done, he began to shake again. Before the referee could even form the word to begin the match, the man shuddered and dropped his wand, his eyes wide with fright. Harry took pity on him. He calmly stepped over, picked up the dropped wand, and handed it to him. "Take a deep breath, mate."_

_Spall nodded and complied. He calmed a little and nodded his readiness to Flitwick who began the match. Instantly, panic stole its way across his face. Rather than go easy on him, Harry decided maybe the best thing to do would be to end it immediately, so Spall could take himself off for a stiff drink. Spall froze as Harry took a defensive stance and flicked his wand, disarming him in a trice._

"'Arry, from a spectator's point-of-view, eet was 'umourous," Fleur said gently. "We were laughing, but not at Monsieur Spall…zhust the situation."

"I just hope this doesn't become the status quo every time someone has to face me," Harry said. "I mean…where's the fun in that?" Titters of laughter wafted around the room as the company became tipsier and tipsier.

"You really need to lighten up, mate," Ron snorted, pulling Hermione closer to his chest to nip at her shoulder.

"Sod off," Harry growled, again burying his face in Ginny's hair, revelling in her strawberries-and-wildflowers scent.

The party progressed with more talk about the tournament and who had how much hope of surviving the elimination rounds the next weekend. A couple of hours later, people began to yawn. Percy and Charlie left first, holding one another up so they could stumble to the gate so they could Apparate to their respective flats. George and Angelina were next to leave, citing the need to get some sleep so they could open the Diagon Alley shop at noon. Hogsmeade tended to take Sundays off so the shopkeepers could have some family time, except for The Three Broomsticks, which was also served as an inn.

Ron and Hermione stayed behind when Taya and Jayce decided to leave for the Burrow so they could help Harry and Ginny clear away. The visiting Americans cast warming charms over themselves as they wanted to walk the two kilometres and enjoy the frosty air and clear starlit sky. Seamus, needing to check in with Lavender and Tony at Hogwarts, would escort Fiona safely to her quarters (for a nice snog) before he returned to Hogsmeade.

Eventually, the only ones left at Ionúin Bhaille were Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, and Bill and Fleur, who were looking suspiciously like they were about to take their leave. He approached them as if he were going to see them out, but in reality, he needed to speak with them without Ron or Hermione overhearing.

"Listen, before you leave, could I have a word," Harry asked them, his emerald eyes sparkling with mild mischief. He Apparated them to his study to avoid attracting attention on the stairs.

"What can we do for you, Harry," Bill asked, eyeing Harry as he drew his wand on a photograph of a rather sporty-looking car on the wall. "Is there trouble with your accounts?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," Harry assured him, shaking his head, his back to them as he tapped the photo. "I need your help."

"Oh? What eez wrong," Fleur asked.

"Nothing's wrong, really, it's just that—well, I found something in the evidence room at work. Something that I think Ron would like, but…well, it needs some work."

"Okay. What is it," Bill asked.

"It's a Harley-Davidson motorbike—a chopper, to be exact. We'll need to rebuild it, but that's the least of our worries," Harry told them, as the photo swung forward, revealing the safe.

"What is ze worry, zen," Fleur asked as he turned the dial left-right-left.

"The thing is," Harry said gravely, showing them a plastic box he'd removed from the safe. "It…it's cursed. It used to belong to Dung Fletcher back in the 60s." Harry carefully opened the box and unwrapped what appeared to be a scale model of a rather impressive-looking motorcycle.

"It's a beautiful bike, Bill, but it's been sitting down there for thirty years. The catalogue tag says it's cursed, but I haven't the first clue how to detect or break it…or them. That's where you come in."

"So you're telling us you want to tear this thing down and rebuild it like Dad did Sirius' Triumph, right?"

"Yeah. I want to have it ready in time for Ron's birthday."

"And I suppose Fazzer Weasley eez een on zis as well," Fleur asked slyly.

"Our secret is out," Harry smirked.

"Well…I suppose I could have a look. Where do you have it stashed," Bill asked.

"You're looking at it," Harry said, nodding at the model lying in the box. "Once Dad and I...uh.._requisitioned it_, I shrunk it and put a stasis spell on it to get it out of the Ministry without having to answer a load of questions."

"A Harley chopper, huh," Bill said. "May I?"

"Be careful. I told you it's cursed, but in this state, it might be fragile," Harry warned.

"What's the power plant," Bill asked, examining the classic miniature.

"How about a '67 Harley-Davidson Shovelhead V-twin," Harry grinned. "I'm guessing the fork extends about forty-five degrees—I think that's the legal limit, but I want to lose the standard handlebars and replace them with a pair of ape-hangers. Ron should be comfortable with that as tall as he is."

"Sweet," Bill replied dreamily, gently laying the bike back into the box. Bill had been around the world a few times and had become more than familiar with motorcycles, automobiles, and other modes of Muggle transportation. Unfortunately, he could never afford one of his own.

Fleur, on the other hand, hadn't a clue what her husband and her brother-in-law were talking about. "So 'Arry, you wish for us to remove ze curses from ze motorcycle, eez zat right," she asked, steering the conversation back to more familiar territory.

"Yeah," he replied, setting the box back into the safe and locking it up again. "Can you do it?"

"Oh we can do it, mate, it's just that some curses take longer to dismantle than others, that's all," Bill explained. "This job could take a few hours or a few days at best."

"I know that, Bill, and I'm willing to pay you for—"

"You will do no such sing, 'Arry Potter," Fleur protested. "We will not accept a single Knut from you for zis!"

"But Fleur, you heard Bill. This could take a while and it's only fair that you should receive some kind of compensation for your time," Harry explained. "I may not know much about Curse-breaking or whatever, but I do know it's damned hard work."

"Non, 'Arry. Not one Knut," Fleur insisted, crossing her arms across her chest. "Ron's 'appiness weel be payment enough."

"Give it up, mate," Bill sighed. "When Fleur sets her mind…"

"Fine," Harry huffed and cast around for another way to compensate them for their time. "Look, Mum and Dad and Jayce and Taya are coming over for lunch tomorrow. Why don't you come, too? It would be the perfect time for us to take the Harley out into the woods and start work. I've hired Phelps to build me—us—a workshop and garage back there and it should be finished in a few weeks."

"Muzzer Weasley and ze girls could seet wiz Victoire while we work," Fleur suggested.

"I'm sure they'd love that," Harry agreed. "So…how about you show up about two, then? We'll eat, and then the four of us can slip out and start on those curses, okay?"

"Victoire will 'ave already 'ad her nap, so she will be more zan ready to spend ze afternoon wiz 'er grandmuzzer and 'er aunts," Fleur added, a bright smile revealing her perfect white teeth. "But 'Arry, what of Ron and 'Ermione?"

"Simple. Ron's on duty tomorrow and Hermione's going to go along so she can root around the Wizengamot archives," Harry replied. "That's why we invited the rest to lunch."

"You know, Harry, it might not be a bad idea to include Jayce in this too," Bill suggested. "I mean, he's got that Muggle military background and he might be able to offer a little insight into the actual teardown once we decontaminate it."

"You know you're right," Harry agreed. "We'll do that. Five of us, then."

"All right then," Bill said. "We'll see you at two. Would you like us to bring anything?"

"Just my stunningly gorgeous little niece…and a few nappies," Harry chuckled. "Come on. We'd better reappear back downstairs before someone becomes suspicious."

After Bill and Fleur Flooed home to Shell Cottage, Harry rejoined his wife, sister, and brother-in-law in the kitchen. With a little magic and a little Muggle elbow grease, they were just finishing up when Harry walked in. There were wet patches on their clothes that indicated that Harry had missed a rather merry water fight, Hermione having obviously been caught in the crossfire. Chocolate brown met emerald green as Ginny wiped her hands on a towel.

"Now this just won't do at all," Hermione said resolutely.

"You're right," Ron agreed. "This is just wrong."

"What," Harry asked, moving his gaze between the three mischievous faces. "What's wrong?"

"You're too dry," Ginny replied nonchalantly as she and her companions began to move out to surround him.

"Now, now," Harry said, holding his hands in front of himself. "You don't want to do this. It's a new jumper. It'll shrink."

"Nothing a little magic can't fix," Hermione cooed, moving to his left flank.

"Ginny, come on. You just finished," Harry tried again. "You'll make a huge mess."

"Siphoning spells are pretty easy stuff, mate," Ron chuckled, moving to his right flank.

Ginny locked eyes with him again. "You're going down, Potter. You can't hold us all off."

"You wouldn't dare," Harry growled.

"Wrong answer," she chirped. "Aguamenti!"

"Protego!" The water ricocheted off his shield, but to no avail. Ron had leapt to his rear and let loose with his own drenching charm. "Oh you three are so dead!"

Harry whirled around and threw a levitation charm at his best mate, followed by a lightning-quick stunner, which left the ginger wizard upside-down and unconscious.

"Incarcerus," Hermione cried, hoping to bind Harry with magical ropes, but anticipating her move, he leapt aside and fired a stunner at her, dropping her instantly to the floor. "And now, my sweet, it's your turn."

"Dream on, hot shot," Ginny sneered. "Protego."

"Reducto," Harry called softly. His objective was to shatter her shield, not hurt her person.

Her shield shattered, Ginny flicked her wand again. "Impedimenta!" The power behind Ginny's spells was awesome in its own right, but channelled through her shiny new Whomping Willow wand, it was devastating. Her husband stopped dead in his tracks.

Harry felt like he'd just stepped into a pool of fast-drying concrete. He couldn't pick up his feet. "You little minx," he grinned, passing his hand over his body to silently and wandlessly cancel the charm. "_Accio _Ginny!" His wife came flying into his arms, at which time he crushed his mouth to hers and proceeded to snog her silly. When he released her, they were both a bit pie-eyed and dizzy. "Draw," Harry asked, still cupping her face.

"Draw," she agreed. "Now I suppose we should release our dear siblings so they can go home and get some sleep. Mum's sure to be about frantic, since Jayce and Taya left an hour ago."

"Oh I suppose," Harry replied, as if disappointed. "You take Hermione, I'll take Ron." The two of them cast drying spells over themselves and their prisoners before they revived and released them.

"All right, mate," Harry asked Ron holding him steady until his head stopped spinning.

"Yeah, all right," Ron replied, shaking his head and rapidly blinking his eyes. "Merlin, Harry. All that for a little water fight?"

"It's the principle of thing," Harry replied with a smirk. "I might have to face your red arse in the tournament, so I have to stay on my toes."

"We'll see," Ron grinned. "Tell you what—if my team faces yours and wins, you have to…let's see…you have to provide lunch for the whole office for a week. No House-elves."

"Okay, fine. If my team faces yours and wins, you go on nights for a week," Harry countered. He knew how Ron hated the night shift because that meant he'd have very limited contact with Hermione for at least two days.

"Deal," Ron said, spitting into his hand and offering it to Harry, who promptly Scourgified it.

"That's really disgusting, you know that?"

"Yeah, I do," Ron snorted. "But get used to it because it's a Weasley Brethren thing and you are now a Weasley Brother, remember?"

Harry sighed heavily and steeled himself. "Okay. One more time." Both men spit into their hands and shook. Harry could handle blood and sweat, but saliva? If it wasn't Ginny's he didn't want anything to do with it. They both cleaned their hands again, so Ron could touch his wife. Hermione didn't approve of such things, calling them _unsanitary,_ _immature,_ and _juvenile_.

With hugs and pecks all around, Ron and Hermione stepped through the Floo back to the Burrow, leaving Harry and Ginny alone in their home. With a wave, Harry doused the remaining embers in the grate and switched off the lights. It had taken a bit of work, but Bill and Hermione were able to fashion the wards in such a way as to allow for enough electricity to power a few lamps. Harry had always been concerned about the excessive use of open flame, owing to his Primary school education concerning fire prevention.

The Potters padded up the stairs to their master bedroom, which was decorated in serene colours to induce relaxation, as both of them had careers that could be stressful on the best of days. "Did we make love last night," he asked, pulling her close under the covers.

"Mm-hmm. Twice," Ginny replied sleepily, snuggling into his chest.

"Thought so," Harry said, kissing her sweetly on the lips. "Good night, baby. I love you."

"Mmm…love you too," she murmured. In a matter of minutes, they were both fast asleep.

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Harry and Ginny slept late that morning as it was nearly two in the wee hours before they finally fell into bed. By half-ten, Harry began to awaken while Ginny slept on. He laid there for a little while, just watching her sleep. Her hair lay splayed across her pillow like a flaming corona. Her pink lips curled in a little half-smile as if she kept a special secret. Under the covers, her body lay in a semi-foetal position, her nightshirt—which was really one of his undershirts—had ridden up, revealing her creamy thighs and cute little bum, covered in beige lace. _Victoria, it appears another of your secrets has been let out of the bag—a shopping bag_.

The denizens of the Burrow were due to arrive at two o'clock and the hands on their bedroom mantle clock crept too quickly toward eleven. Knowing Ginny wasn't easy to rouse, he began to kiss her shoulders and run his hands up and down her body from her chest to her knees. "Gin," he murmured. "Ginny. Baby, we have to get up. We have guests coming in a few hours."

"Nooo…" she moaned. "Wanna sleep s'more."

"I know you do, baby, but we have a lot to do before they get here," Harry insisted, still kissing her.

"Too early," she moaned again, trying to draw herself up into a ball.

Harry decided the only thing left to do was to go in for the kill. "All right, then. If that's the way you want it." He picked up his wand and pointed it at her. "_Rictumsempra!_"

"HARRY," she cried, writhing under the spell's effects. "S-stop!"

"Do you yield," Harry asked, lifting the spell.

"No, you sneaky bastard, I do not," she snarled, feeling around for her own wand.

"Looking for this," he asked, twirling her wand, that was hissing at him, in his fingers.

"That's cheating, damn you," she pouted.

"Are you going to get up," he asked, still holding her at wand point. "Or do you need some more persuasion?"

"Do your worst," she growled, defying him with every fibre of her being. She then threw the covers at him and her wand jumped from his hand to hers. Before he could dig himself out, she had him in a full body-bind. "Now, my raven-haired sadist…do _you_ yield?"

"For the rest of my days," he grinned.

"Good answer. I win," she said smugly, crawling from the bed and releasing him.

"Nope. I win," he countered.

"How do you figure," she asked, her arms crossed over her chest.

"My objective was to get you out of bed," he smirked. "Mischief managed."

"You are evil, you know that," she laughed, and attacked him with kisses all over his face. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

"If it feels nice, anything you want," he snickered, pulling her in for a quick snog. Finally, they gave it up and stumbled to the shower, laughing and tickling each other every step of the way.

Just before two o'clock, the elder Weasleys, Jayce, and Taya stepped through the Floo. "Hello the house," Arthur boomed.

"In the kitchen, Daddy," Ginny called. "Lunch is almost ready!"

Harry appeared with a tray of sliced fruit and cheese floating in front of him and a couple of pitchers of sweet tea in his hands. "The house wine o' the south," he said with a passable American southern accent, setting the two huge vessels on the table.

"Ahh," Taya smiled. "Sweet tea. Refreshin' in summer, but satisfyin' anytime."

"You do understand that you're feeding an addiction, right Harry," Jayce said, pouring out.

"You're in England, mate. Tea is like mother's milk to us," Harry chuckled. "Hot, cold, or in-between…we can't leave it alone. Be right back."

Harry retreated to the kitchen to help Ginny with the sandwiches and a couple of salads when the Floo erupted again. Bill, holding Victoire in a baby harness, and Fleur, clutching a colourful rucksack, stepped into the room. Brushing themselves off and uncovering the baby's face, they moved into the dining room.

"Sorry we're late," Bill apologised. "We were just about to leave, when Victoire had other ideas. We had to change a nappie and all her clothes."

"Oh dear," Molly clucked, reaching for her granddaughter. "Does my sweetheart have a sour tummy?" Victoire screwed her face up as if to let loose with a cry, but Molly calmly took her wand and waved it in a small circle over her little belly. The baby belched and passed a rather aromatic blast of wind.

"Well," Taya giggled. "I surely hope you feel better, little one."

"Just a little gas and probably too much milk. Fleur, are you pushing water at all," Molly asked.

"Oui. I try, but she does not want eet," Fleur replied. "I 'ave even tried putting a leetle bit of apple zhuice to flavour eet, but she weel not take eet."

"She wouldn't take the juice either," Taya asked. "Hmmm. Granny says sometimes a little bit o' sugar helps because water's got no flavour and the juice might be a bit too acid yet."

"That sounds reasonable," Molly agreed. "Can't hurt to try, can it?"

"To be 'onest, I am weeling to try anysing to get 'er to take ze water," Fleur said, pulling out a small bottle. She sashayed into the kitchen to fix the sugar water. A few minutes later, she emerged, followed by Harry and Ginny carrying bowls of pasta and potato salad. The three of them sat down at the table to eat, while Molly coaxed Victoire to take the bottle. The baby fussed at first, until Molly placed a drop into her mouth. She moved her tiny tongue around and opened for more.

"There," Molly cooed. "That's it, sweetheart. Good girl. Gallatea, dear, that was a wonderful idea. Thank you."

"Oh sure," Taya replied. "Just more o' Granny's wisdom."

While they ate, Harry quietly filled Jayce in on the plan for later that afternoon. "I don't know what kind of shape the engine's in. It looks clean, but after sitting for all those years…"

"I think you're right, Harry," Jayce agreed. "They wouldn't have drained the fluids because they probably didn't know it had any beyond gas."

"And I doubt they drained that either," Harry said. "I'm expecting varnish in that tank."

"Yeah, and a nice tarry sludge in the oil pan," Jayce agreed. "But what about these curses?"

"Dunno yet. That's why Bill and Fleur are here. They're Curse-breakers with Gringotts," Harry explained. "Bill worked for a few years in Egypt uncovering treasure."

"No shit," Jayce replied.

"Not a single log," Harry said, chuckling.

Lunch progressed amicably, with the women chattering about babies and cooking and the men taking more about their project. Fleur excused herself to the upstairs loo as Harry stood to clear the table.

"Never mind that, Harry dear. We can take care of that," Molly insisted. "You go on with the men."

"Well…okay," Harry stammered. "We'll be upstairs in the study, Gin."

"All right, Love." Ginny knew what was going to happen that day, so she winked at him.

Harry led Arthur, Bill, and Jayce up to the study, where they met Fleur waiting in the hall. Harry retrieved the box containing the Harley from the safe and slid it into the inside pocket of his down jacket. He then picked up a flat stone he'd picked up behind the house and tapped it with his wand. "Portus," he said and it glowed blue. "Auror privilege."

Harry held out the stone and the other three placed a finger on it. "Three…two…one," Harry counted and the familiar tugging behind the navel pulled them through the ether, dropping them in a small clearing where the concrete block shell of a small building stood. "This will be a fully-stocked garage and workshop when it's finished."

"Nice," Jayce said. "You plannin' on doin' a lot of builds out here?"

"Maybe," Harry replied. "I do like cars and would like to stow the Triumph back here so Dad can have his shed back."

"It's not a problem, son," Arthur said. "But it would be nice to be able to move around in there again."

"So Harry, if we want to get that bike ready for Ron's birthday, we'd better crack on, yeah," Bill said, gesturing toward Harry's jacket pocket.

"Oh yeah. Right," Harry said, extracting the box. He removed the miniature and set it in the middle of the concrete floor of the unfinished workshop. "_Engorgio_," he said, and flicked his wand at it.

Little by little, the motorcycle re-sized itself. "Glory, that's a bitchin' ride," Jayce gasped. He stepped up to look a little closer. "That's a…that's a Shovelhead! Harley-Davidson stopped building those in 1978!"

"Yeah, I know," Harry said. "I about pissed myself when I found it."

"Good ol' Milwaukee iron," Jayce said, still in awe. "Freakin' awesome!"

"Milwaukee iron," Arthur repeated, not understanding Jayce's moniker.

"Harley-Davidson was founded in Milwaukee, Wisconsin," Jayce explained. "Harley owners call their bikes _hogs_ and refer to the engine as _Milwaukee iron_. The engines are still designed and built there, but the rest of the motorcycle is built at a plant in York, Pennsylvania, but this one was probably _all _built in Milwaukee."

"Well, wherever this _hog_ is from, it's got curses on it that have to be lifted. If we're to have any hope of fixing it up for Ron's birthday, we really do need to crack on," Bill said, rolling up his sleeves. Fleur removed her coat and drew her wand.

"When's Ron's birthday," Jayce asked.

"The first of March," Arthur answered.

"Whoa. Then we got a long way ta go and a short time ta get there," Jayce said, backing away. "Crack away!"

Nodding to one another, Bill and Fleur began a series of intricate wand movements, chanting as they worked.

"What are they doing," Jayce asked. "I didn't know white wizards chanted."

"They're trying to determine which curses have been placed on the bike and in how many layers," Arthur explained. "I don't know much about it, but I do know that they can actually see the wards once they find their centre."

"Bloody hell, I should've taken Ancient Runes and Arithmancy," Harry said, shaking his head. "Hermione was right."

"Hermione's always right, Harry," Arthur chuckled. "Oh look. See how they're moving their wands in tiny circles?"

"Yeah," Jayce said.

"They've found something and they're trying to connect with it. Looks like it's quite nasty, the way their faces are set," the elder wizard explained. "Bill's looking rather frustrated. Must be a real bugger."

"Anti-theft ward," Jayce surmised. "It's gotta be to be givin' 'em so much trouble."

"How do you figure," Harry asked the more-experienced lawman.

"Anti-theft wards are usually imbued with a curse or hex of some kind," Jayce explained. "It can be as harmless as a stinging hex or as ugly as cutting curse. I've heard stories, lemme tell ya, but I've never seen a Curse-breaker at work until now."

Suddenly, there was a bright flash accompanied by what sounded like a gunshot. Bill and Fleur flew backward and landed on their bums, shaking their heads and then checking one another for injuries.

"What happened, son," Arthur asked, moving quickly to their sides. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Dad. We're fine," Bill panted. "Harry, did you say Dung owned this bike?"

"Yeah, why?"

"He had to be stoned out of his mind when he set these wards! I've never seen such a convoluted mess in my life," Bill laughed.

"Oui," Fleur agreed. "Zey are all een knots!"

"I wouldn't be surprised if he was," Harry chuckled. "I read his file. He'd been trafficking in _controlled substances_ when they arrested him and confiscated his ride, here."

"Controlled substances," Jayce asked, his curiosity piqued. "What kind of controlled substances?"

"Oh, you know…illegal potions ingredients, Tentacula," Harry replied, smirking.

"Tentacula? What the hell is that?"

"Don't you study Herbology in the States," Bill asked. "Tentacula leaves can be harvested and dried. When smoked in a pipe, they leave you rather…er…relaxed."

"Yes, but the hard part is harvesting the leaves," Arthur added. "Tentacula plants are venomous and they bite."

"You could wear gloves, but the plants tend to like to move around and grab onto things," Harry further explained. "Gloves affect dexterity, so growers usually don't wear them."

"Yes, so Tentacula is rather expensive," Arthur continued. "Street value for a gramme is about twenty-five Galleons."

"That's one-hundred-twenty-five pounds Sterling," Bill concluded.

"Which is about one-hundred-seventy-five bucks," Jayce said. "Cannabis is cheaper than that!"

"Cannabis," Harry asked. "Oh! Marijuana. Yeah, and Tentacula has longer-lasting effects."

"How do you know all this, Harry," Bill asked, smirking broadly. "Is there some secret double-life you're leading?"

"Shut it, you," Harry sneered. "No. One of our best friends from school is a bloke by the name of Neville Longbottom. He teaches Herbology to first- second- and third-years at Hogwarts now. If it weren't for him and Hermione, we would never have passed it."

"Oh yeah," Bill said. "How silly of me."

"Well anyway, boys," Arthur began. "What about the wards?"

"Nossing terrible, Fazzer Weasley," Fleur said. "Eet eez a layered sing. Zere eez ze anti-seft ward wiz a razzer shildish curse woven een wiz eet."

"A bowel-releasing jinx," Bill snorted. "And underneath is a standard Muggle-repelling charm. We'll have them dismantled in about two hours."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. The curses on the bike were little more than child's play, woven by a very high scoundrel with a learning disability. Harry couldn't help himself. He began to laugh loudly, covering his eyes with one hand as tears rolled down his face. "Dung, you are a treasure!"

Harry's laughter proved infectious. Soon, Bill, Fleur, Arthur, and Jayce were laughing just as hard as the young Auror. It seemed as though they were all relieved that this project might not be as arduous as they first thought.

When the laughter died down and Bill and Fleur were able to collect themselves and concentrate, they began the task of unravelling and dismantling Dung's handiwork. There was no doubt his magic had been effective, because the Ministry was either unable to sell the bike or they were afraid to try, considering who they confiscated it from.

While Bill and Fleur worked, Arthur and Harry filled Jayce in about one Mundungus Aloysius "Dung" Fletcher. They explained about Dung's history with kleptomania and the accident that resulted in mild brain-damage.

"Done," Bill said, wiping the sweat from his brow, bringing a halt to the history lesson. "The bike's clean. But I could use a drink."

"Ah, oui," Fleur agreed, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief. "Et moi."

Harry shrunk the chopper once again and placed it back into the box. He pulled out the stone Portkey and held it out for them all to touch. He activated it, returning them all to Harry's study.

Two rather annoyed witches and one amused one met them in the sitting room. Victoire had fallen asleep again and lay safely among a few pillows on the sofa.

"And where have you been, Arthur Weasley," Molly demanded.

"Harry took us on a little walk around the property," he replied. "It's got a lot of potential."

"You've been gone for three hours," Taya complained. "Is the property that vast?"

"Well, no, but—" Jayce began.

"And what was that awful noise," Molly demanded again.

"Probably Muggle hunters from town, Mum," Ginny defended. "That goes on all the time back there."

"Right. There's quite a lot of game in those trees," Harry agreed. _"Thanks, Love."_

"_Anytime."_

Satisfied, they all sat while Ginny and Harry served a dessert of chocolate cake with strawberry cream filling, tea, and coffee. Ginny prepared a care package for Ron and Hermione, as they were probably home and needing something to eat. Arthur and Molly left first with the care package, followed by Jayce and Taya. Bill and Fleur stayed until Victoire awoke and then bundled her up to Floo home.

"Thanks again," Harry said, shaking Bill's hand.

"Anytime, mate," Bill said. "Just include me in the build, yeah?"

"The more the merrier." And with that, Bill and Fleur stepped into the Floo and vanished in a whoosh of green flame, leaving Harry and Ginny alone at Ionúin Bhaille once again.


	39. Chapter 39 Game on Part II

**Chapter 39 – Game On! Part II**

Harry, Draco, Ron and Seamus gathered in the competitors' hospitality room on the morning of the last day of the tournament as the Final Four for individual competition. The Aurors wore their maroon Auror's robes and Draco wore white robes, as the Muggleworthy Excuse Committee joined the Obliviators and the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad under the auspices of the Magical Accidents and Catastrophes Department.

At first, the three former Gryffindor Aurors and the reformed Slytherin Death Eater, however reluctant, had little to say to one another. The situation between them was awkward at best, but Harry, ever the peacemaker, suddenly had an idea.

"Listen, I've got an idea," he said, and then presented it to the other three. Smiles stole across their faces as Harry spoke. When the Head Auror finally finished, they all agreed: they planned to not only do their best one-on-one, but to put on a show the likes of which nobody in the stands would ever forget.

"_So do you understand what I need you to do, Love?"_

"_Yes, but why am I doing it?"_

"_You'll find out. I just sent a Patronus to Hermione, so she'll meet you by Fiona."_

"_This better be good, Harry James Potter."_

"_It will be, I promise."  
_

"_Fine. See you in a few minutes."_

"_Thanks. I love you."_

"_I know. I love you, too."_

Fifteen minutes before the first semi-final round starring Harry and Draco was set to begin, the four of them went over the plan one more time to ensure that they all would do what they were supposed to do when they were supposed to do it. "Good. Now, it's almost time for the introductions," Harry noted, listening to Lee whose commentary had fired up an already eager audience.

The three top Aurors and Malfoy, the latter an outsider who'd proven himself and won the audience by fighting fairly with skill and agility, stood in a circle. They knew that everyone expected very intense fighting from them, using a wide variety of spells and tricks, with the odds favouring Harry and Ron in the final. Harry stretched out his hand. Ron placed his hand on top of Harry's followed by Seamus and then Draco.

"May the best wizard win," Harry said.

"May the best _Irish_ wizard win," Seamus snickered.

"May the _tallest_ wizard win," Ron grinned.

"For once I agree with Potter," Draco huffed.

"All right then, mates, let's do this," Harry said, feeling waves of Ginny's curiosity through the bond. She let him know that although she didn't know what _you ridiculous prats_ were on about, she was sure there would be mischief involved.

"Are we ready," Ron barked.

"Let's rock this place," Seamus whooped.

"OY," he four of them shouted in a fashion worthy of the infamous Troglodytes, a group of which Draco had just become an unofficial honorary member.

The door to the arena opened a few moments later and the four of them marched in, welcomed by a tremendous round of cheers, whistles, and applause from the audience. Above it all, Lee Jordan's voice boomed. "Honoured witches and gentlewizards, welcome to the semi-finals and final battles in individual competition. Please welcome the FINAL FOUR!"

The audience screamed and cheered wildly for them while they marched on in a line behind Harry, waving and smiling at the crowd. Lee allowed them a couple of minutes before his voice boomed over the audience once again, quieting them down. "First, competing in the first semi-final match, please put your hands together for our Head Auror, Harry 'The Chief' Potter!" The audience stood in appreciation of the man who saved their world and now led the people who kept the peace in it.

At this the audience shouted, clapped their hands, and cheered, as Harry ran a full lap around the arena and stopped in front of Ginny. She handed him a reddish something and kissed him passionately. "Do me proud and your reward shall be great," she whispered, sending Harry off to take his place among the other three.

"Also competing in the first semi-final match, from the Muggleworthy Excuse Office, please put them together again for Draco 'The Dragon' Malfoy!" As the audience cheered, he took a lap around the arena, stopping in front of Astoria, who also handed him something, but in lovely medium-green, and kissed him passionately.

"Go, my Antipodean Opaleye. Give 'em Hell," she grinned, and sent him back to the centre, while the audience continued to applaud, although they hadn't a single clue what all this chivalric ceremony was supposed to be about.

Once the audience quieted again, except for some murmuring, Lee's voice rang across the crowed once again. "Competing in the second semi-final match, please put your hands together again for our Assistant Head Auror, 'Red' Ron Weasley!" For some reason, Ron had become the darling of the tournament. Perhaps it was his commanding presence, his leadership skills, his fierce competitive nature, or his rock-hard body. But whatever it was, it worked for him.

Ron ran a lap around the arena as the audience stood again and cheered. He stopped in front of Hermione, who handed him a periwinkle blue something and kissed him deeper and more-passionately than Ginny and Astoria combined. "I'm so proud of you. Now go kick some arse!" With a bright smile, she sent him to join the others amid more cheers and applause.

"And finally, one of the hottest duellers the Auror Office has ever seen, please put 'em together once again for Auror Lieutenant Seamus 'Irish' Finnegan!" Seamus took his lap and stopped before the Healers' booth. Fiona handed him a medium-gray something and kissed him like a woman sending her lover off to war. "Go get 'em, Johnny Reb," she said in her Carolina twang. He nodded and jogged back to the centre to take his place with the other conspirators.

As soon as Seamus joined them, Ron flicked his wand and an old-fashioned gramophone appeared, floating steadily in mid-air, high above the platform. With another flick, The Weird Sisters hit, _Do the Hippogriff_,began to play. The crowd looked on in stunned disbelief as the four competitors began to dance like Chippendales, causing the younger witches in the stands to scream and some even to burst into tears of worship.

As the song launched into its first refrain, the four wizards dropped their robes to the floor, revealing what their witches had given them. All four of them held sashes overhead and waved them for a few moments before tying them around their waists as they danced. But what the teen witches screamed about and every photographer caught on film in as many pictures as possible, was their mode of dress—each of them were bare-chested, clad in tight-fitting, but flexible cream-coloured pants, knee-high cavalier's leather boots, and his beloved's favour.

Astoria's green stood for the Greengrass family, and symbolised the new life they would soon embark upon together; Hermione's favourite colour, periwinkle blue, matched the gown she'd worn to the Yule Ball in fourth year, and the colour Ron most associated with her; Ginny's reddish-orange matched her flaming tresses and symbolised the Potters' private passion for strawberries. Finally, Fiona's medium-grey favour with gold trim matched the uniform of the gallant Confederate cavalry, symbolising Seamus' passion for horses and her upbringing in the American south.

Not a single spectator missed the beauty of the four fit bodies undulating and posturing along the duelling platform. The three Aurors worked out almost religiously to keep trim and muscular, but Draco had nothing to be ashamed of, either. He had taken the Aurors' up on their offer to use their training facilities prior to the tournament and found that it did him a world of good, physically and mentally…not to mention Astoria's appreciation of his efforts.

"Did you know they were going to do this," Molly asked Ginny sharply.

"Yes and no. Harry wanted me to go to Fiona and have her transfigure some extra bandage linens into those sashes and then all of us were to meet them where we did," Ginny said. "Relax Mum, they're just having fun. Besides, not long ago, they'd have to Imperius Harry to get him to do something like this and my darling brother would've looked like a human beetroot."

Molly had to admit that the whole cavalier/buccaneer style reminded her fondly of the romance of centuries gone by, and judging by the crowd's response, they agreed with her. So rather than work herself into a snit over the boys' display, she just sat back and took it all in. By the second chorus, the entire arena had joined in, singing, dancing, and clapping while the mezzanine groaned under the burden, threatening to collapse.

_Can you dance like a Hippogriff?_

_Ma-ma-ma, ma-ma-ma, ma-ma-ma_

_Flyin' off from a cliff_

_Ma-ma-ma, ma-ma-ma, ma-ma-ma_

_Swooping down, to the ground_

_Ma-ma-ma, ma-ma-ma, ma-ma-ma_

_Wheel around and around and around and around_

_Ma-ma-ma, ma-ma-ma, ma-ma-ma_

_Yeah, yeah, yeah_

By the time the song ended, the arena had worked up a full sweat, having raised the ambient temperature in the stadium by several degrees. They all fell into their seats panting and heaving, fanning themselves with their souvenir programs. Friends and family members drew their wands and Ennervated the witches who had swooned, and then conjured cups of cool water for them to drink. A couple of the more serious cases involving intense exhaustion had to be taken to the Healers for treatment. A little _Pepper-up_ potion and a cooling charm put them right and after a few minutes' rest, they returned to their seats.

While the audience recovered, the four duellists gathered around the Chief Judge and referee for his instructions. These final rounds would depict nearly-authentic battle situations, at least as far as IDC rules allowed. Flitwick reminded them of the limitations and the consequences for overstepping them. "Now, you four: as you know, lethal force is strictly prohibited, so I don't need to remind you that use of the Unforgivables will still land you in Azkaban. Do you understand?"

The four of them nodded. "Yes, sir," they all answered together.

"Now, should you find yourself wounded profusely, you may call a time-out, during which you shall be allowed five minutes for medical treatment. The duel ends when one of you is either knocked out, incapacitated, or has yielded. And just between you and me," he intimated, "Let me congratulate you on a job well-done so far, and an outstanding display of showmanship today. I thought you were going to body-pass me across the platform…again!"

"Damn," Draco snorted. "_That's_ what we forgot!" The five wizards shared a chuckle over Draco's joke and the competitors shook hands. Ron and Seamus left the platform to sit in the competitors' box at the sidelines.

"The Chief Judge has signalled that it's time for the first semi-final," Lee Jordan said over the magical public-address. "Once again, let's hear it for Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy!"

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After a stellar duel between Draco and Harry, where the former lost the duel with his dignity intact it was time for Ron vs Seamus.

"And now for our second semi-final round," Lee announced to the arena and on the wireless. "Aurors Ronald Weasley and Seamus Finnegan will battle it out for the privilege of facing down their chief, Harry Potter, for the Gawain Robards' Cup."

The crowd once again exploded in cheers while the two Aurors bowed and made a precise salute with their wands. "Begin," Flitwick ordered. In an instant, both Aurors focused. The arena, the cheering, and Lee's commentary all faded away.

Each knew the other's fighting style inside and out, so Ron decided to do something unusual as an opening move. "_Avis! Oppugno_," Ron barked with two swift flicks. A flock of birds shot out of his wand and immediately attacked Seamus. Ron had never used this particular pair of spells in Auror practice before and he thought it was as close to the annoying Bat-Bogey hex as he could come. He had a rather vivid memory of the time Hermione nailed him with those two spells in their sixth year.

Seamus hesitated in his confusion before he threw a non-verbal babbling curse at Ron, who was just about to cast a series of stunners. "_Stu...booh paah,_" Ron said. _Bloody hell, what's wrong?_

Ron thanked the gods that Seamus still fought off the menacing birds that attacked like dive bombers from all directions. "_Gagagabooo,_" Ron yelled, and then realised he'd been cursed. He focused his magic and silently threw it off as Seamus banished the last of his marauding birds.

Without any time to consider any new and innovative tactics, they engaged again, utilising the combinations of spells they had drilled on every day for the last year-and-a-half. In the stands, the audience gasped and yelped at the speed and intensity of the duel. In all honesty, neither Ron nor Seamus could ever best the other with this kind of back-and-forth trading of spells, and they knew it.

After a minute of fierce fighting, Seamus decided to try a new trick. "_Periculum_," Seamus snapped and shot red sparks at Ron. _When ya can't dazzle 'em with brilliance, baffle 'em with blarney, Weasley._

_What is Finnegan on about now? That's a totally harmless spell. He's up to something, for sure._

Ron's caution shifted the initiative to Seamus, which was what the Irishman had hoped for. He took full advantage of Ron's momentary hesitation and attacked forcefully with stunners and various charms and hexes fired in rapid succession. Ron buckled under the onslaught and retreated, casting shield charms to repel most of Seamus' spells and dodging other that managed to break through.

"_Confringo_," Ron yelled and aimed the spell into the floor in front of Seamus. An explosion followed and a huge ball of fire nearly knocked Seamus down, but he regained his balance and rolled backward instead. The audience collectively gasped at the power of such a spell. The ball of fire looked a lot more dangerous than it actually was, and Seamus wasn't even close to being burned. Ron used the momentum gained and mounted another attack.

"_Petrolomenti,_" Seamus shouted in defence. Slippery oil shot out of his wand as Ron advanced, causing the ginger wizard to lose his footing and titters of laughter to waft through the crowd. It reminded the Muggleborn and Muggleraised of Saturday-morning Road Runner© cartoons. Collectively, many thought to remember that one next time they found themselves in a tight spot.

Seamus once again aimed a series of stunners at Ron, who managed to raise another shield. Surprisingly, it flickered against the furiousness of Seamus' attack and Ron landed rather hard on his behind, but still managed to roll quickly to the right to avoid a follow-up attack. The two of them collected themselves, eyeing one another closely with smirks plastered across their lips, resulting in a few moments of stalemate as each considered his next moves.

"How about this, folks," Lee's voice boomed over the crowd. "Powerful and intense, yet neither of them seems to be willing to give in!" The crowd cheered the observation. The fighting they'd seen over the past few weeks far outstripped any expectations they had when they bought their tickets, which were rather expensive at twenty-five Galleons each. For them, it had been worth every Knut.

Truly, most citizens of Wizarding Britain had really never witnessed Aurors in action, and those who had had never seen anything like they'd seen in this tournament. As early as the first rounds two weeks before, it became clear to them that skill alone would not be the deciding factor on the platform and on the floor; rather, the winners had employed tactical manoeuvres to confuse or disorient, capitalising on their opponent's resultant mistakes.

The two Aurors kept duelling while the audience gasped, _ooohed_ and _ahhhed_ as the gallant warriors fought fiercely and with great speed. "_Defodio_," Ron shouted with his wand aimed at Seamus' feet. The sharp sound of shattering wood split the air as a ragged hole appeared under Seamus, who fell through to the floor below. The audience applauded, thinking the match had come to an end with Red Ron Weasley, as they began to refer to him, as victor. The Aurors' nicknames had become widely-known throughout the tournament as a result of communication during team competition.

They looked on with relish as Ron charged forward behind a shield, ready to hex Seamus out of the duel before he had a chance to collect himself. The crowd fell silent in an instant as Seamus appeared to fly straight out of the hole. He somersaulted mid-air and landed on his feet behind Ron, knees bent in a half-crouch. _Ever the showman. _With the reflexes of a predatory cat, Ron spun around with his wand extended.

"_Stupefy! Levicorpus_," both Aurors barked. The powerful stunners shattered both shields and both Authors found themselves hanging upside-down in mid-air, hoisted up by their ankles.

"_Petrificus Totalus,_" Seamus snarled, aiming randomly behind his back in the direction he knew Ron should be. The spell struck Ron squarely between the shoulder blades. He silently swore as he hung petrified, turning slowly like a gyro loaf on a spit. Seamus released himself and in the same moment he landed, he fired a stunner at Ron for good measure. _Take that, tactical genius._

"_Pro…_" Ron began, hoping to raise another shield, post-petrification. The silent casting work he'd done had paid off so far, but Seamus had evidently expected that. Seamus' stunner slammed into his chest and very painfully, he sailed across the arena, ripped away from the invisible force that had held him suspended only moments before. Ron had just enough time to feel and hear his leg snap before he crashed into the floor into blessed unconsciousness.

Striding over to him and side-stepping the hole in the platform, Seamus aimed his wand at Ron, ready to finish him, but realised the ginger lay knocked out on the floor with his leg twisted at an unnatural angle.

"Bloody hell," Seamus gasped. "Fiona!" _Way to go, Finnegan. You weren't supposed to hurt anyone._

The audience fell still silent, except for a few murmurs, waiting for an official announcement. Fiona, Gus, and Leo sprinted across the floor toward Ron and Seamus, who still held his wand on Ron.

Flitwick approached and examined the downed duellist. "Ronald Weasley is knocked out of the duel. Seamus Finnegan is the winner!"

Hermione had nearly destroyed her score sheet as she looked on. Her husband lay unconscious and obviously hurt and there was no way for her to leave her post to go and comfort him. She could only look on and hope he wasn't hurt too badly. He'd done brilliantly against Seamus, who'd only ever lost to Ginny in a pitched fight.

At this, Seamus lowered his wand and accepted the accolades from the crowd amid flashing cameras, scratching quills, and Lee's commentary. But his heart wasn't entirely in it. His concern laid with the man on the floor—his friend and comrade. "How is he," he asked worriedly.

"His leg's broken—the fibula—but we can mend that in a tick with a tug and a few doses of _Skele-Gro_," Gus assured the Irish Auror. "There are a few bruises, but that's because he landed so hard when he fell. _Enn—_"

Fiona stayed her colleague's hand before he could cast the charm to awaken her cousin. "Gus, can we set the leg _before_ we wake him up?" Setting a broken bone really hurt even in the best of circumstances with the best Healer on the job.

"I…I suppose so," Gus replied. "Actually, that's a good idea. He's going to be in enough pain as it is."

Fiona moved out of the way to allow Leo to gently take hold of Ron under his arms and around his chest while Gus took hold around Ron's lower leg. "On three, then," Leo said firmly. "One…two…_three!_" Gus tugged firmly but carefully on Ron's injured leg, setting it right and casting an Immobilis charm to hold it in place while he splinted it.

"Go ahead, Onie," Gus said. "You do the honours."

Fiona pointed her wand and took a deep breath. _Sorry, Cousin Ronnie_. "_Ennervate!_"

Ron's eyelids fluttered open as he groggily came about. He moaned and blinked his eyes a few times, bringing them into focus and resting them on Seamus.

"Bloody hell, Irish. Well done!"

"You're all right, mate?"

Ron grinned his characteristic lop-sided grin. "I will be. I'm in good hands," he said, nodding to the Healers. "You beat me fair and square."

Fiona watched as Leo and Gus levitated Ron to their booth to continue to treat him with bruise ointment and his first doses of the horrible-tasting potion that would knit his bones back together. She then turned to Seamus, who she knew felt bad about Ron's injury. "Do _you_ need anything, O Victorious One," she asked, looking him over just in case.

"A kiss fer yer conquerin' hero," he suggested, waggling his eyebrows.

Fiona shook her head and huffed. "_Medical care_, ya prat," she replied with a giggle, nudging his shoulder. "But hold that thought."

Seamus chuckled, knowing that he was in for a rather intense snog that night. "Nah, I'm fine, Love," he said, walking her back to her station. "Take care o' Ron first. I think that bruise remover could do some good."

A few moments later, Gus helped Ron to his feet as he leaned on Leo for support. His newly-mended leg ached but he was able to limp away from the arena with a little help. Ron hoped Hermione had been able to get away from her scoring duties. He really needed one of her bright smiles and a few kisses to heal his wounded pride. He found her waiting outside the competitors' hospitality room, wringing her hands and rocking on the soles of her feet.

_She's worried, bless her_. As soon as he reached her, he gave her a wide smile and leaned down to give her a lingering kiss on the lips. "I'm all right, 'Mione. Leo and Gus mended my leg and I'll be right as rain in no time."

"Ron, I was so scared," she said, her voice quivering. "All I knew is that you were lying out there, out cold with your left leg sticking out in a way it shouldn't. I…I…" Tears began to fall as her body trembled.

Damn. The lip again. Ron leaned against the wall and pulled his wife close to his chest. "Don't cry, 'Mione. It's okay. We're taking a quick break so maintenance can repair the platform. It'll give us a chance to rest up before the bronze match and the final."

"Are…are you sure? You're looking a bit peaked," she said, lifting her head to look into his eyes.

"Leo, is my leg fit for the bronze match?"

"It won't break again unless you re-injure it, if that's what you're asking," the senior Healer told him. "I can give you a potion for the pain, but just understand that you'll be in for a rough night if you go through with this."

"So be it," Ron said."I'm not forfeiting because of a little broken bone and a few bruises on my arse."

"It's your funeral," Leo smirked and left the two of them to it.

"Ronald, so help me Circe, if you incapacitate yourself—"

"Who? Me? Never," he chuckled. "Besides, I have the smartest, most-beautiful witch in the world to nurse me back to health."

"Third-most-beautiful," Hermione corrected, helping him to a sofa in the competitors' room.

"What does _Witch Weekly_ know? Nothing," he argued, kissing her nose. "I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, do hereby declare that my wife, Hermione Jean Granger-Black-Weasley, is the most-beautiful witch in the world, bar none."

"I doubt Harry would agree with that assessment," Hermione giggled. "It seems his wife actually _is_ the most-beautiful witch in the world."

Ron sighed. There was no way he was going to win this little exchange. "It's a dead tie. My best mate and I have managed to snare and marry the two—and the _only_ two, I remind you—most-beautiful, most-intelligent, most-talented, and most-adorable witches in the world. Bar none."

"Okay, I can accept that," Hermione agreed, leaning into him again.

"Great. Now you'd better go back upstairs before Minerva sends out the Order after you," Ron said, stroking her face.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," she sighed heavily. "Be careful out there. Draco won't go easy."

"You've got that right," a familiar drawl came from the doorway. "You sure you're up to this, Weaselby?"

"Bring it on, Ferret-boy," Ron smirked.

"Men," Hermione huffed, rising from the sofa. "A load of overgrown little boys!"

Ron and Draco snickered as they watched Hermione leave the room. They were soon joined by Harry and Seamus, who stretched out on the other two sofas, while Draco plopped his wiry body into an easy chair and put his feet up on the matching ottoman. The four of them remained introspective as they contemplated the finale to this rather successful and enjoyable competition.

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Ron entered the arena for the second time that day, trying his hardest not to limp. The pain in his leg had diminished, thanks to the pain potion Leo had given him only minutes before. He knew Carpentry wizards quickly repaired the platform where Ron had blasted a hole, hoping to trap Seamus and put him out of the competition. So much for hopes.

He and Draco stepped into the arena with heads held high. Although they were set to duel for the bronze medal, neither wizard had anything to be ashamed of. The intermediate elimination rounds last weekend had been fierce and only the best and toughest survived for the Sweet Sixteen, the Great Eight, and the Final Four. Harry and Seamus would face off for the gold and the Gawain Robards' Cup.

The audience, now complete pumped for the afternoon's action clapped and stomped their feet as the two mounted the platform. The stadium rocked when Ron and Draco dropped their robes, revealing their well-toned torsos and muscular arms and shoulders. Witches sighed and swooned at the sight and cameras flashed. One particular reporter sucked the end of her quill and began to scratch out a story while her photographer magically zoomed his lens in to snap pictures of the beefcake she was sure the fräuleins back home would more than appreciate.

"And now, duelling for the bronze medal, please welcome once again from the Auror Office, Assistant Head Red Ronald Weasley, and the pride of the Muggleworthy Excuse Office, Draco "The Dragon" Malfoy," Lee's voice roared through the arena an over the wireless. Both duellists received thunderous applause from the appreciative crowd. At Hogwarts, the students had been allowed to listen to the competition over the WWN, broadcast straight into the Great Hall. At the mention of Ron's name, the Gryffindors went wild, cheering and clapping.

"It's got to be Ron," Erica cried. "It's just _got to!_"

"Course it does," Joseph agreed. "Mr Malfoy's good, but no' as good as Mr Ron!"

"Too right," Demelza added. "But Seamus is going to have his hands full with Harry!"

"Anyone would have their hands full with Harry," Patricia said. "Now shush. They're about to start and I want to hear Lee Jordan!"

Both wizards stared one another down with faces full of respect and old grudges. There was a lot of bad blood between the two of them, not only because of their schoolyard battles, but because of the centuries of hate and resentment between the Malfoy and Weasley clans. As a result, Ron didn't have the same kind of respect for Draco as Harry did. He still hadn't forgiven him for calling Hermione a Mudblood and all the other injustices against his fellow Gryffs, including Draco's stint on Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad. But he had to admit that Draco had fought skillfully—tough, but fair—and had proven himself worthy of the bronze match.

Ron had no illusions about winning this duel easily; Draco Malfoy was no pushover, but the ginger-haired Auror remained confident that he would win out. Without a word, they bowed and raised their wands in the traditional salute. Assuming a fighting stance, they waited for the command to begin.

The Chief Judge stood between them and raised his arm; the crowd fell silent until the only sound was the scratching of quills or the occasional clearing of a throat. "Begin," Flitwick barked, dropping his arm.

The two combatants circled each other without any attempts to cast any spells. Ron schooled his impulses to avoid acting recklessly or to make any ill-conceived movements. Draco was well aware that Ron held the physical and possibly magical advantage, so he took a defensive position. He hoped to draw Ron into an over-eager attack and force a tactical error he could capitalise on and pull off an upset.

Draco Malfoy was no fool. He knew he was the underdog in this match, so he did what he always did best—try to appeal to Ron's legendary temper. "Scared Weasley," Draco asked snidely, with his trademark sneering drawl.

"You wish," Ron replied with a grin, quoting Harry from the duelling club in their second year.

Ron shifted and circled counter-clockwise, but Draco followed his moves smoothly and deftly. The tension in the air hung so thick it could have been cut with Gryffindor's sword. The nerves of the two combatants ran high, with both studying each other like two predators challenging one another over a kill…or a mate.

"This is a completely different kind of duel, folks," Lee commented. "Malfoy and Weasley are circling like a pair of Dire Wolves looking for an opening to attack. There may not much action yet, but this sure is exciting." Thought by Muggles to have gone extinct some 10,000 years ago, Dire Wolves, cousins to the modern Gray wolf, lived and thrived during the Pleistocene. Unbeknownst to Muggle zoologists, a few packs still roam and forage throughout the least-inhabited regions of the southwestern United States and northern Mexico, where they have become the source of legend amongst hikers and survivalists alike.

The stalemate continued for a little while longer, while the principals stalked one another. The audience began clapping and stomping with a steady rhythm, first quietly, and then building until the arena shook. The mezzanine section even began to sway with the clapping and stomping, until the very magic that created the stadium was the only thing holding it together.

Finally, Ron noticed Draco moved his feet with just a hint of hesitation. Was he thinking about taking an initiative after all? _Not bloody likely_. Ron decided to use Draco's hesitancy to strike.

"_Stupefy_," Ron shouted, and with swift move in the opposite direction, he shot off a volley of stunners.

"_Protego_," Draco cried, and dove under the last two stunners that had broken through his shield.

Draco was sure Ron would continue his attack and cast another shield immediately to hold him off until he could regain his feet.

"_Reducto_," Ron yelled, aiming just left of Draco to avoid blasting him to bits. He had no desire to do Malfoy any bodily harm; he just wanted to extract a little payback for the blond wizard's cruelty toward his wife, his family, and his friends. Ron's powerful spell shattered Draco's shield once again. "_Expulso!_"

Once the redhead got started, it seemed as though nothing could stop him. The power and focus behind his spells was born of years of ridicule, resentment, and the need for validation, especially for his father. In order to do that and do it right, Ron used very powerful hexes and curses too strong for Draco to repel.

A hellish shockwave hurled the blond wizard five metres backward, dropping him flat on his back, momentarily knocking the wind out of him. But Ron was on a roll and he wasn't going to relent unless old Flitwick saw fit to halt the duel. He bore down on Draco, his long strides pounding the platform.

With an evil glint in his sapphire eyes, he gave his schoolboy nemesis a half-grin and raised his wand. Draco knew it was all over; Weasley had come in for the kill. "_Confundo. Expelliarmus. Eat slugs_," Ron shouted, and the three spells hit Draco, one after the other.

His grey eyes shifted out of focus as his wand flew several forward. She shook his head and then felt suddenly nauseated. He grabbed his stomach, coughed, and vomited a great fat slug that slithered away, leaving a trail of glistening slime in its wake.

Ron looked to the Chief Judge for a ruling while the audience gasped and murmured. Cameras flashed, quills scratched and Lee kept the listeners informed. Ron wasn't sure if he should just go ahead and stun the defenceless Draco or continue wait for a signal to stand down, as Flitwick seemed to be waiting for Draco to make a move or concede. IDC rules were clear on this matter—the the referee had no grounds to declare a winner in a case such as this, since neither man lay unconscious, incapacitated, or had yielded.

Draco gagged and coughed up another slug, but in the same moment he rolled away. "_Accio_ wand," he hissed and tried to summon it.

"_Impedimenta_," Ron said conversationally, sending Draco's wand further away. "Do you yield, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco nodded. "You got me, Weasley," Draco admitted. "I guess I've had this coming for a long time, yeah?"

"I'm sure the Healers can lift it for you. I never learned the counter-curse," Ron grinned offering the Malfoy scion hand up. "Hagrid just handed me a bucket. I coughed up slugs for a full twenty-four hours before it stopped." Draco smiled weakly and tried to laugh, but instead vomited up another slug before he could accept the hand.

"Mr Malfoy has yielded," Lee announced. "Weasley's spell chain consisting of the Confundus, Expelliarmus, and the Slug-vomiting curse were just too much for him. Weasley has pulled him to his feet while the Healers run over to lift the curse."

Fiona stared at the slugs and began to turn a little green. It wasn't that slugs—or any other garden critter—turned her stomach, it was the idea of having one in her mouth that didn't appeal to her. "Ronnie, this is gross," she snarled disapprovingly.

"Trust me, I know," Ron replied with a smirk, not feeling too sorry for Draco. "At least he doesn't have to fill a bucket for twenty-four hours."

Leo and Gus helped Draco to their booth to be un-cursed, while Fiona held a basin under his chin. As they hurried away, Ron lifted his arms in victory and received the celebration worthy of the moment.

Molly Weasley screamed with delight as she hugged her husband and then her brood, including Taya and Jayce. Tears streamed down her face as her brown eyes finally locked on the figure of her youngest son, bare-chested and glistening with sweat. The last time she'd seen her Ronnie smile like that was only two months ago at the moment Kingsley declared him and Hermione husband-and-wife.

"Way to go, baby," Hermione murmured. "Turnabout's fair play and payback's a bitch."

"Indeed it is," Minerva agreed, her watery eyes twinkling. One of her former cubs exacted his revenge on the field of battle without blood.

The two witches finished filling out their score sheets and handed them to the waiting Ravenclaw pages. Back at Hogwarts, the student body cheered and jumped around, but the Gryffindors took their elation a step further. Every one of them climbed up on the table and danced like demented Leprechauns, hugging and shouting. "Go, go, Gryffindor! Go, go, Gryffindor! Go, go, Gryffindor!"

Tasked with supervising the students, Hagrid sat at the staff table in the Great Hall and wiped his eyes with his tablecloth-sized handkerchief while Fang barked and drooled on his master's giant boots. _He done it, Fang. He really done it!_

Associate Herbology Professor Neville Longbottom and Professor Pomona Sprout sat in her office with their feet up, throwing back shots of Ogden's Best in celebration. Due to the few drops of the potent drink Neville slipped to Professor Sprout's beloved Honking Daffodils, a sound like migrating geese added to the merriment. By the time the trophy round began, the two of them and the daffodils were half in the proverbial bag.

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"And now, for the final event in individual competition! Duelling for the Gawain Robards' Cup and the gold medal, please welcome once again Head Auror Harry James Potter and Auror Lieutenant Seamus Patrick Finnegan!" Lee flicked his wand on his own gramophone and the magically amplified _Do the Hippogriff_ played again.

"He just couldn't resist, could he," Harry asked Seamus as they approached the entrance to the arena. They'd decided to remain bare-chested as robes tended to inhibit movement. In fact, Harry had given some thought to losing the maroon robes altogether as part of the everyday uniform, opting for the simple black fatigues and combat-style boots they wore underneath.

"It's Lee Jordan, Harry. He can't resist a chance ta show off," Seamus reminded him. "I mean, come on. Did ya expect him t'extol the virtues of a bloody Firebolt or somethin'?"

_A Firebolt. My Firebolt_. Lee did extol its virtues the first time he flew it onto the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch in his third year. Harry hadn't thought much about it, but he realised he still grieved for the treasured broomstick Sirius had sent him that Christmas after his beloved Nimbus 2000 crashed into the Whomping Willow and shattered beyond repair.

Almost three years ago, the Firebolt had fallen from the sidecar during the Battle in the Sky and was lost. But the loss of his broomstick paled in comparison to the loss of so many precious lives; broomsticks could be replaced, but people and beloved Familiars could not. Poor Hedwig and Mad-eye Moody died that night, joining Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black, and Albus Dumbledore as the fourth and fifth known casualties of Voldemort's bloody war.

"You all right, mate," Seamus asked, noting Harry's pained expression. "Did I say somethin' wrong?"

"What? Oh yeah. I'm fine. I was just thinking," Harry replied, clapping a hand on Seamus' shoulder. "Old memories."

Harry shook off his momentary sorrow and joined his friend in another Chippendale-like display. This time, instead of collecting another sash from their respective witches, they took off their robes and tossed them to Ginny and Fiona.

"_You're so in for it tonight, Mr Potter."_

"_Promise, Mrs Potter?"_

"_Just don't land yourself in St Mungo's."_

"_Not a chance."_

For their part, Fiona and Seamus held each other in thrall, gazing into one another's eyes. Their relationship hadn't turned physical as yet, but the desire was evident in their faces. "Be careful, Cowboy," Fiona whispered. "I don't wanna hafta glue you back together again."

"Ma'am," Seamus began in an exaggerated southern drawl reminiscent of western Texas, "I give ya m'word that I'll come back to ya in one piece." He mimicked the tipping of a hat and walked away like John Wayne in _The Angel and the Badman_.

This time the audience sang and clapped as soon as the music started. The electricity in the air literally crackled with the magic and emotion flying about. When the song faded out, Lee's voice called out again. "That's some pair of wizards we have for the final, folks," he said and the crowd replied with cheering and applause.

But as Chief Referee Flitwick gathered Harry and Seamus, the arena fell silent. Flitwick repeated the rules and wished them both luck. Rather than take their places at either end of the platform as had been the standard operating procedure throughout individual competition, Harry and Seamus turned their backs to one another and raised their wands to a vertical position in front of their faces as though they were a pair of single-shot duelling pistols.

Flitwick had caught on to their game and counted down their paces. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!" Harry and Seamus stopped, executed a crisp about face, and saluted one another. "Begin," the diminutive referee commanded and the two Aurors sprung into action.

Harry and Seamus immediately engaged in a rapid exchange of fire, appearing to dance as dodged, ducked, jumped, tumbled and twisted to avoid one another's attacks as well as to out-manoeuvre each other. The crowd, beside themselves with delight and heartbreaking awe, watched, riveted, as the spectacle unfolded before them. _The Prophet_ hadn't been exaggerating after all. The new Auror Elite had proven themselves the brilliant defenders the newspaper had proclaimed them to be.

"I've never seen them go at it like this before. It's almost beautiful," Molly admitted from her seat. "Where did they learn to do that?"

"The DA, mostly," Ginny replied.

"Look at the speed! How do they avoid getting hit," Arthur asked no one in particular.

"Training…and they're just that good," Ginny said proudly. He heart beat fast and strong for love of her husband, but also because other than Harry, she was the only one who had ever defeated Seamus in a pitched duel. _I'll have to take the Mickey out of Red Ron for losing to Irish._

The duel progressed without loss of speed or intensity. The crowd watched on entranced, their voices silent as they concentrated on the spectacular display of skill, agility, and discipline in the two young wizards' show. Retired duelling champions conceded the wonderful work they'd seen in this small tournament far outstripped any international meet they'd ever participated in.

Harry and Seamus duelled each other with all they had, but keeping their display confined to the numerous sequences they had drilled so hard to perfect. Suddenly, the speed in Harry's spell-casting seemed to double. The audience could hardly believed their eyes because the duel had moved faster than anything they'd ever seen, as it was.

The force of Harry's juggernaut pushed Seamus back, forcing him to defend himself. The Head Auror added wandless magic from his left hand to the spells cast with the wand held in his right. Even though the power in his wandless magic wasn't nearly as forceful, it still overwhelmed Seamus enough to keep him off-balance.

"Can you believe this," Lee asked rhetorically, completely flabbergasted. "Potter's casting spells faster than I can identify them. It's like fireworks, folks! But don't you Seamus fans worry—Finnegan's still in the match. How in Merlin's knitted purple long johns do they avoid getting hit?"

"Ooh, I wish we could be there," Patricia groaned to Erica. "Dennis and Jess are so lucky!"

Many of the young wizards in the Great Hall, including a few of the younger Slytherins, held a steely look in their eyes as they concentrated on Lee Jordan's commentary. Many of them daydreamed about becoming one of Potter's elites and participating in such a tournament. They imagined pretty witches fawning and swooning over them as they vanquished one opponent after another to claim ultimate victory.

Emma held tight to Joseph's hand. She knew he was among the boys hoping to become an Auror. He, too, had that tell-tale expression on his face that said unequivocally that he'd redoubled his resolve to study hard and make the grade. She leaned over and gave him a shy peck on the cheek. "You'll be an Auror one day, Joseph. I know you will."

He turned his face to her and blushed deeply. He marvelled that Emma knew what he was thinking. "Too right, I will. And then I'm gonna marry you."

Emma's eyes opened wide. She then gasped and fainted, falling backward. Joseph caught her before she fell to the stone floor. Demelza drew her wand to Ennervate her, while the others around them craned their necks to see what happened. "Merlin, Joseph," she giggled. "Whatever you said…I think she liked it."

"What did you say to her anyway, Pointer," Jimmy asked. "Did you ask her to marry you or something?" His only answer was a sly grin and a red face.

Elsewhere in the room, a sixth-year Ravenclaw witch leaned into her friend as she fanned herself. "That sounds so hot! Too bad Potter and Weasley are married, but that Finnegan's looking good."

"Don't let Miss Fiona hear you say that," her friend warned. "I hear they're an item."

"Yeah, well, Draco Malfoy's pretty hot too," a fourth-year Hufflepuff added. "I mean, he may be a berk, but you've got to admit he's gorgeous."

"Sorry, he's taken too," the second Ravenclaw sighed. "He's set to marry Astoria Greengrass in June, according to the society pages."

Demelza rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Bints."

"Who's bints," Jimmy asked, drawing the attention of the rest of the Gryffindor court.

"Becky Caldwell and Julie Hustis," she replied, pointing in their direction. "And Kathy Ford—the Hufflepuff across from them. They're sitting there drooling over Finnegan, Boot, and Goldstein…and even Malfoy."

Patricia and Erica hissed at them to shut it so they could hear the action on the wireless. They all fell silent and tuned their ears to the broadcast booming through the Great Hall.

It seemed as though the two wizards had been saving it all up for this final match, just to give the audience a thrill. Actually, it was more due to the fact that the rules didn't allow for such advanced hexing and cursing in the earlier rounds. Besides, the tournament had delivered one thrill after another from the off, this was icing on an already very tasty cake.

Seamus knew he was in trouble, and at the speed Harry attacked him, he had virtually no chance to counter-attack. He feared that sooner or later, his defences would buckle and three or four of Harry's super-powered spells would slam into him almost simultaneously and put him down before his boss would realise he'd won, and let up.

Seamus decided he needed to change the rhythm of the duel if he wanted to last a bit longer, because he could never keep up with Harry's phenomenal speed. He had little to no knowledge of Harry's childhood, as his raven-haired former dorm mate never talked about it, at least not to him or Dean, so Seamus had no idea that Harry's speed and agility came from dodging his cousin, Dudley, and his gang of neighborhood bullies. That experience also refined Harry's lightning-quick reflexes that led to his success playing Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"_Confringo. Confringo. Confringo_," Seamus cried, as pink light flew from his wand, sending bits of wood into the air. As soon as the third curse passed his lips, he threw himself desperately out of harm's way. He had to drop his shields in order to attack, so he had to employ Susan's invaluable tumbling moves to cover himself.

Seamus' blasting curses exploded around Harry, who disappeared in a ball of fire. The audience gasped and then held their breath while Seamus tried to focus, despite the exhaustion. Harry had cast a Fuego Eructo, a fire-controlling charm more intense than a simple Incendio, but much safer to work than Fiendfyre, which was officially classified as dark magic, which was automatically banded from tournament competition.

Harry's personal inferno kept him hidden from Seamus, which allowed him time to consider his next move. With a wry smile, Harry flicked his wand and shrank the fire to a flaming ball that hovered a few feet above his head.

Seamus raised his wand, debating whether or not to attack or defend in the face of Harry's fireballs. He didn't have long to debate, because Harry decided for him. With a flick of his wand, the fire wriggled like a fire serpent toward Seamus, reminiscent of the small flaming creatures he'd seen one of the Durmstrang students conjure for a few awestruck seventh-year Slytherin girls in his fourth year. _Bloody hell, Potter_.

"_Protego Totalum_," Seamus hissed, raising a solid steel wall between him and Harry. The fire blew itself out as it impacted the powerful shield.

"_Expulso_," Harry barked. A bright orange spell erupted from his left hand, blowing the steel wall into thousands of paperclips that tinkled to the floor and vaporised. With another flick of his wand, the fiery serpent attacked again. Seamus leaped over it in an arc the moment his shield failed, and with his wand, Seamus spun around and fought the fire attacking him. With his left, he engaged Harry directly, hand-to-hand.

"Are there just _two_ wizards fighting," Lee asked the crowd in shock. "Or is there a whole team of them down there?"

Harry had watched, horror-stricken, as Professor Dumbledore and Voldemort battled one another in similar fashion right here in this very Atrium the night Sirius fell through the mysterious veil. The spell work devastated the statuary fountain, moronic as it was, and no one but a top-notch highly-trained Auror like Seamus could have lasted more than a few seconds. The flaming serpent attempted to surround Seamus in its coils, but the Irishman deftly dodged it, while simultaneously exchanging wandless spells with Harry.

In the Healers' booth, Fiona nervously watched as her man and her cousin's husband battled on viciously. The heat from Harry's fires and the bangs and clangs of Seamus' shields and counter-spells caused her to have to step back and cover her hears. She knew Harry wouldn't deliberately hurt Seamus, or vice-versa, but with all the fire flying around, either could be badly burned. Magical or Aint, it was a slow and painful healing process for a burn patient, fraught with the potential for death due to infection and/or pneumonia.

She watched on in utter shock as the duel progressed. Never had she seen anything so terrible, yet so beautiful, in her entire life. To her way of thinking, all the other duels in the tournament looked like child's play, even the British and international press hailed the quality of sportsmanship and skill as exemplary…phenomenal…outstanding… and the strangest yet-inspirational. If those words summed up what had taken place so far, which superlatives could they use to describe this one?

"_Glacius_," Seamus shouted and surrounded Harry's serpent in a prison of solid ice, which immediately melted and extinguished it in a cloud of grey smoke. Seamus huffed out a breath in relief as the fire dissipated. He would regret it.

_Gotcha_. Harry aimed his wand at Seamus and fired. "_Incarcerous!_" Thick ropes shot from the end of Harry's wand and left hand forming a web around his Lieutenant. Seamus only had time to cast one cutting curse on the ropes before they caught him in a tangle. Unfortunately for him, the one cutting curse wasn't enough to break loose.

"_Stupefy!_" Like having been struck by a giant hammer, Seamus felt darkness envelop him as he slumped to the floor and lay there like a burrito wrapped in hemp. Harry banished the ropes and held his wand on Seamus while Flitwick checked the fallen Irishman. With a blast of his whistle and a raise of his arm, he signalled that the duel was over and that Harry had won.

"And that's it, folks! Harry Potter has won the Gawain Robards' Cup," Lee cried. The audience sat gaping, still collectively stunned, trying to absorb and assimilate what they'd just seen. Finally, applause started among the Weasley assemblage, and soon everyone joined in The cheering was almost deafening in volume.

Fiona all but flew to Seamus' side moments after the referee's announcement. She cast a scanning spell over him, but found no injuries. "_Ennervate_," she said, and Seamus' eyes flickered. He regained consciousness after a few moments and found the love of his life leaning over him holding his hand. "How do ya feel, Cowboy," she asked him.

"Like I've been run over by a herd o' stampedin' Hippogriffs," Seamus groaned, shaking the cobwebs from his brain.

"You did an amazin' job out there," she said. "You both had me scared half ta death, ya know."

"I gave him me best, darlin', but it wasn't enough," Seamus confessed. "He's not the Saviour o' the Wizardin' world fer nothin', that's for sure."

Fiona helped Seamus to his feet. Upon closer inspection, she found a few bruises from the ropes and the effects of a powerful stunner, but otherwise he appeared unharmed. With his arm around Fiona, Seamus turned to Harry and offered his hand. "Well done, mate."

"Yeah, it was a great duel, Irish." Harry said. Instead of shaking hands, the two Aurors grasped one another's lower arms at the elbow in the manner of the warrior kings of old. The audience went wild. Exciting duelling, chivalry, and now displays of the camaraderie and respect found only in legends and fables—this truly had been an event to remember.

Leo Wyatt stood before them to give them the perfunctory once-over before confirming Fiona's prognosis. With wide eyes, he threw away his inhibitions and asked the question that everyone else had asked one another throughout the duel. "How can it be that you're not injured? I mean, I'm glad you're not, but that wasn't just a duel, that was a bloody full-on battle!"

"We'd never do anything ta deliberately injure each other," Seamus said, clapping the senior Healer on the shoulder. "It's the Aurors' code." Leaving a gaping Healer standing on the arena floor, Harry now joined by a squealing, arduous Ginny, Seamus and Fiona made their way to the Healers' booth while the crowd continued to roar, cameras continued to flash, and quills continued to scratch.

At Hogwarts, the Great Hall erupted in utter pandaemonium. Gryffindors danced on the tables once again, Hagrid blubbered into his handkerchief, and Neville and Pomona whooped and hollered while the daffodils honked…and there were still four team matches to go before the day—and the tournament—came to a close.

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During intermission, the Weasley-Potter-Prewett clan met in the Aurors' training room for a scrumptious meal Kreacher had prepared for them. The faithful old House-elf brought all of his master's and mistress' favourites—shepherd's pie, Welsh pasties, sausage rolls, Forfar bridies, mash, mushy peas with salt and malt vinegar, pumpkin juice, and treacle tart and strawberry pie for afters.

Taya and Fiona were more than familiar with the food, as their mother and Granny often served such fare back home, but Jayce hadn't much experience with the cuisine of the British Isles. Pasties were popular in northern Michigan, but they didn't make them this big in U-P.

Fiona explained that the shepherd's pie Americans eat is actually called _cottage pie_ in Britain, and that true shepherd's pie is made with lamb or mutton instead of ground or roast beef.

Jayce especially liked the Forfar bridies filled with savoury roast beef and onions in a flaky crust. Taya encouraged him to combine a bit of the mushy peas with a bite of bridie and a bit of the mash with a bite of sausage roll. "Fantastic," he declared, smacking his lips in appreciation.

He wasn't particularly fond of the treacle tart, as he found it entirely too sweet for his liking, but strawberry pie was a perennial summer favourite of his, so he tucked into it with a dollop of clotted cream and a contented smile on his face. He praised Kreacher's cooking up and down, pleasing the wrinkled Elf unto to tears. "Feather wizard is most kind," he croaked with a low bow.

_Perceptive little fella, isn't he?_ "No I'm not, Kreacher," Jayce countered. "I just believe in givin' credit where credit is due, and this has _got_ to be one of the best meals I ever ate, hands down!"

Over coffee and tea, the group discussed the morning's action, congratulating Harry, Ron, and Seamus on their excellent performance in the arena. "Ron, how's that leg, son," Arthur asked, his eyes full of concern. "You sure you're up to the team duels this afternoon?"

"It's good, Dad. I've had a cold towel on it to keep the swelling down and then a little heat to ease the ache," Ron replied. "Leo said that as long as I didn't injure it again, it should be good as new by tomorrow morning."

Harry and Ginny had spent most of the meal gazing into one another's eyes, feeding one another bits of food and teasing each other telepathically, until Harry finally jumped up from the table and took his wife by the hand. "Excuse us."

Seamus and Fiona, Jayce and Taya, and Ron and Hermione whistled and _oohed_, knowing exactly where they were off to and what they were about to do. Bill, Charlie, Percy and George joined in the merriment while Molly and Arthur turned a dozen shades of red once dawn broke over their horizon. "But where would they—"

"Dad," Ron said, cutting across him. "Do we really have to tell you where they've gone?" He and Hermione had once engaged in a little spur-of-the-moment romance in the office he and Harry shared. It was perfectly private, provided the proper wards and silencing charms were cast on the walls and doors.

"Must be good to be the Head Auror," Percy muttered in George's whole ear.

"Or the Head Auror's—" he began in reply.

"Don't you dare say it, George," Angelina warned with a smirk. "I don't think your poor mum could take it."

Sometime later, Harry and Ginny returned, their faces flushed and their skin aglow. "All right, Potters," Charlie asked, nudging Percy, who grinned snarkily at his sister and brother-in-law.

"Never better," they replied in tandem, grinning like a pair of Cheshire cats.

"Well, everyone," Bill began, checking the watch he'd received from his parents upon his seventeenth birthday. "It's almost quarter-past, and our three Aurors need to be upstairs by half-past. You three had better beat feet if you're going to make it in time."

"All right, mates. Let's go," Seamus said, dropping his napkin on his plate. "As for you, Miss Prewett, I'll see you later, yeah?"

"I'll be there with bells on," Fiona replied, allowing him to kiss her soundly before she shoved him toward the door with Ron and Harry, who had bid their wives adieu in like manner. "You three better git!"

"Yes, ma'am. We're gittin'," Seamus laughed, following his two superior officers out the door. As soon as the others gathered themselves and left the room, Kreacher reappeared with a _crack!_ and cleared away, leaving the training room cleaner than he found it.

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"Welcome back to our semi-final round of team competition," Lee's voice called over the crowd. "For this first semi-final match, in the black fatigues and maroon robes of the Auror Corps, led by 'Red' Ron Weasley, please welcome Seamus 'Irish' Finnegan, Susan 'Bonesy' Bones, Terry Boot—for reasons unknown to me called 'Limey'—and lastly, the exotic beauty who has yet to accept date with me, Cho 'Lotus' Chang!" The five of them marched out together, smiling and waving to their fans as they screamed and stomped in wild appreciation.

Minerva McGonagall shook her head. "He was constantly on about Miss Johnson while he announced Hogwarts Quidditch, so if he runs on about Miss Chang, I will personally march over there and turn him into a pocket watch," she huffed.

"How about a tarantula," Hermione suggested, recalling how he'd sneaked on onto the Hogwarts Express her first year. "Lee seems rather fond of those."

"Or a combination thereof," the headmistress snorted. "Can you imagine?"

"Minerva, the crowds love Lee's easy-going style of commentary. He and the Weasley twins were best mates at Hogwarts and he knew Angelina had a thing for Fred. And I wouldn't doubt he's talked to Cho about this, or she'd hex him silly," Hermione said. "And yes, I can imagine."

Cho pouted her lips and flicked her wand as she blew a kiss in Lee's direction. A lipstick mark sailed through the air like a butterfly toward the announcer's booth, but instead of kissing him, it stuck its tongue out, blew a loud raspberry, and vanished in a vapour with a sighing sound. The crowd burst into gales of laughter at Lee Jordan's expense.

"Despite my shattered heart, I must present the Unified Departments team led by Senior Undersecretary to the DMLE, Alastor Gumboil! Please welcome Obliviator Arnold Peasegood, Gerald Stormer from the Department of Magical Transportation—Floo Division, Magnus Waldheimer from the Department of International Magical Co-operation, and Gilbert Wimple from the Committee on Experimental Charms!"

Hermione didn't know if Gilbert Wimple might be a new addition to ELF, but had assumed as much as the rest of Gumboil's team were members. Possibly the horns Wimple had inflicted upon himself in his dangerous work with spell invention had caused him to be declared part-creature by the Death Eater establishment during the war. The only board member missing from that team was Frank Stiles, the magical plant merchant.

From her place in the scoring box, she could see Ron and Gumboil politely greet one another, but the hostility between them shone like ripples over hot pavement. Upon Flitwick's whistle, the two teams assumed their initial positions on the floor, now devoid of the platform.

"Begin," Chief Referee Flitwick commanded.

Ron had decided to take the initiative. He'd managed to observed the Unified lot and sussed out their weaknesses, one of them being arrogance. "Circle up. _Protego_," he ordered and the five Aurors formed a tight circle facing outward behind Ron's shield.

The crowd eagerly awaited the next move, because advanced competition meant advanced tactics and spell work. Gumboil observed the simple manoeuvre, but couldn't figure out what Ron could be up to. Because of that he remained passive. "Be ready," he told his team. "Weasley's a sneaky bastard."

Ron's next move was ruthless and powerful. "GO," he barked and his team leapt into action. Safely behind Ron's shield, Cho and Terry fired off a pair of stunners before Terry raised a shield as Ron lowered his. The circle of Aurors had begun revolving, and that allowed Seamus and Susan to fire their stunners and other curses and hexes. Susan raised her shield, allowing Cho to drop hers and take a few shots before raising her shields again for the next Auror in the rotation. This pattern repeated fast and furious, confusing Gumboil's people—Ron and Cho, Terry and Seamus, Susan and Ron, and so on.

Had the Unifieds truly paid attention, especially since their captain was one-hundred percent Muggleborn, they might have recognised this tactic as the magical answer to the Muggle American Gatling gun. Ron had read about the crank-operated rapid-fire rotary rifle developed for the Union during the Great Civil War of the 1860s. It saw some action during that conflict, but hadn't been truly accepted by the army until the 1880s. The Gatling saw action at San Juan Hill, Cuba, during the short and "splendid" Spanish-American War of 1898, enjoying greater success than ever before.

Gumboil's team members hesitated. They didn't know who to aim at, since the quickly raised and dropped shield charms left them devoid of any hope of breaking through the Aurors' defences. Only a minute into the match, Gumboil's team faltered and fell apart. His attempts to rally them into an attack formation against his rival's team failed. He and his team defended themselves as five individuals, rather than a collective working as one body. The crowd in the stands sat gob smacked at first, having never seen anything like what they'd just seen before, but now they were cheering wildly for the Aurors and screaming for blood—well, symbolically, anyway.

When Waldheimer and Wimple fell in quick succession, both struck by multiple spells, the situation for the remaining team members grew from desperate to panic-stricken as the redhead's juggernaut moved in for the kill. Peasegood and Gumboil seemed to keep up their defences, but Stormer's shield flickered ominously as he began to tire. Before Gumboil had the chance to do anything to help, Stormer's shield shattered. Three spells struck him in the chest, right arm, and belly. He fell to the floor, knocked out of the match. At this point, Ron decided to change his tactics a little. He was going to have a little fun with the slimy git before he put him out of his misery.

"Irish, take Peasegood, but don't hurt him. My Dad likes him. I've got Gumponce. The rest of you—cover us," Ron barked.

With the swiftness of a pair of lions, Ron and Seamus sprang out of the circle and immediately attacked their designated opponents. Cho, Terry and Susan took a defensive position to mind and deflect stray spells, because it was unlikely Gumboil or Peasegood had a prayer against Ron and Seamus, two of the three most-dangerous wandsmen on the force. Their secondary duty was simply to provide shields as needed.

From the stands, Hermione's heart skipped a beat as her husband attacked Gumboil with a vengeance. She knew the creepy ex-Hit-wizard would fall under Ron's wand, but she still worried a bit about his leg. "C'mon Ron, hex the living snot out of him," she whispered, still keeping track of her score sheet.

Ron decided to put Gumboil down as quickly and succinctly as possible, in order for the other duels to commence, so they could all face off against their comrades on Harry's team, wipe the floor with them, and call it a day. He cast three rapid stunners followed by a fourth hex. Gumboil watched the volley of red jets approached him, seemingly in slow motion, the first one battering his shield, but not shattering it. It flickered, but held. The second spell shattered it and all he could do was throw his body out of the way to avoid the third. Unfortunately, Ron had anticipated Gumboil's parry, and his fourth spell struck home. Where Gumboil had stood only moments ago, a great warty toad squatted in his place. Ron had transfigured him, which caused the crowds to grin and break into titters of laughter.

"Croak if you yield or I'll stun you where you sit," Ron hissed.

The toad croaked, and by the sound of it, he was rather annoyed, if not furiously displeased. Ron turned his attention to Peasegood and Seamus.

"Yield, sir, or you'll have to face all five of us," Ron declared, as he wanted this match over and done with.

Peasegood nodded. "I yield," he confessed. "Well done, Auror Weasley. Arthur must be proud."

"Yes sir," Ron replied politely, shaking the Obliviator's hand. "Thank you, sir. Stand down, Lieutenant Finnegan."

Seamus snapped to, but kept his wand firmly in his grasp, while Peasegood tucked his own into his robes and bowed graciously to the victors. Nodding to Flitwick, he turned and left the floor, his head held high. For his part, Ron felt good about having left the only man in ELF Hermione respected and trusted, other than Seamus and Dean, conscious and unharmed.

"Red Ron Weasley and the Auror team win," Lee's shouted to the world while the crowds cheered. It wasn't until then that the Healers were allowed to enter the arena and see to the downed duellers.

Fiona approached the barking mad toad and pursed her lips. "My, my, my, Mr Gumboil," she tutted. "This is some pickle you've got yourself into, now ain't it?" The toad appeared to glare at her menacingly. "Now, now, little fella," she admonished. "Let's just get you over to the exam area and see if Healers Wyatt and Pye can't sortcha out." She squatted down and carefully picked up the annoyed amphibian and carried him away from the arena, where the Aurors continued to acknowledge their fans.

"Way to go, lover," Hermione murmured, handing her score sheets to the pages.

"Hey, Hermione," Jessica said brightly. "That was some fight, huh?"

"Yeah," Dennis agreed, accepting Minvera's sheet and thanking her. "What a match!"

"Yes…yes, it was," Hermione stammered, blushing furiously. She hadn't realised Dennis and Jessica were standing there when she made her comment. "But it's not over yet, is it? Harry's team has to take on…Magical Maintenance next."

"Piece of cake," Dennis drawled. "I mean, come on—Harry's Aurors against a load of fix-it wizards?"

"It's a done deal," Jessica agreed. "See you later, yeah? Professor McGonagall."

"Indeed," the headmistress replied. She could see the same glint in young Mr Creevey's eyes that Harry had when he declared his desire to become an Auror. "A done deal indeed."

"Minerva," Hermione began slyly. "How about you and I make a friendly wager?"

"A wager," Minerva repeated conspiratorially. "What kind of wager?"

"I've got five Galleons that say Ron's and Harry's teams are going to meet in the final, and when it's all over, Ron's team will emerge victorious," the bushy-haired witch offered.

"All right, Hermione," Minerva agreed. "I shall place my five Galleons on Harry's team, and to the victor go the spoils."

"Done," Hermione grinned, taking her former professor's hand in the wager. "You're going down, McGonagall."

"Don't count on it…Weasley," she replied. They both broke into laughter while they waited for Harry's match to begin.

About fifteen minutes later, Lee called the teams into the arena. "And for our second semi-final match, the other Auror team led by Head Auror Harry 'Chief' Potter, please welcome Lavender 'LB' Brown, John 'JD' Dawlish, Anthony 'Tony' Goldstein, and Andrew 'Jock' Thompson!" The audience went wild for their beloved Aurors, led by their equally beloved hero and _New Dumbledore_. They smiled and waved and then gathered in a circle to join hands for a hoya.

"And from the Department of Magical Maintenance, the crew who have been so diligent in keeping our arena clean and safe, led by Carpenter Jim Anderson, please welcome Lee Douglas, Peter Smith, Nathan Spall, and Mike Townsend!"

"Mike Townsend," Dalton said to Lisa. "He's my dad."

"Oh," she replied, eyeing Tony Goldstein. "Well…good luck to your dad, then."

"Thanks. He's going to need it," Dalton smirked. "Maintenance is so screwed."

"I wonder if Spall will freak out again," Lisa said. "That would be too funny!"

"Well, I suppose, but Dad says Mr Anderson and Mr Douglas are pretty good with a wand, and that Mr Smith can shield with the best of them, but…" Dalton told her. "Aurors—"

"Yeah. Aurors," Lisa agreed.

The entire duel lasted all of about five minutes. While the maintenance crew put up a respectable fight, they were simply outclassed, outgunned, and outmanoeuvred by Potter's people. But the audience cheered them as they left the arena, whole and unharmed, with nothing to feel ashamed for.

"Anderson," Harry said, tapping the big carpenter on the shoulder.

"Yeah, Potter, what is it," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Your lot actually did pretty well, all things considered. Smith's shields were outstanding, but if you don't mind a little advice…"

"I'm listening…"

"Gumboil's lot don't move as a team. They're a bunch of individuals with either no drive or too much drive," Harry explained. "Did you watch Weasley's team?"

"Oh yeah. They were awesome," Anderson said. "What was that they were doing anyway?"

"It's a thing Ron read about in a Muggle military manual," Harry told him. "He adapted it to duelling. What you need to do is something like that, but not quite, as you don't have time to practice it."

"What do you suggest, then," Anderson asked, interested in anything Harry had to say. He couldn't stand Alastor Gumboil and his snarky attitude.

"Simple. You do what Weasley's team did in the first round. Do you remember what that was?"

"Yeah, yeah. The _divide and conquer_ sort of thing, right?"

"Right," Harry confirmed. "But be sure to put your strongest attacker at the centre, with an attacker and a defender on either side, firing and shielding, firing and shielding, until you wear them down."

"Right. Wear them down," Anderson repeated making a mental note. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. Ron gave Gumboil a royal thrashing a bit ago, so they're probably rattled. Gumboil's furious, so he'll likely make a few tactical mistakes. But focus on Wimple, the horned one. He's a decent bloke, but he's also a spell-inventor. You might be able to goad him into casting one of his own uncertified inventions, and disqualify him."

"Hey, thanks, Chief Potter," Anderson said, shaking the younger wizard's hand. "You're all right."

"Anytime, Anderson. And…good luck," Harry said, turning to rejoin his team for a debriefing and tactical planning meeting. _We need to be on our own game or Ron'll have my arse for sure_. "All right, you lot! My office. NOW!"

Four Aurors scrambled to follow Harry into his office to analyse the first team's match and plan their strategy against them. Maybe—just maybe—they might catch them off-balance and pull off a magnificent upset and win it all.

In the stands, the Weasley assemblage talked among themselves. Since Harry's and Ron's teams were to clash in the final, they argued amongst themselves as to which team they would support. "Well, we could draw lots," Jayce suggested. There are…let's see now…ten of us, so we put ten slips of parchment in a hat, five with Ron's name and five with Harry's. Then we draw to see who supports whom."

"That seems fair, but as his wife, I'm going to support Harry," Ginny said. "Therefore, put only four Harrys in the hat and I won't draw."

"Is everybody okay with that," Jayce asked, moving his gaze among the family. No one voiced any objection, so Taya tore nine slips of paper into strips, labelling four of them HARRY and five of them RON. One by one, they each pulled a name. When it was finished, Molly, Bill, George, Ginny and Angelina would support Harry, while Arthur, Charlie, Percy, Jayce and Taya, would support Ron.

"So the battle lines are drawn," Arthur said solemnly. "May the best team win."

"Aye," they all replied in turn and then settled down to watch the bronze medal match between Jim Anderson's Maintenance crew and Alastor Gumboil's Unified team.

_A/N: Thanks to theelderwand for "Gumponce." It seems to have caught on with our readers, so we thought it was only fitting that Ron would call Alastor Gumboil that._


	40. Chapter 40 Not On My Watch

**Chapter 40 – Not on My Watch!**

As the Weasley assemblage settled in for the bronze-medal round, a few late-comers filled in the few empty seats in the arena, including one Frank Stiles. It seemed the Accidental Magic Reversal Squads had been extra busy lately, and they rarely responded to a call without at least one trained and licensed Obliviator along. As a result, Frank had missed most of the tournament.

An usher showed Stiles to a seat low in the stands and with a minimally-obstructed view. "Here is your seat, sir," she said with a polite smile. "I might suggest raising a shield if you can. The action's been pretty intense today."

"Thank you," he said equally-politely, trying to read her nametag. "I'll take that under advisement…uh…Ariel."

"Enjoy the rest of the tournament, sir," she chirped. Stiles watched as she moved away to help another patron. From what he could see, she had a nice bum and he imagined she had legs to go with it. Too bad it was all covered by those damnable usher's robes.

Several minutes later, Ariel reappeared with another wizard and showed him to the seat immediately next to Frank's. "Enjoy the tournament, sir," she said to the new arrival, and left to help a rather excited family with a pair of rambunctious little boys and a baby find their seats in an upper section. She walked away from them with an admonishment to shield at least the baby, wondering whatever possessed these birdbrains to bring a baby to a duelling tournament. _Oh well, mine is not to reason why…_

The two wizards exchanged glances and nods, but didn't speak. Frank wasn't in the mood for conversation; he was in the mood for some fighting. The other wizard appeared introspective as he read the competitor profiles published in his souvenir program. Frank hadn't purchased a program and in a way, he wished he had.

"Er…so what's next," Stiles asked, already knowing the answer. It's just that since he was seated right next to this man, the least he could do was act friendly.

"Bronze match," the wizard growled in reply. "Unified 'n' Magical Maintenance."

"Maintenance—that's Anderson's lot isn't it," Frank asked, already knowing the answer to that, too.

"Aye," the other man replied. "Looks like this Gumboil bloke's leadin' the Unifieds."

Frank cocked his head. "Care to wager?"

"Not a gamblin' man. Sorry," the wizard grumbled and returned to his program.

"Fair enough," Frank replied with a satisfied smile. He hailed a vendor wandering the stands and tossed him one Galleon for a bottle of Butterbeer. One_ Galleon for a Butterbeer? It's highway robbery_.

Frank and the other wizard looked on eagerly as the bronze-medal match got underway. Anderson's Crew, as they had come to be called, had fanned out in the formation Harry suggested, while the Unifieds arranged themselves in much the same manner as Dearborn's Transportation team had in the first round. Both teams seemed to be evenly-matched, power-wise, but the Unifieds had experience on their side. However, the physical strength and agility on the part of the Crew offset the Unifieds' slight advantage.

Spells and hexes flew through the air in blazes of colour and light. Spall and Douglas worked together on Anderson's left with one shielding while the other cast, conjured, and transfigured, taking turns at intervals to avoid either of them tiring too quickly. Smith and Townsend worked the same strategy on their captain's right with favourable results. In the centre, Anderson cast and ducked, concentrating his fire on the other captain.

"And it's a clean fight so far," Lee's voice called into the wireless feed. "Stunners, shields, blasting hexes, and a fair bit of transfiguration—this one's got all kinds of colourful magic, folks!"

The Unifieds' modified Quidditch strategy appeared to be working better for them than it had for Transportation. Part of the reason might have been experience with a wand that Ernie's lot just didn't have, as they were mostly younger wizards. Gumboil found himself defending against Anderson's onslaught with conjured concrete barriers and transfigured bits of the detritus left from the blasts. The Undersecretary truly expected the big carpenter to be pants with a wand, because if he'd been any good, he wouldn't be working maintenance.

If he'd actually ever taken the time to get to know people outside the DMLE or Ministry senior staff, Gumboil would have known that Jim Anderson was a highly-intelligent wizard of many talents, who was well-read, fit in body and mind, and rather creative with even the simplest of magical applications.

Like most others, Gumboil assumed that all Magical Maintenance people were the lowest of the low, magically and mentally. By and large, that was true, at least magically, but not for Jim Anderson—or any of the others on The Crew, for that matter. Jim chose to join Magical Maintenance because he loved to work with his hands as well as his wand, which was a rare quality in the average Pureblood. He and Lee Douglas had become fast friends, as they shared the same passion for woodworking and tinkering, and had much to talk about.

Jim and Lee took the time to fully train their people, encouraging those who struggled to keep at it until they got whatever-it-was right without severely browbeating them in the process. During the war, Jim and Lee constantly clashed with that lumbering idiot, Runcorn, over discipline and procedure. That the prize prat turned out to be a marked Death Eater hadn't surprised either of them, so they rather enjoyed watching as the Wizengamot sentenced him to life in Azkaban for the atrocities he and Dolores Umbridge, among others, perpetrated against the Muggleborn in the magical community.

Minister Shacklebolt sought to promote Anderson to Head of Magical Maintenance proper, but he declined, saying he didn't belong behind a desk pushing parchment. Instead, Anderson became a sort of operations manager, which allowed him to continue to work with his best mate and the crews doing what he loved most—building and repairing things. To date, his greatest known triumph was this very arena floor and the duelling platform, which he'd designed, cut, and pieced together by hand without use of a wand.

The Unifieds' Chaser/Beater strategy had begun to take its toll on the older wizards. It took a lot of concentration to maintain even the most basic of shields, while constant spell-casting drew a lot of energy from one's magical core, which also sustained a wizard or witch's health. The older one got, the weaker his or her magical core became. The exception to this rule—at least to recent memory—had been Albus Dumbledore.

The defenders' shields became flimsy, flickering in and out of existence as The Crew's spells blasted through them at an awful rate. Realising they'd gained the upper hand, The Crew continued its attack, pushing harder and harder, until Waldheimer and Stormer dropped under pair of red stunners, leaving Gumboil, Wimple, and Peasegood to carry on.

The Crew held their formation, pelting the hapless Unifieds with all manner of hex and jinx allowed. Finally, a disarming spell from Townsend sent Peasegood's wand flying out of his hand into the ether. Exhausted and sore, Peasegood raised his hands, signaling his yield, and left the floor. Gumboil wanted to strangle him for just giving up like that, but it couldn't be helped now. Peasegood's tournament was over.

Wimple moved away from Gumboil, hoping to draw fire away from his captain. Unfortunately for him, it worked. He drew Smith and Townsend, the two he'd hoped would remain with Anderson. But again, Anderson had a talent for forming teams for any task, so he opted to keep young Nate Spall with Lee Douglas. Good as they were, neither Pete Smith nor Mike Townsend had the magical repertoire required to offset the lad's inexperience.

Smith dropped his shield as Townsend raised his. "_Bombarda_," Smith roared, sending a powerful blasting hex at Wimple's feet, cutting a two-metre-long swath through Anderson's parquet floor. The force of the impact threw Wimple off his feet and onto his back with a grunt.

Usually a gentle and patient man, Gilbert Wimple rarely did anything without making sure it was safe—or at least prudent. As a Spell Creator, he understood what could happen when one acted rashly; he had the horns to prove it. But in the heat of this moment, he dropped all pretence and raised his wand in a last-ditch attempt to buy a few moments to regain his feet. He waved his wand in an arc, casting a spell no one had ever heard or seen before.

As a student of antiquities, Wimple had managed to uncover an obscure bit of magic while exploring the region of South America now known as Peru, near the ruins of the ancient Inca city of Machu Picchu. However, the texts were clearly not Quechua or any other tongue known to the modern archaeological community, Muggle or magical.

Painstakingly, he studied to crack the hieroglyphs, for lack of a better term, and after several years, managed to gain a rudimentary understanding of the texts. Unfortunately, it was from a mistaken translation of those texts that he created the spell that gave him his horns, and it was from those texts that he created the new one he cast at Smith. Townsend's shield barely shimmered into existence before the bright pink light of the spell struck, ricocheting toward the stands with a bong like Big Ben in a hurricane.

"Great Merlin's shiny red roadster, what was that," Lee's cried rhetorically to the audience as they all tried to clear the ringing in their ears. "I've never seen a spell like that one before!"

Frank thought it was a jolly good job he'd taken the usher's advice and raised a shield of his own. By the time the pink laser-bolt spell found him, it had lost much of its power and merely shattered into tiny pink shimmers that fell to the floor and vaporised.

On the floor, Flitwick blew his whistle to halt the action. "FOUL!"

"Chief Judge Flitwick has stopped the match," Lee's voice announced over the wireless. "He appears to be giving Unified team member, Gilbert Wimple, a rather angry dressing down. The loud clang you heard was the sound of some spell or hex careening off one of The Crew's shields. I wish I could tell you which spell it was, but I've never seen it before. All I can tell you is that it's bright pink in colour. If that awful clang it made against Mike Townsend's shield is any indication, it's a nasty one."

Gumboil helped an ashamed Wimple to his feet and joined the other five competitors still left on the floor in a huddle around Flitwick. The diminutive referee stood in the centre spouting rules and regulations, ticking off a series of points on his stubby fingers.

"And here come the Healers," Lee's voice continued, filling empty air. "Perhaps they'll be able to remove Mr Stormer and Mr Waldheimer from the floor before the action starts again." Leo and Gus took the opportunity to see to the unconscious Unifieds. They levitated the two downed wizards and escorted them to the safety of the exam area to wake them up. They would administer a dram of _Pepper-up_ added to a cup of pumpkin juice Fiona prepared while they worked. The odd concoction didn't taste very nice, but it did the job gradually, allowing the patient to orient faster and with minimal headache.

"It appears the conference on the floor has broken up," Lee reported into the wireless. "And what's this? Mr Gumboil and Mr Wimple are leaving the floor and it looks like quite an argument, too! Let's tune to the arena floor so we can find out what Chief Judge Filius Flitwick has to say."

Lee ceased his commentary as Flitwick cast the Sonorus charm on his voice. "The Unified team has been disqualified for the use of an unregistered and uncertified spell, as determined by International Duelling Congress regulations! Magical Maintenance wins the match by default!"

The crowd, stunned at first, erupted into cheers and applause. The Crew, while thrilled to have placed in the tournament, felt it was a rather empty victory. They'd much rather have won the match by attrition through skill and teamwork, rather than a stupid error in judgement on the part of the opponent.

"There you have it, folks! Jim Anderson's Crew has won the bronze in team competition," Lee's voice called over the crowd and the wireless. "It was an excellent match, and the Crew had it well in hand. Too bad it had to end this way. But still, we must congratulate them for a clean, well-fought match!"

As The Crew filed off the floor, smiling and waving to the crowd, Jim held back to inspect the damage to his parquet floor left by Pete's Bombarda. He sighed and drew his wand. He really hated to fix things with magic when he could avoid it, but there simply wasn't time to repair it by hand before the final match. "_Reparo_," he muttered sadly, and the broken pieces of the inlay rose into the air, arranged themselves and settled back into place. He then flicked his wand again and cast another spell over the repair. "_Eximius gluten_." A stream of clear semi-viscous goo poured from the end of his wand and spread itself over the loose parquet, sinking into the crevices, and curing instantly.

With another sigh, Jim pocketed his wand and left the arena floor amid cheers and whistles for a job well done. Harry met him in the corridor outside the competitors' hospitality room and offered his hand. "Great job, mate. You had them dead to rights."

"Thanks, Harry," Jim said, still a bit deflated. "I just wish we could've finished the job ourselves."

"Yeah, rotten luck, that," Harry agreed. "But hey—there's always next time. You've got a whole year to train and work your strategies, and you know you're welcome to watch any of our training sessions whenever you like."

"I might just do that," Jim smiled, shaking Harry's hand. "Good luck out there. Weasley's lot's pretty good."

"I taught them everything they know," Harry grinned. "Well, almost everything, anyway. Take care, Jim."

"Cheers, mate," the carpenter replied, and jogged off to catch up with his team for a round of Butterbeer in celebration.

Frank Stiles clenched his fists in anger. That idiot, Wimple, and his stupid pink spell cost Alastor a medal, even if it was just the bronze. It was bad enough that the boss' team failed to make the final, because he'd so wanted to put Weasley in his place. But that would have meant beating Potter's team at some point, and even Frank doubted the likelihood of that ever happening. _Damn! Damn! Damn!_

"Woss wrong," the wizard beside him asked. "Lose a wager, didja?"

"What? Oh yeah," Frank said, schooling his features. "Twenty Galleons."

The growling wizard whistled. "Twen'y Galleons? Thass qui' a bit o' gold. Betcher missus won't be thankin' ya fer that."

Frank wanted to tell the fool that he didn't give a damn what his missus thanked him for or didn't, but he didn't want to cause a scene. "She won't, but I've got something she _will_ thank me for." He really hated to talk about Annie that way, especially with a stranger, but blokes will be blokes, after all.

The other man chuckled as a glint appeared in his dark eyes. "Good on ya, then," he said, returning to his program.

Even though Frank Stiles would much rather his boss' team had made the final, he had to admit this head-to-head between Weasley's and Potter's Auror squads was sure to be entertaining, if not messy. That lot was nothing to fool around with, as they'd proven against Mafalda Prewett and her band of moronic arsewipes, and then again at that bollixed rally in Antrim. _Oh yes, this is going to be very interesting_.

Frank's attention turned back to the present as the arena announcer's voice filled the air. "Ladies and gentlewizards," he began, "And all you others, too." A wave of chuckles passed through the crowd. "It's been a sensational tournament, hasn't it, folks?" The crowd responded with cheers and applause.

"Well then, get ready for the final event—a match that promises to thrill you, chill you, and have you on your feet. For the Alastor Moody's Cup and the gold, please welcome your favourites and mine, from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, THE AURORS!"

The crowd leapt to their feet and cheered wildly for the heroes that saved their world and kept them riveted for three weekends of competition, beating all comers to face off for all the Gobstones. Lee, a fan of all music, waved his wand. A guitar instrumental blared over the din.

The Muggleborn and Muggleraised in the stands instantly recognised it as a long-time stadium/arena favourite. After a few bars, the others caught on and joined in on the "heys," dancing and jumping around. The Aurors, caught up in the excitement, spurred them on, clapping their hands together over their heads and pumping the air on each "hey."

"What is that music," Erica asked Patricia. "It's really cool!"

"It's called _Rock and Roll Part 2_ or _The Hey! Song_," the Muggleborn second-year replied, slipping into lecture-mode. "It's by a rather foppish rocker called Gary Glitter. It was really popular when my parents were in school, and now sports venues all over the world play it over their public-address during stoppages in play and intermissions."

"What's public address," Emma asked, leaning on Joseph. She was still reeling from Joseph's assertion that he would marry her after he joined the Aurors.

"It's an electronic amplification system," Patricia explained. "Muggles can't simply point a wand at their throats a mutter a spell to be heard over large crowds, so they use technology instead. They invented public-address systems, using microphones, wires and loudspeakers to carry their voices over large expanses. It's all rather technical, really."

"Yeah, but in a fun sor' o' way," Joseph said. "Me ol' dad's a Muggleborn, so he knows about all kinds o' that stuff. And Pat's got the right of it, too. They played that song at a football match he took me to once."

"Football," Erica said thoughtfully. "Is that that Muggle game where a load of blokes kick a ball around and try to get it into a big net?"

"Thass right," Joseph confirmed. "Dead fun to watch. I even play it wif me cousins sometimes, but it ain't near as much fun as Quidditch!"

"Nothing's as much fun as Quidditch," Emma declared, looking adoringly at her boyfriend. "Well…almost nothing."

Joseph's face and ears turned scarlet as his friends burst into laughter at his expense. "Too right," he finally agreed, and joined in the merriment.

"Shh! Shh," Patricia hissed. "They're starting!"

"Led by Captain 'Red' Ron Weasley, please welcome once again: Bonesy, Irish, Limey, and the breaker of my heart, Lotus!" As their nicknames were called, Susan Bones, Seamus Finnegan, Terry Boot, and Cho Chang broke from the group at a jog and waved, turning to face each and every section.

The five of them gathered in a circle and placed one hand in a stack on top of Ron's. With a shout, they broke the formation, and removed their robes, revealing a uniform of black cargo fatigue pants, combat-style boots and blue tee-shirts.

"You can do this, Love," Hermione murmured, her cinnamon eyes fixed on her ginger god.

"And now, led by Captain Harry 'Chief' Potter, please welcome: LB, Tony, JD, and Jock!" As before, as their nicknames were called, Lavender Brown, Tony Goldstein, John Dawlish, and Andrew Thompson broke from the group and dropped their robes, also revealing the same black pants and boots, but with red tee-shirts instead of the blue.

Harry and Ron, also having removed their robes, had agreed to hold back and allow the others to shine and soak up the love of their fans.

"Give 'em the divvil, Potterr," Minerva muttered in response to Hermione. Whenever the elderly headmistress' blood was up, her Scottish brogue came to the fore. Many a Hogwarts student and alumnus understood that when Professor McGonagall rolled her 'Rs' and changed "no" to "nae" or "not" to "no'," she was on about something and trouble was sure to follow.

In the stands, Molly held a handkerchief to her face as tears of pride slid down her cheeks. Although she'd drawn for which team she would support, she couldn't help but remain torn between the two. She loved all of her Aurors, especially her sons—natural and adopted to her heart.

"It's got to be Ronnie's team," she declared, wiping away her tears.

"Of course it does," Arthur agreed, having drawn his youngest red-haired son's team.

"I continue to stand by my husband, thanks," Ginny huffed. "And Mum, you drew Harry, so you have to support his team."

"Of course, dear," Molly soothed. "How silly of me. Harry will win."

"Too right, he will," Ginny giggled.

"I think Ron's going to take it. Harry's by far the best individual fighter, but Ron is the better tactician," Jayce said analytically. "I also think Ron's team is more powerful with Finnegan and Chang."

Taya smiled softly at Jayce as he expounded on the virtues of each team. She hadn't seen him this happy since Green Bay won Super Bowl XXXI. He loved his work back home, but this trip to England to liaise with the British Aurors had done wonders for his energy and overall morale.

The two captains approached Chief Judge Flitwick who stood on a conjured stool so he could look into their faces. "You two know the rules, so I don't have to remind you two to behave yourselves."

Both of them nodded and chuckled. "You're mine, Weasley. You're getting all I've got," Harry warned his best mate.

"Don't count on it, Potter. I know what you've got and what you can do with it," Ron replied, smirking. "But I've got some of my own. Brace yourself."

"May the best team win," Flitwick interjected, putting a stop to their trash-talk.

"It will," Ron said confidently.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "So let's give them a great show." The two top Aurors hugged like brothers, while their team mates _awwwed _along with the audience at their display of affection.

"Shut up, you tossers," Ron snapped. "You're just jealous because Harry loves me best."

Lavender giggled and nudged Harry's arm. "I'll bet Ginny'd have plenty to say about that."

"All right, already," Flitwick chuckled. "Enough of this nonsense. Take your positions or I'll disqualify the lot of you and award the trophy and the gold to The Crew."

"Yes sir," Harry said, cowed, but still smirking. "Sorry." Harry and Ron gathered their teams on opposite ends of the floor to await the Chief Judge's command. "Are you ready," Harry barked at his team.

"Ready, Chief," they snapped in reply.

Harry knew Ron had the stronger team, and that they almost always beat his in training exercises. Keeping all of that in mind, Harry, after a long talk with Ginny, prepared a few surprises for his unsuspecting brother-in-law.

The two teams took their initial positions and locked their eyes on one another, "Begin," Flitwick barked—or yapped—and all the pageantry and folderol of the tournament festivities faded into a distant background.

Ron eyed Harry and his team. He decided he wouldn't do anything hasty, because that could prove disastrous. If he kept calm, Ron had an excellent chance to beat Harry's team and win the trophy.

Harry, on the other hand, cast a Lumos Solem the moment Flitwick gave the command, blinding Ron's team with the bright light. With their vision impaired, Ron's team cast shield charms to protect them while the spots before their eyes dissipated. Meanwhile, Harry's team Disillusioned themselves, vanishing from sight.

"In a brilliant stroke of genius, Potter half-blinded Weasley's team so they could Disillusion and catch them flat-footed," Lee told the world on the WWN. "Weasley's looking for the tell-tale ripple that should give away their position when they move."

Ron tried to locate the slight disturbances that revealed a Disillusioned person, but it seemed as though Harry's team were in a state of perpetual motion, because their entire half of the arena was one great ripple. But there was still no attack and that worried him.

"With the noise inside the arena, there's no way Weasley can hear footsteps to make some determination as to where Potter's people are," Lee continued. "He looks worried, but determined."

"Be prepared for anything, but stay loose," Ron told his team. "We'll wait them out for now, as I don't want us to do anything hasty. They've got to make a move sometime."

From the disturbance that was the five team members in Harry's team, several good-sized rocks appeared and flew against Ron's team's position. "_Reducto_," they cried as one, blasting the rocks to gravel.

The moment they lowered their shields, Harry's team attacked, moving carefully to surround Ron's team. Tapping themselves on the head with their wands, they reappeared and five individual duels blazed into action. Ron recognised the element of surprise on Harry's side, which gave him the tactical advantage. Caught in a circle, Ron's team was all but trapped and would fall to cross fire if he didn't come up with something fast.

"_Accio_, cloak" Ron called, pointing his wand at a random spectator. He dropped the cloak on Jock, who had him at bay, and ran from the circle.

With Ron having broken from the confinement of the circular firing range, Harry's team had to retreat or risk attack from two directions. The teams quickly scrambled to gather opposite each other. Ron was impressed with Harry's tactics, and very glad to still have all four of his team members still alive in the match.

"In a daring move, Red Ron broke loose and saved his team from Potter's trap," Lee said excitedly while the crowds screamed their approval. "Absolutely brilliant!"

Ron decided to try his Gatling gun manoeuvre against Harry. Even though Ron had revealed it in the semi-final, it was doubtful Harry could work out a defence to counter it. "Circle up and charge!" As before, the four of them formed up and took the initiative.

"Weasley's using the devastating tactics we saw in the semi-final against the Unifieds. Will Potter's team be able to find a way around it," Lee asked rhetorically.

"Tight formation, gang," Harry barked, and his team moved immediately to gather around him just as the rapid Gatling spell fire exploded from the wands of Ron's team mates. "LB! Tony! Rotating shields," Harry ordered. The two cast their shields in sequential rotation with exact precision.

"JD! Jock! Stunners on my command and where I aim," Harry ordered again. Harry, Dawlish and Thompson fired simultaneous stunners that impacted at the exact same point. No matter how strong the opposing shield might have been, it wasn't strong enough to repel the tremendous power of the triple stunner and Ron halted their attack.

By now, both teams had re-grouped and took defensive stances. There was a temporary halt in the exchange of fire as the two captains considered their next moves. Ron and Harry glared at one another, crouched and ready to pounce at the slightest twitch. The crowd held its collective breath as the two most-talented and most-feared Aurors in Britain stared one another down. No one dared so much as sneeze for fear of finding themselves hexed…or worse.

_Somebody's been practising, hey Harry?_ It was more than obvious to Ron that Harry had done some hard planning for this duel, but there was one tactic he might very well have overlooked. Sacrifice. Since all Auror practises centred on field battle using deadly curses, self-sacrifice or the sacrifice of a comrade-in-arms was never an option. But if Ron set a trap by sacrificing one on his team, Harry might fall for it and that's when Ron would strike hard and fast. He sent a mental image to Seamus through Legilimency and then refocused on Harry.

The audience murmured amongst themselves, discussing what they thought might happen next, when Lee's voice broke over them once again. "Weasley appears to be spearheading a full-frontal attack on Potter! Thor's thunderbolts, folks! This is the true clash of Titans!" The two top Aurors engaged one another in fierce battle, with the four others on either side picking an opponent and cutting loose.

Several things happened very fast; in fact they happened so fast, the spectators' heads swam. Ron knew Harry would defeat him because he always did…and that what he'd told Seamus to wait for. As soon as Harry fired four powerful spells in rapid succession to take Ron down, Seamus signalled Susan to cover him. The moment Ron dropped to Harry's stunners, Seamus' own stunners slammed into Harry, while Susan's choice of an offensive defence knocked Thompson out as well.

"Blimey," Lee shouted into the wireless. "Weasley is knocked out by Potter, but at the same time, Potter is knocked out by Finnegan! And—oh yes! Jock Thompson is down, too! Spectacular work by Weasley's team!"

Hermione squealed and marked two points to her husband's team. While she was less than thrilled that he'd fallen, she recognised what he'd done. In first year, she, Ron, and Harry had gone down a trapdoor to find and rescue the Philosopher's Stone to keep it away from Voldemort.

One of the obstacles they had to pass was Minerva McGonagall's giant chess set. Ron, who was a chess master, assigned her a bishop's position and Harry that of a rook. Mounting up as a knight on the black side, Ron played them across the board until it became evident that the only way to win the game was to sacrifice himself, allowing Harry to checkmate the white king and advance.

Minerva marked her sheet with pursed lips. Her favourite young lion had fallen and she didn't like it one bit. She could only hope that his team mates wouldn't let him…or her…down.

The audience gasped in horror as their two favourite Aurors fell. Seamus took immediate command and pushed the advantage. Harry's team stood without a captain for a few moments before Dawlish stepped up, but not without losing Tony in the merciless onslaught Seamus had launched.

"LB, back to back," Dawlish commanded, as they faced the other four alone. Brown and Dawlish fought furiously and as one, focused on combining their defensive capabilities. In a daring act, Dawlish fired a stunner at Terry and immediately grabbed Lavender out of harm's way. He'd had to leave a gap in their shields for the counter-attack, which meant leaving her a sitting duck. Terry took the spell in the face and fell unconscious to the floor. Seamus saw him fall and decided to finish the match for good and all.

"Chang! Bonesy! As one," he barked, his face red and his gaze fixed. Using JD's and LB's lack of balance against them, he took a leaf from Harry's book and fired a triple stunner, following up instantly with another. Lavender raised her shield in plenty of time, but the force of Seamus' spell broke through and slammed into her shoulder. Darkness overwhelmed her and she sank to the floor. Dawlish saw the second volley come and had only raised his wand when he was sent barrelling across the entire arena, landing in a heap, his wand still clutched in his right hand.

No one moved. Seamus, Cho and Susan held their position behind one of Susan's shields. Harry's team were spread out over the arena floor. One by one, Flitwick quickly examined them and raised his arms. "Auror Weasley's team wins!"

At this the three remaining Aurors relaxed and the crowd cheered. Fiona, Gus and Leo raced over from their booth, small duffel bags full of supplies slung over their shoulders.

"Check Dawlish first," Seamus said with the authority he still held over the situation. "The poor sod took three stunners without a shield."

Leo nodded and jogged to the Senior Auror. Upon examination, the Chief Healer determined that he wasn't seriously injured, but he would be sore for a couple of days.

Fiona knelt between to Harry and Ron, who'd fallen almost on top of one another. Except for a couple of bruises and very likely some wounded pride, they'd be fine. Shaking her head and smiling privately, she drew her wand, first aiming it at her cousin. "Ennervate," she giggled. She watched closely as Ron's eyelids fluttered. She breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he opened his sapphire blue eyes and looked up at her.

"Did we win," he asked groggily.

"You're not hurt, thank you for asking," Fiona said with an annoyed look. "And yes, you won."

Ron shakily raised himself into a sitting position. He cast his eyes around, looking for Seamus, who he spied, standing over Terry while Gus checked him over.

"Oi! Great work Irish," Ron told him.

Fiona turned to Harry to wake him up. "Ennervate," she muttered again, but Harry didn't move right away. A shot of fear coursed through her body and lodged in her heart. "Ennervate," she snapped. "Damn you, Harry, wake the hell up! Ennervate!"

Tears began to sting her eyes. She couldn't help but wonder what the hell Seamus did to him and was about to jump to her feet and attack him. She wiped her eyes and made to stand when a smart-alecky voice interrupted.

"Can't a bloke have a kip without a load of women waving wands at him?"

"Harry," she squealed. "You—I—dontchoo ever do anything like that ta me agin, you hear me?"

Harry immediately felt bad for scaring her. "Onie, I'm sorry. I was just—"

"You were _just_. _You were just_. Don't you ever _just _me like that again," she said, wiping a couple of rogue tears away. "I thought I was gonna hafta kill my boyfriend for puttin' you in a coma!"

"Onie, we have a rule in the Auror Office, and I think you know it: We never do anything to deliberate hurt one another," Harry reminded her.

"That's neither here nor there, you skunk," she said, breaking into a tearful smile. "Ya scared me outta my wits!"

"Okay, okay. I won't tease you like that again," Harry promised. "Now, do you think you could give a tired warrior a hand up?"

"That's my job," she replied, rising to her feet with her hand extended for him to take.

"Thanks. Is everyone all right? Who won," he asked, guessing the answer.

"Cousin Ronnie's bunch," Fiona said, helping him to steady himself so he could go and congratulate his mate.

"Ron! Way to go, mate," Harry called, wrapping the redhead in a man-hug. "That was some move! I might've known you'd do the knight-thing!"

"Well, you had me on the run," Ron admitted. "I had to do something before you annihilated us!"

The other eight Aurors joined together around their captains, shaking hands, hugging, and acknowledging the adoration of their public. They gathered around Ron and Harry in a massive group-hug as a new refrain rose above the cheers, applause, and flashbulbs.

_We are the champions, my friend,_

_And we'll keep on fighting 'til the end!_

_We are the champions, we are the champions—_

_No time for losers for we are the champions_

_Of the world!_

The two teams of Aurors broke from their group hugs and began to make their way to the competitors' hospitality room, still smiling and waving. When they arrived, they found the Weasley-Potter-Prewett assemblage, less Fiona and Hermione gathered in the room waiting for them.

Harry and his team entered first, deigning to provide a sort of entrance for the victors. He barely stepped inside the door, when a red missile flung herself at him and wrapped her legs around his waist. "You were brilliant, Love!"

"Was I? I was one of the first down!"

"Yeah, but you took Ron down first," she giggled. "That was pretty brilliant."

"If you say so," he grinned and gave her a solid kiss. "But speaking of your brother…" Harry released Ginny's from his embrace an allowed her slide down to her feet. "All right, you barmy lot! Please join me in a round of applause for the Alastor Moody's Cup champions!"

Outside in the corridor, Ron waited for Harry's signal for their grand entrance. He began to wonder what was going on in the room because Harry should have said something by now. While he and his team waited, he felt something very warm and very soft against his side, and then shivered as hot breath caressed his neck. "Hi, hero."

'_Mione_. "Hey, beautiful," he whispered back and crushed his lips to hers. Seamus, Cho, Terry, and Susan all wolf-whistled and hooted at them.

Hermione melted into his embrace and moaned under his kiss. He was sweaty and sticky, but she could have cared less at that moment. She found it rather arousing and had all she could do to keep from tearing his shirt off and attacking his chest. When he finally released her, she could hardly breathe and her knees felt like water.

All of a sudden, the door to the competitors' room swung open, revealing their family and friends, cheering and applauding. Ron swept Hermione up in his strong arms and carried her inside, with the rest of the team following behind.

"What's wrong with Hermione, mate," Harry asked, concerned for his pale and shaking sister.

"Um…just a little excited is all," Ron replied, placing a soft kiss on her forehead and then looked down at his friend and grinned. "Okay…a lot excited."

"Oh! Oh dear. Hermione, are you all right," Molly fussed, touching her forehead and face. "You're so pale!"

"M'all right, Molly," Hermione said weakly. "Just a bit wound up. I…I'll be okay in a minute." She looked lovingly into her husband's grinning face and leaned her head into his shoulder.

"Ronnie, set her down on this sofa," Molly directed, conjuring a glass of cold water. "Here, now. Drink this. You'll feel better."

Hermione knew better than to fight her mother-in-law once she launched into nursing mode. Besides, she secretly enjoyed the babying sometimes. "Thank you," she said, taking a sip of the water. "Ohhh, that's wonderful."

"Of course it is," Molly beamed. "Now where is that—oh there you are!" Molly took her son into a bone-crushing hug. Never mind that the woman barely reached the base of her _little Ronnie's_ sternum and her arms barely made it around his ribcage.

Ron hugged his mother and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "Did you have a good time, Mum?"

"Of course I did! My Auror sons did us all proud today, especially you," she said, her voice quivering. "I was never as proud of any of my children as I was of you through this whole tournament. Today was just the icing on a very sweet cake."

"Thanks, Mum," Ron choked, tears welling in his sapphire eyes. "That—thanks."

Molly released her son from her grasp, allowing him to bask in his victory. There was quite a cacophony of laughter and voices and handshakes and hugs as the champions and their families moved around a severely crowded room. Arthur had even quietly cast an enlarging spell to make a little more space.

The door swung open again, admitting Minister Shacklebolt and Chief Warlock Amelia Bones. "Congratulations, Aurors," Kingsley's voice boomed over the din. "Well done! Well done!"

"Indeed," Amelia agreed. "You've done the Auror Office proud. All of you!" She was half-tempted to say something to the effect that they would have all been useful during the war, but she knew very well that all of them _had _been useful during the war, just not as Aurors. These were the best of the DA and if the former Head of the DMLE had had any doubts about them, those doubts were eradicated during the tournament, especially today.

"Chief Potter, Lieutenant Finnegan, Captain Weasley, Aurors—congratulations," Kingsley boomed once again. "I wanted to take this moment also to let you know that beginning next term, the first official Auror training classes will begin at Hogwarts. You people were the guinea pigs and you've more than proven that we can turn out top-notch Aurors through this program!"

The Auror Corps, including Smith, Ross, Thompson, and Dawlish roared their approval. DMLE Head Arthur Weasley's tears fell unabashedly down his cheeks. _By Merlin's tarnished badge, we've done it!_

"Arthur, I expect to meet with you and Minerva at her earliest convenience," Kingsley said. "See you at the Awards Ceremony."

With a chorus of _thank-yous_ and _yessirs_, Kingsley and Amelia left the celebrators to their celebrations. While they all chatted, the door opened again and a parade of what appeared to be waiters dressed in white shirts, black bow-ties, and black trousers entered the room laden with trays of finger foods. "Dim Sum! Dim Sum," Sam Chang's voice called. "Food for the champions from Sam Chang!"

"Shūshu, Zhè shì zěnme yī huí shì," Cho gasped.

"Xiànzài, Chang-Cho," Sam replied in the traditional way, grinning madly. "Wǒ de zhínǚ zài juédòu yíngdé bǐsài jīnpái, wǒ dǎsuàn yǐ jiǎnglì tā."

Cho bowed respectfully to her favourite uncle and then embraced him. "Xièxiè nín, shūshu róngxìng."

"Nín hé nín de péngyǒu yǐjīng huòdé zhège tèbié de shànshí. Xiǎngyǒu liánghǎo jiànkāng de," Sam said, kissing her forehead "Enjoy! Enjoy!" He then scurried out the door to return to his concession, where he had a crew already tearing down, cleaning, and packing away equipment.

"Cho, what was all that," Susan asked, feasting her eyes on the numerous dumplings and hors d'ouvres.

"Oh, well…sorry about that," the Asian Auror replied. "Um…I asked him why he brought all of this and he said that his niece had just won a gold medal in a duelling tournament and that he intended to reward me. And then I thanked him and he said that my friends and I have earned this special meal and that we are to enjoy it in good health."

"Then what are we waiting for," Susan giggled. "We need to fill our plates before Red Ron gets over here!" The two witches began a serving line, followed by everyone else in the room. Ron was more interested in making sure Hermione was all right than filling his face. He was still on a high from the victory and just wanted to share a few special moments with his wife.

In truth, there was really nothing to worry about in the order of food. Sam Chang was more than aware of his favourite customer's appetite and made sure there would be enough to satisfy him and feed the rest of the guests as well.

"What smells so dad-gum good in here," a familiar voice called from the door.

"Onie," Ginny cried and rushed to her cousin's side. "Hey, Leo! Gus, how's it going? Come on in! Sam Chang brought a celebratory nosh for the champions and their guests. It's Dim Sum and it's delicious!" She led the three Healers to the serving line, introducing them to the few in the room who didn't know them along the way.

"Hot damn, this stuff is good," Jayce said to Taya. "Srirachi® sauce, too! Oh yeah, baby!"

"Oh, so you're into hot stuff," Ron asked with a raised eyebrow and a predatory smile.

"Dude," Jayce said. "Spend enough time in the Middle East and northern Africa, and you'll get into it. I'm also crazy about Tex-Mex and Sonoran food. Excellent stuff!"

"He'd put chipotle sauce on chocolate ice cream," Taya laughed. "Just about everything he eats clears my sinuses."

"Yeah, babe," Jayce said, nudging her. "That's called _mole_."

"Oh it is not! Mole is made with—" Taya began to argue.

"Chiles and chocolate," Jayce finished for her. "Close enough."

"What's chipotle," Ron asked. "It is spicy?"

"Chipotle peppers are really just roasted jalapeños," Jayce replied. "Yeah, they have a little bite, but the best part is the smoky flavour from the charred skins. Makes great salsa."

Rod nodded, his mouth watering. "Ever had jerk?"

"I've heard of it," Jayce admitted. "But I've never had it."

"We'll have to see if we can find a Jamaican restaurant around here somewhere," Ron said. "My wife and I honeymooned in Barbados and I couldn't get enough of the stuff!"

"You might want to try _The xPerience_," Angelina suggested. "Sorry. I overheard you discussing jerk. My father's Jamaican and he loves the food there. He likes to go on Saturday night because of _da bes' boo-fay on de plah-net, mon_." Her gross impression of the deep, rich voice of Decatur Johnson caused those in on the conversation to laugh.

"Really? Here in London," Ron asked, popping a Srirachi-dipped dumpling into his mouth.

"Yeah. It's in Uxbridge Road at Two Halls Terrace," she replied. "I've been trying to get George in there, but…"

"Chicken shit," Jayce chuckled.

"Right," she giggled. "He can be that when it comes to spicy food…and Rasta."

"Rasta," Ron asked. "Who or what is rasta?"

"Rasta is what I call my father sometimes," Angelina explained. "His name's really Decatur and he's not really a Rastafarian."

"What's a…"

"Rastafarianism is a sort of quasi-religious sect in Jamaica, but Rasta doesn't subscribe to it. His family are devoutly Anglican," she said. "Their music is pretty good. Ever heard of a bloke by the name of Bob Marley?"

"Oh yeah, who hasn't," Jayce replied. "He's like the father of Reggae."

"That's the one," Angelina replied. "Rasta loves his music. He plays all day on 6th February and 11th May every year."

"May eleventh? That's our birthday," Taya said. "Why May eleventh?"

"Anniversary of Bob Marley's death," Jayce replied. "6th February was his birthday. But we'll remember May eleventh as your birthday and play southern-rock instead."

Two hours later, the food cases of Butterbeer were a mere memory. Molly insisted upon helping with the clearing away, declaring that Sam's staff had worked hard enough for one day and that she didn't mind a bit. Hermione felt much better once Ron and Harry managed to push some food into her. She hadn't eaten much lunch and the excitement of the day plus the adrenaline rush of the team final simply overwhelmed her.

"All right everyone," Arthur called. "It's half-six and the Awards Ceremony and Closing Exercises are scheduled to begin at seven. Those of us who won't be on the arena floor or on the champions' podium need to file out of here and return to our seats."

"I love you, Harry," Ginny said, snuggling into his arms. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Gin," Harry replied, nuzzling her hair. "See you in a bit?"

"I'll be waiting." With that, she gave him a sizzling kiss and left the room with her family.

"You sure you're all right, Love," Ron asked, holding her close.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "The food did me a lot of good. I should have eaten more at lunch."

"If you start feeling bad again, let Onie know, okay?"

"Ronald, I'm fine, okay. I've eaten and the adrenaline's worn off," she giggled. "I'll see you after the Closing Ceremonies." She rose up on her tiptoes and gave him a sweet kiss. "I'm so proud of you." She left him with the others and hurried off to join the family.

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Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt and Department of Magical Law Enforcement Head Arthur Weasley marched into the arena followed by the final quartets in the individual and team competitions. Even though Draco Malfoy or Gumboil's Unified Ministry team in fourth place would not receive a medal, they were still to be acknowledged for reaching the final round.

Harry, Seamus, Ron and Draco—the individual final four—followed directly behind Minister Shacklebolt, who was then followed by Ron's winning team, Harry's team, Anderson's bronze team from Magical Maintenance, and Gumboil's Unified team in fourth place, all proudly escorted by the Hogwarts pages. Chief Referee Filius Flitwick marched in last, levitating the two metre-tall trophies.

The Gawain Robards' and Alastor Moody's Cups were examples of excellent magical metal craftsmanship, produced by a blacksmith in a side street off Diagon Alley. It had been debated as to whether Goblin-made trophies and medals would've been preferred, but since the Goblins tended to be a bit possessive of anything they forged or crafted, it had been decided in the end to order the trophies and medals from a magical blacksmith.

Hermione had lectured Harry and Ron, who after all would receive the cups, about the artistry used to create them. "_Magical blacksmithing is really different from Muggle," Hermione told them, without having been asked. "There is of course the actual work with the metal, but there the similarities end. Where a Muggle blacksmith depends on his skill to form the metal with hammer and anvil, and then skill at engraving, a magical blacksmith uses rune stones. It's really quite amazing that a properly crafted rune, imbued with the appropriate magic—closely related to transfiguration—can take the shape of a cup, or any other sort of metal work desired."_

"_Please, 'Mione, we understand it's brilliant craftsmanship, but just as unnecessary it is for me to know how to properly butcher a cow in order to be able to eat it, I don't need to know how to craft a trophy in order to receive it," Ron moaned._

"_Oh you just can't seem to appreciate the beauty of fine craftsmanship," Hermione huffed._

"_I appreciate it," Ron argued. "I just don't want to engage in it."_

"_Prat."_

"_Yes, but I'm your prat," Ron chuckled._

At this moment, Ron's thoughts encompassed a lot of things, but Ancient Runes wasn't one of them. He grinned all over as he listened to the crowd cheer for him as well as Harry. For the general public, Harry lived up to their expectations and won the individual tournament, displaying amazing magic and physical agility they were not used to seeing on a regular basis, not even in Quidditch. _Sorry, mate. Looks like you're going to have to live with your new title. You're hailed as the New Dumbledore whether you like it or not._

But Ron's amazing leadership and tactical skill had never been a part of public knowledge before the team tournament. He'd led his team from victory to victory, and in a very tight final, he'd beaten Harry and his team. _And __I'll have to live with my new title, Red Ron. Fame can be such a pain in the arse._

_The Daily Prophet_ and attending international Wizarding papers reported Assistant Head Auror Ronald Weasley as a brilliant tactician, bringing the art of Wizarding battle into a whole new dimension. Never mind that Harry's selfless nature credited the Aurors' skillful teamwork to Ron had initially put a spotlight on him, but as the tournament progressed, it had been obvious to anyone witnessing the team duels that Harry's praise of his partner and second-in-command weren't empty words. And by defeating Harry's team in the final, Ron had proven himself the master strategist and team leader.

In the stands, Ginny and Hermione beamed with pride for their respective husbands. Kingsley and Arthur took their places on the re-constructed duelling platform on either side of an ornate plinth that held all the medals and the two magnificent trophies. Each recipient would receive a medal corresponding to their place in the standings, while the trophies would remain on display in a brand-new case in the Ministry Atrium. A corresponding plaque engraved with the names and departments of the winners would accompany the trophies commemorating the champions forever.

The four individual champions came to stand before the crowd in front of the plinth, while the teams assembled themselves on either side of the Minister and DMLE Head. Casting the Sonorus charm, Kingsley he put his wand to his neck. "It is with great pride I stand here along with Head of Magical Law Enforcement Arthur Weasley to present the champions with their well-deserved medals. This tournament started out as an idea to improve team spirit among the employees of the British Ministry of Magic and to boost morale among the departments. I think it—"

Kingsley's speech was interrupted by a volley of red and purple jets of light, apparently aimed at the four individual champions. Ron's, Seamus' and Harry's Auror-honed reflexes responded immediately, casting a shield each, ready to dodge any spell from any direction. Next to them, Draco hesitated for a moment and Ron noticed. Without a second though, he threw himself at Draco in an attempt to knock him out of harm's way. But a purple jet and a red one, apparently a stunner, slammed into Draco who fell limp to the floor, unconscious. The Aurors were the only people moving, immediately shifting into full-battle mode.

Harry opened the bond fully. "_Ginny, tell Hermione to cast every ward she knows, Ministry-authorized and her own improved ones. Anti-apparition and Anti-portkey to begin with."_

"_I'm on it."_

Ron quickly assessed the situation and barked his own orders. "Irish! Lotus! Protect Royal and Bishop! Aurors, team up! Troopers, be prepared to cast shields and find cover in case there's another volley." _Damn! Damn! Damn!_

Harry caught up with him a few moments later. "Hermione's cast a few wards. Keep your eyes open. The volley came from the crowd. My guess is that whoever did this will try to use a Portkey, and when that fails, he'll try to leave the stands and head for the Floo. "Bonesy! Boot! Tony! Off to the Floo! NOW!"

Harry declared the arena and Atrium a collective crime scene in which possibility for another attack was more than a reality. He looked down at Draco, who lay motionless on the floor. As Head Auror, this was a situation in which he would take ultimate charge, with his orders superseding even those of the Minister himself. "JD, LB, cover the Healers so they can look after Mr Malfoy."

In the midst of the pandaemonium, he made to address whoever had staged the attack and cast the Sonorus on himself so he could be heard. "SILENCE," he boomed. The screaming and shouting stopped almost immediately. "I am Head Auror Harry Potter and I'm speaking to the individual or individuals who have staged this cowardly attack. This arena is warded and all exists are covered. You cannot Apparate, you cannot Portkey, and the Floo in the Atrium is under Auror guard. Nobody leaves or enters. Surrender now, because we will find you, even if we have to check every wand in this building!"

Harry didn't think the perpetrator would surrender, but the authority carried in his voice sent a shudder through the crowd. He actually hoped to spook the attacker or attackers enough to cause them to make a rash move and thereby reveal themselves.

On the arena floor, Alastor Gumboil tried not to smile at the sight of the Pureblood Malfoy prick, who'd taken two hits. Covered by Dawlish and Lavender, Fiona and Leo began their triage and initial treatment. Gumboil's initial excitement was dampened by the immediate response of the Aurors. He hadn't expected them to respond this quickly when taken by complete surprise. However, he and his accomplices all had solid alibis, and if the thugs-for-Galleons he'd hired were caught, they wouldn't be able to identify him as the organizer of the attack. Gumboil had discreetly summoned a few hairs off the coat of an unsuspecting Muggle at a bus stop and then Polyjuiced himself before he set off for Knockturn Alley to hire his hit-man.

The Aurors had focused all of their attention on the stands, scanning the crowd for the least hint of movement. Suddenly, Cho spotted someone seemingly trying to try to sneak out. "Over there on the right. Do you see him," she whispered.

"Yeah, I see 'im. On three, then," Seamus replied. Cho nodded and signalled to the others. "One…two…three!" A volley of stunners slammed into this person dropping him in his tracks.

"Could there be more of them," Harry asked Ron.

"I only saw one line of fire when Malfoy was hit, but I'd guess there's more than one involved in this little prank."

Harry and Ron made their way towards the body and by the time they reached it, ten spectators had their wands trained on stunned wizard.

"He's knocked out," one of them told the two Aurors.

"Amazing aim you've got. No one but 'im was hit," another said.

"'E's barely more'n a boy," another man said.

Harry quickly found the suspect's wand. "_Priori Incantatem_," he muttered. Shadows of the past ten spells wafted from the tip of the wand. Harry and the witnesses easily verified that the spells fired at Draco had indeed been cast from this wand. He turned to Ron with a cock-eyed grin. "We've got our man."

"_Locomotor corpus_," Ron muttered, levitating the man and moving him to the centre of the arena. Harry reported to Arthur and Kingsley.

"So, we have the man…or boy. Am I right in assuming there are likely more of them," Kingsley asked.

"Yes. There was no way this man could have masterminded something like this," Harry concluded. "From the look of him, he hasn't had a meal in a while either."

"But since this bloke cast all the spells in the attack, no one else has committed a crime," Arthur said.

"Directly, no, Dad, but I've got a sneaking suspicion he's a hired wand," Harry said. "But I see no reason to detain anyone under wards any longer, and I suggest we postpone the Awards Ceremony until we've got this mess sorted out."

"I concur," Kingsley said. "We have Mr Malfoy to think about before anything else."

Harry faced the crowds and again cast the Sonorus. "We have apprehended the attacker." The crowd cheered and applauded, but Harry held his hands up to still them. "However, the ceremony is postponed until further notice."

The crowd voiced its disappointment, but no one raised any argument. Someone had been severely injured and they all silently agreed that it wouldn't be right to continue at that moment.

"The wards will be lifted momentarily and you will all be free to go. Anyone who's seen anything suspicious is asked to report this to Magical Law Enforcement. Please exit the Ministry building safely and in an orderly manner. Thank you," his voice boomed through the arena.

"_Ginny, tell Hermione to drop her brilliant wards."_

"_All right. And Harry, she thinks Draco caught that damnable curse Dolohov nailed her with. She suggests taking him to Hogwarts, since Madame Pomfrey knows how to deal with it."_

"_Right._ _I'll check with Fiona and Leo."_

Harry and Ron approached the Healers who were administering potions and casting spells over Draco to stem the flow of blood and keep him warm. "How is he," Harry asked.

"I don't know what that guy hit 'im with other than that stunner, but it's nothin' healthy," Fiona said. "He's in a helluva lotta pain, that much I _can_ tell."

"Hermione took a similar curse a few years ago and Madame Pomfrey sorted that out. Maybe we should take him to Hogwarts," Ron suggested.

"If she knows what this is, by all means, let's do that," Leo agreed. He cast a stasis charm over his patient so he could safely transport him.

"I'll bring Professor McGonagall. As headmistress, she should be able to Apparate him straight to the hospital wing," Harry said. "And after that, I must find Mrs Malfoy and Miss Greengrass."

"Hurry up, Harry," Fiona urged him. "We gotta git 'im t'the hospital wing yesterday!"

"Minerva McGonagall. Point me," Harry muttered, his wand lying in his hand like the needle of a compass. His wand spun and pointed toward the end of the arena where the headmistress talked quietly with Professors Flitwick and Bones. "Excuse me, Minerva, but I need you to come with me. Malfoy's in bad shape. We need to take him to Poppy. It's that same curse that Dolohov—"

"Oh dear," she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "Lead the way, Auror Potter."

_Damn, I wish we could Apparate_. Harry took her hand and all but dragged the septuagenarian witch to Draco's side. Healers Wyatt and Pye levitated Draco to the Apparition area with Fiona running alongside, pushing BRPs and monitoring his vitals.

"Tell Miss Poppy we'll be along directly," Fiona said. "When I git my hands on that damn-fool—"

"First, do no harm," Gus reminded her.

Fiona blushed and then snarled something under her breath. "Just stuff it and hit the Floo, okay?"

Harry saw them safely through the Floo and then set off in search of Draco's mother, his fiancée, and her family to escort them to Hogwarts. All manner of thoughts, violent and guilt-ridden, swirled around in his troubled brain. He'd thought the tournament had been such a roaring success, but now…he wasn't so sure. He'd thought the war was over, but with Gumboil and his lot raising hell all over Great Britain and the Isles, he began to doubt that. _Was this…no, it couldn't be. Even that old sod isn't crazy enough… Oh, hell no! Bloody hell, no! Not on _my_ watch! Not on _my_ effing watch!_

"_Harry James Potter, you settle down this minute!" _The sweet, if not stern, voice of his wife passed into his mind through their bond. _"This is not your fault, do you read me, Auror?"_

"_Yes, ma'am. I read you, but Gin—I can't help but think…"_

"_That's your problem, Love. You think too much. This tournament was a success. This happened because of the choices of a few morons in our community who just couldn't stand to leave well enough alone. Now you stop this nonsense and come to the hospitality room. Mrs Malfoy and the Greengrasses are here and Astoria's a mess."_

"_Thanks, baby. How's everyone else holding up?"_

"_Everyone's fine. Mum produced a tin of her special tea and made a pot for Draco's family. You know her—tea for troubled hearts and heads."_

Harry smiled. Molly was famous for her special tea. She always served it when she thought someone needed it._ "Tell Mum thanks and that I'll be there in a few minutes to take Draco's family to Hogwarts. It's Dolohov's curse, Gin."_

"_Bloody hell."_

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Without a thought on Draco Malfoy, who at this very moment lay near death at Hogwarts under the astute care of Madame Pomfrey, Leo Wyatt, Gus Pye, and Fiona Prewett with Professor Slughorn standing by to assist with any potions required, Undersecretary Alastor Gumboil sauntered toward the Leaky Cauldron. He chose this particular pub because he expected it to be packed with customers, or at least those who might have been at the tournament.

As any agitator would, he wanted to listen to what people were talking about and hear their opinions. Would the chatter be mostly about the tournament itself, or would it be about the attack? Would any of them care that a former Death Eater had been severely cursed or would they be appalled that such a thing happened in a crowd of innocent bystanders, including many children? If he was honest, he really hadn't thought of that.

Gumboil entered the pub and quickly made his way to the bar. "Good evening, Tom," Gumboil greeted him with a false smile. "A pint of your finest bitter, please."

"In a moment, Mr Gumboil," Tom told him. "I'll be right with you."

Gumboil found a seat in the centre of the room. While he waited, he watched the faces and body language of the patrons. Years as a Hit-wizard honed his people-reading skills and sharpened his sense of hearing, enabling him to separate the verbal wheat from the proverbial chaff. He noted that the pub was just a little over half-full. Well, it was a Sunday evening after all, and people would have to think about rising bright and early the following morning to be at their daily grind. He cocked his ear and picked up bits and pieces of the many conversations taking place around him.

"... the price of the tickets to the Montrose Magpies has gone up with more than..."

"... the difference between a witch and a Muggle woman in distress?"

"... I'm telling you, the ruddy Goblin tried to tell me..."

"... not many people, so I wonder where my steak..."

"... and we're far better off with Shacklebolt than his bugger-all predecessors..."

"... the Leaky has the best ruddy pudding..."

"... serves that brat right if you ask me..."

_Ah! Paydirt!_ Gumboil stopped to tune into the last conversation, but was interrupted by Tom, who placed a pint in front of him.

"Your pint, sir," the barman said, wiping his hands on his apron. Hannah had insisted that he wear it to catch the spills that so often accompanied serving pints of bitter, ale, stout and porter.

Gumboil reached into his pocket and pulled out the Sickles to pay for his drink. He took his glass and moved to a table closer to the group of four, which consisted of three wizards and a witch he didn't know. It appeared they had become engaged in a discussion related to the attack on young Malfoy.

Once seated, Gumboil turned halfway away from the four to avoid potential detection of his eavesdropping. He took a sip and tuned in again.

"... and the war taught us just that—how backward our world is," one of the wizards said. "Blood purity, lack of equality..."

"We're in the third ruddy millennium and we've only just elected our first witch as Chief Warlock," the witch huffed.

"It's the ruddy Pureblood tradition and prejudice that's kept us back. In every Pureblood family, the lady of the house is a housewitch or ruddy social secretary, even in the decent ones like the Weasleys."

"That's true. It's just recently, after all them children came of age, she's writin' fer _Witch Weekly_, and she's damned good at it, says I. Me li'le wife's cookin' like a madwoman," the Cockney at the table declared, patting his slightly bulging belly. "Feeds me up right, thanks ta Molly Weasley!"

They all nodded in agreement. "But change is coming, and about time too. Look at the Potters, Longbottom—his wife works here while he teaches at Hogwarts. And that strappin' Red Ron, well, he's got himself a lovely little bride, doesn't he? She's said to be the brightest witch of her age, and she ain't no Pureblood," another wizard said, taking a hearty draught from his pint.

"But what of Malfoy? If he lives," the first wizard asked. "Will his fiancée keep working at the Ministry once they're married or will he shut her up in that mausoleum of a house and turn her into a bauble to display at smart parties?"

"Live? Bah! 'E should be stewin' in Azkaban, right next to 'is ruddy father," another wizard said. "A friend o' mine was found dead at Malfoy Manor after the war. It was a Death Eater base, it was. You-Know-Oo's said t've holed up there. Let the little prick rot for all I care."

"The attack on him only shows we're not the only ones who think he got away far too easily."

"Can't say I feel sorry for 'im..."

"And the irony is, from what I hear, he was laid low by a really nasty curse invented by another Death Eater."

"Ta poetic justice," the Cockney wizard cried, raising his glass.

"Hear, hear," they all chuckled.

Gumboil kept listening. As the evening progressed more and more conversation turned to the attack. The general opinion seemed to be similar to that expressed by the quartet at the first table: Malfoy had it coming. This proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that Pureblood supremacy issues still had not been satisfactory resolved. Change needed to come faster than Shacklebolt was bringing it, although Shacklebolt was obviously very popular and the only possible replacement mentioned was Madame Bones—another ruddy Pureblood.

Gumboil nodded to himself. No one at the Leaky seemed very upset or concerned, and those few questioning the level of security in the Wizarding world were immediately silenced with reports of how swiftly the Aurors had handled the situation. The attack was a success. Even if the little ponce survived, the message was clear: The days of Pureblood supremacy and its hold over British Wizarding government were numbered.

Gumboil left the Leaky Cauldron shortly before it closed in a particularly good mood, and not only from the four pints he'd had. _Now, I can make a few proposals in the Wizengamot and print a statement in the _Prophet_. ELF will grow and put further pressure on the Wizengamot, and if __necessary, I'll 'help' by pushing the odds in my favour with another…demonstration_. Chuckling to himself, he almost skipped down the cobbled street. He began to whistle a merry old marching tune from a Muggle war movie he'd seen once upon a time, his breath puffing in the night air.

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Madame Pomfrey stepped through the double-doors of the hospital wing, having just finished stopping Draco Malfoy's nternal bleeding. Her face bore the lines of years of care for the students of Hogwarts, and having to patch up an alumnus broke her heart as badly as when the boy, obnoxious as he was, was a student.

"M-madame Pomfrey," Astoria began, tears staining her face and her lips quivering. "Is he…will he…?"

"Mr Malfoy is in serious condition, but we managed to stop the internal bleeding and give him potions for the pain. He'll need to stay here for at least a week, if not a little more," the matron replied gravely. "Moving him too soon would cause more internal bleeding and possibly kill him."

"Will my son…will he make a full recovery," Narcissa Malfoy asked, wringing her lace handkerchief.

"Mrs Malfoy, only time and bed rest will tell. The outlook is good. Miss Gra—Mrs _Ronald_ Weasley suffered similar injuries from this very same curse a few years ago," Poppy explained. "She made a complete recovery, though, and came through without any physical marks or scars."

"May we see him," Lord Greengrass asked straightforwardly.

"I gave him a full dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion, and I don't expect him to awaken much before tomorrow evening," Poppy said. "I suggest you go in one at a time and stay no more than five minutes."

"Thank you…Poppy," Narcissa said, new tears falling from her eyes. "Astoria, dear. You go first, all right?"

"Yes ma'am," Astoria replied, dabbing at her own eyes.

"Storie, take my five minutes," Daphne offered. "He needs you more than he needs me." Astoria threw herself into her sister's arms, sobbing unashamedly into her shoulder. Once she calmed, Daphne kissed her cheek and released herself from Astoria's embrace. "Go on, now." She gave her Astoria a little shove and then joined her parents on the cushioned bench her mother had conjured, while Narcissa chose to pace.

"Narcissa, please sit," Lady Greengrass said. "Wearing yourself out like this isn't going to do Draco any good."

"I know, Edwina," the blonde witch replied. "I just…I can't lose him. He's all I've got left."

_A/N: "Rock and Roll Part 2," written by Gary Glitter and Mike Leander, debuted in 1972 on the album, "Glitter," recorded on the Bell label and has been a sports stadium and arena favourite since the mid-1970s. "We Are the Champions," written by Freddie Mercury, debuted in 1977 on Queen's album, "News of the World," recorded on the EMI label in the UK and the Elektra label in the US. It has since become an anthem for those who strive to rise above the struggles in their lives._

_Next, please forgive our Chinese. We used an online translator, so it may not be grammatically correct. The xPerience is an actual Jamaican restaurant that serves a Saturday night buffet, and is located in Uxbridge Road, London. We don't know whether or not it existed in 2000, but for the sake of our story, we'll assume it did._


	41. Chapter 41 Now what

**Chapter 41 – Now What?**

_We wish to express our everlasting gratitude to theelderwand for his invaluable assistance with the editing of this chapter. Thanks, mate!_

The extended Weasley family gathered at the Burrow following the debacle that should have been a celebration. Harry, Ron, and Seamus had to stay behind at the Ministry for a debriefing with Arthur. The entirety of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been commanded to remain to secure the building and see to the safe departure of the spectators and participants. Since the arena had been declared a crime-scene, Jim Anderson and his crew had been sent home pending the investigation and the Ministry had been locked down with operations suspended for 72 hours. It was going to be a long night.

Harry sat hunched over in a straight-back chair at the conference table in the office he shared with Ron, his elbows on his knees and his hands over his eyes. His glasses lay in front of him, in dire need of a good polishing. It had started out as such a glorious day and ended up in disaster. But how? He and Ron and Seamus had implemented the tightest security the Ministry had ever seen for this event and still some crazy ponce managed to break through and throw a deadly curse at one of the competitors, who just happened to be a Pureblood—and a rather well-known one at that.

He didn't want to believe his instincts this time because they told him that ELF—or at least Alastor Gumboil—was somehow connected to the attack on Draco Malfoy. He knew it was a serious allegation, should he dare to make it—which he wouldn't—but the fact that Draco was the target spoke volumes to him. Merlin knew Gumboil had an anti-Pureblood axe to grind, but most of his ammunition was verbal. Harry couldn't imagine that a law-enforcement agent with a record like Gumboil's would hatch an assassination plot. It just didn't make any sense to him.

On the other hand, the war had treated the old Hit-wizard badly. He'd been forced to flee the Ministry and go into hiding in order to avoid capture and imprisonment for "stealing magic," as Pius Thicknesse's puppet regime had so deploringly labelled the Muggleborn situation. Gumboil had argued vehemently for the Kiss for Mafalda Prewett's crimes, but his arguments revealed that he was more concerned with her blood-status than her criminal record. He was quite critical of the Wizengamot's decision to bind her magic and confiscate her wand, disregarding the fact that she was clearly insane and technically still a child.

His activities since then included the formation of ELF, a grassroots special-interest group promoting Muggleborn and Half-blood rights. Its tenets just seemed too honourable to allow it to sanction such violence. But then again, in his arrogance, Gumboil had disregarded the advice of Seamus Finnegan concerning his ill-mannered and outright stupid plans to hold a rally at Antrim in Northern Ireland, where he all but demanded Irish gold to rebuild _England_. As a result, the Minister had no choice but to suspend Undersecretary Gumboil for several weeks. His status in the Ministry precluded any real legal action against him. After all, stupidity wasn't a crime even if inciting a riot was.

"Harry," Ron said. "Harry!" He nudged his boss, brother, and best mate in the ribs to get his attention.

"What? Oh, sorry," the Head Auror said, rubbing his hands down his face.

"Everyone's here, mate," Ron said. "Debriefing? Remember?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, right," Harry said resignedly. "I was just thinking."

"Care to share with the rest of us," Arthur asked with a smirk.

"Um…all right," Harry said. "I've been turning this over and over since we secured the scene and all I can come up with is that this wasn't so much an attempt on Malfoy's life as a

demonstration—a statement of some kind."

"Politics," Susan asked. "I thought we were talking about attempted murder."

"No. If I'm right, we're talking about _accessory_ to attempted murder," Harry disagreed.

"Conspiracy to commit murder," Ron added darkly.

"Those are serious allegations, boys," Arthur reminded them. "And you have no proof he wasn't acting on his own."

"That's why I'm not mentioning any names," Harry growled.

"If I may be so bold," Jayce asked respectfully, having participated in dozens of debriefings and brainstorming sessions such as this one.

"Of course, Marshal Silvercloud," Arthur allowed.

"Forgive me, but judging from the looks of your suspect, he didn't have two Knuts to rub together, let alone the gold to buy a ticket," Jayce added. "Somebody hired that kid to assassinate Malfoy, knowing the attempt would likely fail. I have to agree with Harry on this. Somebody wants to send a message. The trick is finding out who and why, and then proving it."

"What message would someone want to send by attempting to murder Draco Malfoy," Arthur asked, perplexed. "He's stayed out of trouble so far and he was a great help to us on the Mafalda Prewett case. Without his work with Harry, that might have had a very nasty outcome."

Harry fixed his eyes on Arthur. "Dad, Malfoy's a Pureblood. What better way to further the Muggleborn or Half-blood agenda than to put the fear of Merlin into the Pureblood elite?"

"Harry, again, that's a serious allegation," Arthur said warningly. "Are you suggesting ELF might be behind this?"

"It's possible, Dad," Ron said. "I mean it kind of fits."

"But it's only speculation," Harry interjected. "That's what's so damned frustrating!"

"What has the suspect said," Arthur asked, casting his gaze at Boot and Goldstein. "Anything?"

"Well," Terry began. "He's terrified, I can tell you that. I think with a little gentle persuasion, we might get a statement out of him."

Harry's face began to redden and his fists to clench tightly on the table. "No! I told you lot back at Hogwarts that we'd never—no! We agreed!"

Terry's eyes widened in horror. "Harry, I…I didn't mean that, honest!"

"Then what did you mean," Harry demanded, his jaw set. The stress of the day had finally caught up to him and it was more than obvious to Ron that his best mate teetered on the cusp of a full-on brood…or worse.

"_Veritaserum_," Terry replied cautiously. "It won't hurt him and it'll even calm him down a little bit so he can sleep."

"Pardon me for livin', but does _he_ have a name," Seamus asked with a smirk.

"Darby. Elwood Darby," Tony said. "Age twenty-three, vagrant. Says he's been on the streets the last year. We couldn't get any more out of him."

"I'll authorise the Veritaserum," Arthur said, signing his name to a rather official-looking document. "But I must ask that you don't bully him. If he's truly a hired wand as you all suspect, we need him on our side. He's facing Azkaban, but—"

"I want to do the questioning," Harry said flatly. "Darby and me. No one else."

Ron leaned over to Harry's ear. "Are you sure, mate? You look like you've been run over by a herd of stampeding Erumpents."

"I can handle it, Ron. You lot go home," Harry replied, nodding to his people. "Irish, you need to get to Hogwarts. You should have been there two hours ago. Lotus, Bonesy, you're on tonight, right?"

"Yes, Harry. I think Jock's with us tonight too," Susan replied.

"Too rright," Jock added. "We'll be fine, laddie."

"Excellent. The rest of you—go," Harry said, picking up the authorisation form. "I'm off to Central Stores and then to the cell block. Jayce—thanks for your input."

"Anytime, my man," Jayce said, standing and shaking Harry's hand.

The meeting broke up soon after Harry left the room. With the exception of the ELF rally incidents, Auror work had been light-to-boring for too long. _I'd give every last Galleon I've got to my name if I could get some bloody proof!_

"_Harry."_ The sweet sound of that voice almost instantly quieted the pounding in his head.

"_Hi, Gin. Is everything okay on your end?"_

"_Well, Mum's a bit upset, but everyone's here with her."_

"_The Burrow?"_

"_Yes. She's cooking."_

"_Of course she is." _In spite of himself, Harry had to chuckle. That was Molly's way—cooking when she was upset or worried about something.

"_How long before you and Ron come home?"_

"_Dad and Jayce should be on their way now. I sent Ron home too, but I don't expect him to leave without me. I'm going to question the suspect myself."_

"_But isn't that dangerous?"_

"_I don't think so, Love. This bloke's got issues, beginning with the fact that he hasn't eaten regularly for a long time. He's got that look about him. On top of that, he's scared out of his wits and I've got an order for Veritaserum. This won't take too long."_

"_So you don't have any real clues?"_

"_No. All we've got so far is the man's name and age. He's a vagrant—probably the Knockturn Alley variety, if you catch my meaning. Once I'm through here, I'm going to put in an order for a decent supper for him."_

"_You're a good man, Harry Potter."_

"_It's all down to you, Love. I'll be home soon."_

"_Be careful. I love you."_

"_I will. Love you, too._

Harry arrived on Level Ten and made his way to the cell block. With a heavy heart and heavy steps, he approached the guard station where he found Sergeant Carstairs on duty once again.

"Sir," Carstairs greeted him.

"Sergeant. I'll be with Mr Darby for a while," he said, showing the vial.

"Right you are, sir," the sergeant said cheerily. "Will ya be needin' any assistance?"

"No, I don't think so," Harry replied, shaking his head. "He looks as though a breeze could knock him over. I'll be all right. Just put in an order for a decent meal, but nothing too heavy. A good beef stew with some crusty bread would do nicely and some kind of fruit juice—apple, I think. Tell them to bring it down in about thirty minutes."

"Very good, sir. Just shout if ya need us," the sergeant reiterated.

"Will do. Thanks," Harry said, signing the register and passing through.

About a half-hour later, Harry re-emerged from Darby's cell just as one of the guards arrived with a tray for the prisoner. Harry lifted the towel and inspected the food. "Order another tray just like this one. Darby's nearly starved." There was no way Harry was going to allow this man, criminal or not, to suffer hunger like he had known in Privet Drive. Nobody deserved that kind of pain and humiliation. "And remind him to eat slowly. It won't do him any good to bring it all up again."

"Yes, sir." The young guard watched the Head Auror, a man younger than himself, walk away purposefully back toward the guard station.

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Elwood Darby sat on his bunk, staring at his hands. He couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to get mixed up in such a mess. This time two years ago, he was part of the resistance fighting Lord Voldemort and his minions. Terrifying as it was, it was the best year of his life. He had a purpose, even though there was a small price on his head as an _Undesirable_. Well, he was in good company, wasn't he? When it was all over, he returned home, only to find a cellar-size crater full of charred debris and two hastily-dug graves marked only with rough-cut planks, probably salvaged from the wreckage. He learned later on that his parents had been murdered and the house burned to the ground because they were Muggleborn and refused to register.

What little gold his parents had managed to squirrel away went to settle their estate, such as it was, and bury them, leaving very little in terms of an inheritance. In the wake of the devastation, Elwood had hoped to find a job and make a life for himself in what appeared to be a post-war economic boom, but since he hadn't sat his NEWTs, there was no job to be had—not even as a lowly mail clerk. There was no money to finish his education, so he drifted along the fringes of society. Desperation finally took over and he reluctantly began to sell himself in Knockturn Alley for a few Galleons to keep a leaky roof over his head and to buy a bowl of soup and a crust of bread here and there to keep going. The life was brutal, but it was better than nothing. A few of his former comrades had gone mad and hanged themselves or found some other means to end their misery. Such was the lot of the unsung heroes, the forgotten casualties of war.

Elwood knew he had struck rock-bottom and toyed with the idea of following his fallen brethren into eternity. The peace of death no longer frightened him. In fact, in his prayers to any supreme being who might be listening, he often begged for Death to come and take him. But then one night about a week ago, a stranger accosted him near his hovel, offering fifty Galleons if he would perform a little job for him. He said he'd be able to watch the last day of the tournament and then all he'd have to do was send a curse at the son of the infamous Lucius Malfoy and then slip away into the crowd. It didn't even matter if Elwood hit him or not. The man went so far as to pay him half up front so he could get a decent set of robes for the occasion. But instead, he saved it back and wore what he had, which was just barely passable.

Draco Malfoy-the son of the bastard who led so many raids on so many innocent families. He'd heard that the little monster had taken the mark too, so Elwood would be able to avenge his parents, if only indirectly. In truth, Antonin Dolohov and a few of his filthy band attacked and murdered them and then burned their home. Malfoy, Dolohov, Mulciber, Yaxley, Rowle, Lestrange—Elwood didn't give a damn. They were all Death Eaters who deserved to rot in Azkaban or better yet, die for their crimes. To make a few Galleons to bring that noble work to fruition seemed like a fair exchange to him. He would even get away with it. Isn't that what the man said?

Chief Potter was everything Elwood Darby had heard and more. His face appeared troubled and prematurely care-worn. He was mostly soft-spoken and even-tempered, and not given to pretence like one would imagine a celebrity of Harry Potter's status to be. He brought a vial of Veritaserum for the interrogation, which Elwood agreed to take. It calmed him enough to allow him to tell his story coherently and without interruption.

Elwood knew he was in trouble and would likely spend the rest of his life in Azkaban, but somehow that didn't seem like such a bad thing. He didn't have much of a life on the outside and even less to live for, really. Besides, word on the street was that there had been reforms and that the prison was no longer guarded by Dementors. In fact, nobody had seen a Dementor in ages. Perhaps they were all dead. One could hope.

The Chief's questions were straightforward and fair and without accusation. Though Elwood could tell the Auror was angry, he didn't seem to want to direct it at him. It was almost as if Potter already knew the identity of the man who had hired him. Elwood felt bad that he couldn't describe the man in more than general terms and that he didn't know his name.

Potter presented Elwood with a parchment containing his statement for him to read and sign. The blue Quick-quotes quill had recorded his every word verbatim, so he signed it and slid it back across the table. Then, wonder of wonders, Potter promised him a hot meal and a good night's sleep before he would appear before the Wizengamot for a preliminary hearing. He was told that since he confessed, he would be formally charged with attempted murder and bound over for trial.

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"Anything from Harry, Gin," Hermione asked.

"Yeah. He says Dad and Jayce are on their way home, but he's going to stay and interview the guy who attacked Draco," she replied. "He sent Ron home too, but Harry doesn't expect him to leave without him."

"Is that any surprise," Hermione asked with a smirk, marking her place in a book with her index finger. "Ron's always got Harry's back."

"I know," Ginny giggled. "Some things never change. They're partners through and through. What are you reading?"

"Oh this? It's something Percy and I dug out of the Wizengamot Archive," Hermione said. "It's quite interesting, really. We found it while we were looking for books about Occlumency and Legilimency. It's actually a compilation of cases the Wizengamot have heard from about 1810 to 1920. I'm in the 1860s right now."

"Anything fun," Ginny asked, peering across the table at the book.

"Not really. Just a load of nonsense, for the most part," Hermione confessed. "Wizards suing other wizards for the silliest things. One family in Brighton sued another for tossing a load of Garden Gnomes over their fence."

"Mental," Ginny giggled. "A full Wizengamot hearing for Garden Gnomes?"

"Hey, they convened for Harry's underage magic hearing," Hermione reminded her sister-in-law.

"They couldn't just catch the Gnomes and toss them back over the fence," Ginny asked incredulously. "Or just wait for them to slip back through?"

"I told you it was nonsense," Hermione snickered.

"Then why are you reading it," Ginny asked slyly.

"I'm on the Wizengamot, Ginny. I need to know what makes those old curmudgeons tick. That body has been in existence since the late-1700s and I think a few of them might be original members," Hermione whispered.

"Again, I say—mental," Ginny giggled.

"What's mental," Arthur's voice boomed as he walked into the kitchen, followed by Jayce.

"The Geezergamot," Ginny giggled.

"Yes, well, that's old news, isn't it," Arthur agreed, winking at his daughters.

Molly bustled over to greet her husband and soon-to-be-nephew—that was if she had anything to say about it. "How was your meeting, dear? Any ideas?"

"Ideas we've got; leads—not a one," Arthur replied, stooping down to kiss his wife's rosy cheek. "The boys seem to think it's politically-motivated."

"Oh for heaven's sake! What political reason would someone have to want to hurt Draco Malfoy," Molly huffed.

"He was a marked Death Eater, Mum," George reminded her as he slinked by chewing on a shortbread biscuit. "He got off."

"Be that as it may, George Gideon Weasley, it's no excuse. Jayce dear, go join the boys in the sitting room. Arthur, you too. Go on. Shoo," Molly said in her don't-argue-with-me voice.

"Oooh, that bread smells good," Jayce groaned as he took a swig of the Butterbeer Charlie handed him.

In the kitchen, Molly, Taya, Ginny, Hermione, and Fleur finished up preparing the late-night meal. Two massive stock pots held savoury lamb stew with potatoes, carrots, onions and turnips. Six loaves of crusty bread lay in thick slices on two platters accompanied by sweet butter and Molly's famous strawberry jam. Pitchers of iced sweet tea, courtesy of Taya, graced four places on the bare table.

"Come 'n' get it," Taya called into the sitting room. Six hungry wizards stampeded into the kitchen and took their places at the table.

"Now remember to leave some for Harry and Ron," Molly chided them all.

"There's enough here to feed an army, Mollywobbles," Arthur chuckled, pulling her into his lap. "I doubt even this lot could eat it all in one sitting."

"Better safe than sorry," Molly replied, scooting off her husband's lap and onto her chair. "Tuck in, then!"

Ginny had just served herself a steaming bowl when she dropped the ladle and hung her head. "Oh Harry," she sighed sadly.

"Ginny? What's wrong?" Molly turned to her daughter, her brow creased with concern.

"Harry's blaming himself for this afternoon," Ginny huffed. "He's…he's going to get drunk. Ron's with him."

The table fell silent. They'd all seen and worked Harry through a major brood, but the addition of alcohol to the situation was something entirely new and somewhat disconcerting. It didn't take much drink to dissolve his natural inhibitions.

After a few uncomfortable minutes, Jayce took the initiative and broke the silence. "As a fellow law-enforcement officer," Jayce began, "I can understand where he's coming from. He's the head-honcho with a hero's reputation. He's held in pretty high regard, which is a blessing and a curse. He saved your world when he offed that nut job Voldemort, and now he's expected to keep you all safe twenty-four seven. He's a conscientious guy and he takes that very seriously."

"I know. It's just that he's brooding," Ginny explained. "I can't tell you how hard that is to deal with."

"Oh, I think _I_ can," Taya interjected. "_What if this, what if that. If I'd only._ Trust me—I've heard it all." She cast a furtive glance at the man she loved. "Several years ago, Jayce had a similar incident that—"

"Tay-O-Wee, don't. It's ancient history," Jayce growled. "It's something that just happened."

"But it didn't have to," she retorted, taking a sip of her tea.

"It's different," Jayce said. "I should have pushed to abort the mission."

"Oh bull," Taya snapped. "You tried to _save_ a situation you told them was dangerous. And how were Dale and Steve killed, Jayce? Did you shoot them? Did you alert the Angels that the team was there? Between a walkabout and long hours in the sweat lodges, you finally figured out that shit happens and that there wasn't jack-diddly you could have done about it!"

"That's not the point, Taya," Jayce said, turning to Ginny. "It's human nature for a leader to second-guess himself when something goes wrong, whether there's anybody to blame or not."

"What are you two on about," Molly asked, thoroughly frustrated now. As a mother, she constantly worried about her children and now her nieces. Her youngest sons were top Aurors whose lives were in constant danger, even in peace time. Now they were involved in an investigation into an attempted assassination and would need all the help and support the family could muster.

Jayce sighed deeply and looked his lover's aunt square in the eyes. "Molly, it was something that happened some time ago that sort of parallels what's going on here, at least as far as brooding goes. It was a drug bust gone bad and good people died because—"

"Because a load o' bureaucrats refused to listen when Jayce tried to implement a plan that could have ended in a ravin' success rather than a flamin' disaster," Taya finished. "Instead o' listenin' to him and followin' his advice, they played _status quo_ to save a few bucks and wound up killin' two talented 'n' dedicated marshals. Jayce here spent several months blamin' himself for not pushin' his agenda harder."

"Taya…"

"No, Jayce. You went through how much counselin' to get through that? It wasn't even your _fault_, for pity's sake," Taya snapped again.

"What happened, then," Percy asked. "I mean, what went wrong?"

Jayce sighed again and picked at a small knot in the scrubbed oak table. He steeled himself for the rush of memories that were sure to wash over him as he began the tale that had haunted him for the past two years. "Federal Marshals generally work security for high-profile VIPs and stuff like that. But sometimes, we tag along with the DEA—Drug Enforcement Agency, ATF—Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, and the FBI—Federal Bureau of Investigation—on certain cases. Among them, big drug and weapons trafficking busts," he explained. "This particular one was nasty, involving alleged members of the Hell's Angels, among others."

"Hell's Angels," Bill said. "I've heard something about them. They're a bad-arse biker lot, aren't they?"

"That's right," Jayce replied. "They and their rivals, The Outlaws, give us all a run for our money. The Hell's Angels are better organised, though, and they're into everything—drugs, prostitution, guns, racketeering—the works. They have chapters all over the world."

"Now don't get me wrong," Jayce added quickly, taking note of the dubious looks on the faces of the women at the table. "Only about one percent of all the clubs in the world are criminal, and most of those are pretty small-time. There are thousands of motorcycle clubs that are just that—motorcycle clubs. They vacation together, party together, travel to bike rallies, and even participate in charity rides. The Hell's Angels and The Outlaws are the exception, not the rule. Trust me."

"Anyway, several of the uglier chapters in California had been under surveillance for years. They've built up quite an empire on less-than-honourable pursuits, among them one of the most-lucrative drug trafficking operations in the world," Jayce told them. "No matter how many arrests and convictions the Feds have racked up against them, their enterprise continues to grow…and as their enterprise grows, so does the body-count. We haven't been able to stop them, but we have made some inroads into slowing them down."

"So what happened two years ago," Percy asked again, finding himself riveted by the man's story. "A bad bust? What?"

Jayce nodded. "Like I said before, we'd been watching them for years, and for years we've tried to take them down. Federal law-enforcement got together to try again. They picked a few of us from each agency to come up with a plan for this one. FBI was all for an infiltration, but DEA and ATF argued that we'd done that before and it didn't work, which was true," Jayce explained.

"I wanted to bring in a few of my bunch, hop on some bikes, and do a new kind of surveillance. Not infiltrate, just watch. We could disillusion ourselves and silence our bikes, gather information completely undetected by the Mundanes and then work on dismantling the Angels' drug operation. No muss, no fuss."

"That sounds…sound," Bill offered. "What better surveillance than the one that's silent and unseen?"

"Exactly, since the traditional stake-outs are pointless anymore. The criminal mind is far more sophisticated, and unless they're Navy Seals or SAS, what do Mundanes know about real secrecy," Jayce chuckled darkly.

"Yeah, and they can't Apparate, either," George snickered.

"Right. I told my superiors up front that this mission would take several months and wouldn't be cheap, but what's a few bucks compared to human lives? But no. Uncle Sam didn't want to pony up. The powers-that-be decided to go with the tried-and-failed status quo, assuring us all that this time, they'd get it right," Jayce recalled sarcastically. "The smart-ass Bruce Willis die-hard types opted for a storm-the-castle approach."

"But you argued," Percy asked, clueless as to who Bruce Willis was, but understood _die-hard_.

"Like a son-of-a-bitch, but as all of you probably know, arguing with politicians is like trying to teach pigs to tap-dance. It only frustrates you and annoys the pigs." Everyone at the table broke into gales of laughter at Jayce's analogy. Except Percy.

Having worked in the thick of Cornelius Fudge's corrupt administration, Percy had seen the graft first hand that benefited the politicians' images and left the constituency to suffer. To his eternal shame, he had even defended it at the expense of his standing within his own family due to his blind regard for authority. How many Galleons had changed hands in exchange for the damaged reputations, broken lives and stolen freedom of innocent witches and wizards while the guilty ones walked free?

"So they went ahead with their own plan and it ended in disaster," Bill concluded.

"Yeah, pretty much," Jayce confirmed. "Blackthorne—that's my boss—had second thoughts as soon as our Mundane brethren shipped out. He called on me and two other Marshals, Dale Griner and Steve Shipley, to tail 'em in case of trouble."

"Needless to say, the Aints screwed up," Taya added with an annoyed grimace.

"What did you do," Charlie, who had been quiet up to this point, asked. "What went wrong?"

"Well, if they'd listened to me, Griner and Shipley would still be among us," Jayce sighed. "They were good wizards—the best—but they had a soft spot for Mundane cops. The _gnaye_ went in guns blazing and were ambushed. The Angels were waitin' for 'em."

"_Gnaye_," Fleur asked. "What eez _gnaye?_"

"It's Lakota for _fool _or_ fools_," Taya answered.

"By the time we Apparated in, the battle had begun. We stayed disillusioned and fired our stunners and blasting hexes, hoping to incapacitate the bad guys, but when lead flies, it isn't selective about what it hits. Griner went down in the crossfire between a couple of ATF dudes and about seven Angels. He forgot that invisibility is not synonymous with _invincibility_. He took a nine-millimetre slug to the left thigh. It severed his femoral artery and he bled out in a matter of minutes."

"Oh my," Molly gasped, tears filling her brown eyes. "Were there no Healers?"

"The medic was pinned down under fire," Jayce replied sadly. "All US government law-enforcement are trained in Advanced First-aid and CPR, but the medics have to be licensed EMTs or paramedics, but they aren't much good if they can't get to the wounded."

"CPR? What's that," George asked. "I mean, I know what First-aid is, but what's CPR?"

"Cardio-pulmonary resuscitation, George," Hermione interjected. "It's a means to restart a heart that's stopped beating or who's stopped breathing. If performed within about five to ten minutes of an event, it can save a life. In fact, it saves countless lives every year. As dentists, my parents are certified and so am I."

"What on earth is an empty pair of medics," Molly asked.

"E-M-T stands for Emergency Medical Technician. They're Healers of sorts, but not quite on Onie's level," Jayce explained. "Paramedics are often firefighters with more specialised medical training than an EMT."

"Jayce, is this standard," Arthur asked, intrigued.

"Absolutely. Don't your Aurors and Troopers have any basic First-aid training," Jayce asked incredulously.

"Well, they know some basic healing spells and carry a few potions, but nothing like you describe," Arthur replied. "This CPR thing, though. That intrigues me."

"I know what you're thinking," Jayce interjected, derailing Arthur's obvious train of thought. "The AK does more than just stop the heart. It rips the soul from the body. Once the soul's gone, it's over, and all the CPR in the world won't help. But it's still a useful skill. Wizards and witches have heart attacks and strokes just like Mundanes, and wizards and witches have been known to drown and choke on things, especially little ones."

"Um…so…what happened to the other bloke," Charlie asked, steering the conversation back to topic.

Jayce sighed heavily. "Shipley and I couldn't do anything for Dale. We knew he was a goner and he'd never have let us risk our necks for a lost cause. I just threw a shield over Dale's body to keep it from being shredded any further. Our side had begun to gain the upper hand thanks to a series of shields Steve cast over our men. But in the process of maintaining that shield, his disillusionment charm failed, exposing him. His sudden appearance spooked an ATF rookie and…well, you know."

"Did you win," Ginny asked softly, her hands shaking. It reminded her too much of the horrible carnage at the Battle of Hogwarts. Many people died, but the Light still won. "Did you stop them?"

"The Angels? Hell, no. We didn't even give them so much as a paper cut. After we got our people out of there, they loaded their dead and wounded up in vans and carted them off. A few stayed behind, presumably to desecrate our dead. I put a stop to it, though. I shot a couple of stunners, bound 'em, and then Apparated out with Dale's and Steve's bodies. It cost the Federal government about three million dollars in reparations, equipment, medical care, and death benefits for Griner's and Shipley's families…not to mention the inquiries and mountains of paperwork."

"That's almost half a million Galleons," Bill clarified.

George whistled. Even as a successful businessman, he'd yet to see that kind of gold in one place. "They wouldn't spend _tens_ of thousands ofGalleons, only to end up doling out _hundreds _of thousands of Galleons. Mental."

"That's politics, little brother," Percy muttered. "That's the kind of thing that men like Kingsley Shacklebolt, Dad, Harry and Ron, and Amelia Bones are working so hard to correct at the Ministry."

"Well," Molly huffed. "You tried your best to make them see and they refused. Our Harry went through something like that a few years ago and lives were lost needlessly in the end."

"Which brings us back to now," Ginny said. "Harry's blaming himself because this creep got past his security, but he and Ron are talking about it at some Muggle pub."

"At least he's talking to Ron about it," Hermione said. "Usually, you can't get a word out of Harry in that state."

"There is that," Ginny agreed. "No worries, Weasleys. They're fine, and if they're in a pub, they're eating."

"Well, at least ickle Ronnikins is _eating_," Charlie snickered.

"Everything in _sight_," Percy added with a smirk.

"I hope the pub's _well-stocked_," George added.

"Good thing Harry's got _money_," Bill said in agreement.

"Oh stop eet, you flossers," Fleur huffed.

George nearly spit his tea across the room. "The word is _tossers_, not _flossers_."

"Tossers, flossers, whatever," Fleur snapped, her face reddening. "Zey 'ave 'ad a very long day and if zey wish to make zemselves _ivres_, zen zat eez up to zem!"

"To _ivres flossers_," George cried, raising his glass. "Sláinte!"

"Sláinte," the others replied, all of them laughing heartily, including Molly.

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"How'd it go, mate," Ron asked, towelling himself off. While he waited for Harry, he used the time for a short work-out on the free weights and chin-up bar.

"It went," Harry replied, sliding the weights along the bar. "Somebody hired him to put the hit on Malfoy. We were right about that."

"So who hired him," Ron asked.

Harry sighed heavily and shook his head slowly, as if it weighed a metric tonne. "He doesn't know. He's never seen him before and all he could tell me was that the man was of average height and build with dull brown hair and brown eyes. Darby says he paid him twenty-five Galleons up front and gave him the ticket, promising another twenty-five Galleons once the job was done."

"That's it? No explanation? Nothing," Ron asked, pulling his kit out from his locker.

"Nothing. Darby's story is pretty typical of a lot of people left over from the war," Harry said, opening his own locker. He withdrew his own kit and set it on the bench. He stripped out of his robes and uniform and joined Ron in the showers.

"So…what now," Ron asked from an adjacent stall.

"I…I need some time," Harry replied gloomily, squeezing a bit of shampoo into his palm. "I'm not going home yet."

"Want some company? You look like you could use a drink, really."

"Sure," Harry replied, rinsing his hair. "There's a Muggle pub not far from here called The Black Friar. I think I need several drinks."

"A Muggle pub," Ron repeated, soaping himself up. "Sounds serious."

"I just don't want to deal with the fame-thing right now." The Head Auror's heart broke a little bit more as he thought about the intense pain the Malfoy and Greengrass families must be going through at the moment. He knew that if it had been he instead of Draco who had been cursed, Ginny would be frantic, as would the rest of his family. And then there was the fact that Darby pulled the attack off at all that sent a bitter ache through his body. He and his security detail were so sure they had all the bases covered, as the Americans would say.

"Translation: too many ears?" Ron worried that Harry might take this brood too far. He'd seen his best mate at his worst, but this was something different. He wasn't inclined to go home to Ginny this time—he wanted to drink himself into oblivion.

"Not that so much," Harry replied, washing his chest and arms. "I just want to go into a pub without being recognised."

Ron turned off his shower and began to towel himself off. "Then it's jeans and shirts?"

Harry appreciated Ron's attempt at casual levity, but he just wasn't in the mood. He wanted to be angry. He really wanted to hex something, but he'd managed to hold on to some semblance of self-control. No. He'd drown his sorrows for now and worry about the consequences later.

"Harry? You still with me, mate," Ron asked, his tone betraying his worries.

"Yeah, I'm with you," Harry muttered. "But you're right about the clothes. Black fatigues might stand out a bit no matter where we go."

Once they dressed, the two Aurors headed out into Muggle London. Since it was a Sunday night, there wasn't as much traffic as usual, but the lights of the city shone just as bright as ever. St Paul's cathedral rose majestically over the area, its dome lit up against the inky black sky. Harry and Ron walked along in silence, making their way toward the Thames and 174 Queen Victoria Street.

They arrived at The Black Friar and looked up at its odd architecture. "This is a pub," Ron asked rhetorically. "It looks like an open book standing on end."

"Hermione's had a bad influence on you, mate," Harry snickered. "Come on. Let's go in."

The two Aurors stepped through the door, dominated by a statue of a massive laughing friar, into another time. Built in 1875, The Black Friar earned its name because of its close proximity to a 13th-century Dominican Priory that used to stand in what was now known as Blackfriars. The décor reflected the area's history, with wood carvings depicting the monks making wine and doing whatever it was monks did in their day.

Harry and Ron passed relieves of monks singing and playing instruments against red, green, and cream-coloured marble walls into one of the bars that looked a bit like a chapel. "Harry, this is a Muggle pub," Ron whispered. "What should I have?"

"Just order a stout and you're liable to get a Guinness or something like it," Harry advised. "I'm going for ale."

"What can I get for you gents, then," the bartender asked, as he wiped down an already spotless bar.

"Um…I'll have a pitcher of whatever ale you've got on draught," Harry replied. "And my mate here'll have stout."

"Right you are," the bartender agreed. He bent down to retrieve a couple of mugs and the pitchers, and then set to filling them from the tappers. "That's six pounds sixty, lads." Harry paid the man with a ten-pound note and told the bartender to keep the change. "Thank ye, sir. Thank ye!"

"Not at all," Harry replied. "Um…are you still serving food?"

"Aye. We serve until an hour before close," the man replied. "What'll ye have? I've got burgers, fish 'n' chips, meat pies…"

"I'll have fish 'n' chips," Harry said. "Ron?"

"Oh, um…well. I'll have a burger with everything and a double-order of chips," the red head said.

"Comin' right up," the man said, totalling up their bill. "Fish 'n' chips, burger, double chips—that's twenty-two pounds thirty." Harry tossed another thirty on the bar and nodded, his mood still subdued.

Harry led Ron to a table in the darkest corner of the pub he could find. They sat down without a word while they waited for their food. Ron held his tongue for fear of setting his raven-haired brother off, instead opting to fill his glass with the rich brown liquid. Harry tossed back two full pints of ale and filled a third.

After what seemed like an eternity, a barmaid appeared shouldering a tray laden with their food and a few condiments. "'Ere you go, ducks," she chirped. "One burger with everything and double-chips and one fish 'n' chips. Can I get ya anything else then," she asked flirtatiously.

"Er…no thanks," Ron answered her, tucking into his food and stealing a glance at Harry, who rolled his eyes and picked up the malt-vinegar bottle.

"We're good." As soon as the barmaid walked away, swinging her hips, Harry waved his hand and cast a Muffliato charm around their table. Ron swallowed and took a sip of stout. "So what's got your knickers in a twist?" _Keep him talking and he won't order more ale._

"This whole bloody mess," Harry growled. "This attack on Malfoy—it shouldn't have happened!"

"Harry, we've already established that," Ron said. "But what are you _not _telling me?"

"Darby's just a tool, Malfoy too. There's something sinister, more sinister than we've seen this far, deliberately targeting people. The brawls in Montrose and Antrim weren't aimed at a specified victim, but..." Harry fumed.

"But what's bothering you is that you think this is going to happen again and that you think you know who's behind it. But…"

"…I have no proof and therefore no way to act on it, but doing nothing might end up with someone else killed. This wasn't an isolated incident, Ron, and there's really only one man I can see masterminding something like this," Harry tossed back another gulp of ale.

The redhead knew that pursuing that person might end in a royal sacking for both of them. Ron opened his mouth to comment, but Harry continued. "At first, I didn't want to believe he could be involved, but who else _could_ it be? The problem is he was right there on the arena floor with us. And if he is the one behind it, he planned it secretly and not at a general ELF meeting. _And_ he'll use this attack to push his agenda, just you wait and see."

"But it doesn't make sense, Harry. If the ponce wants to further his agenda, the last thing he'd want to do is...well...pull a Voldemort," Ron argued.

"True, but a good friend of mine taught me that sometimes you have to sacrifice a knight in order to capture a king," Harry deadpanned. "And we know he can be irrational."

"Yeah, but irrationality isn't a crime," Ron snorted. "Look, you said Darby couldn't identify the man who hired him, right?" Harry nodded, staring at his food.

"Maybe Darby was confounded or something, but one thing's for sure: he was in it for the Galleons, and didn't matter to him who his target was." Ron picked up another chip and stuffed it into his mouth.

"So we have a desperate vagrant hired by…somebody…to fire a curse at Malfoy just to make a statement. If we can figure out what the statement is, we might be able to attribute it to ELF," Harry suggested with a faint glimmer of hope.

Ron shook his shaggy head. "Mate, if Gumboil _is_ behind this, and I'm not saying he isn't, we're going to have a hell of a time proving it. He's slippery and he knows the law. Who better to pull of the perfect crime than a law-enforcement professional," Ron said, wiping a bit of sauce from his chin.

Harry opened his mouth to answer Ron's rhetorical question, but before he could utter a word, Ron thundered on, ticking his points off on his long fingers. "It fits, though. Gumboil's all about Muggleborn rights, he wanted Mafalda kissed because she's a Pureblood, and then Malfoy's attacked—unprovoked—in a public forum with thousands of witnesses who can testify to Gumboil's presence on the arena floor with the rest of us, basically removing him from the suspect list. The perpetrator is some poor son of Muggleborns who were murdered by Death Eaters, leaving him destitute. Darby can't identify his _boss_, which tells me he was a complete stranger—maybe from a copycat cell—or it was Gumboil himself, disguised. Is that what you're thinking?"

Harry considered Ron's assessment as he took a bite of fish. "Sort of, yeah, but I don't think the _boss_ counted on Darby being caught, if he cared at all. I mean, he paid him, Darby did what he did and that's that. But you're right. There's no way we can make a move on Gumboil at this point, but it doesn't mean we can't keep watching him."

"How in bloody Hell do we do that? We don't have the manpower to put a tail on him," Ron retorted.

"I know that, Ron, but we need anything we can get and we do have an ally who moves around in all the dodgy places. Since nobody takes him too seriously, nobody bothers him," Harry suggested with a sly grin.

"Dung! Merlin, why didn't I think of that," Ron exclaimed, slapping himself in the forehead.

"Because you don't take him seriously," Harry said pointedly. "I'm on pretty good terms with him since I bought him that new wheelbarrow. He'll do almost anything I ask him to."

"This is Dung, not Dobby, Harry," Ron chuckled. Harry's eyes slipped out of focus. "Merlin, Harry. I'm sorry. I—"

"It's all right, Ron. I know what you meant," Harry said, finishing his meal and raising his mug. "To Dobby."

"To Dobby," Ron repeated and drank the last of his stout while Harry exhausted the last of his ale. "Anyway, we need to keep our own eyes open. I don't like this one bit, but we need to keep Hermione, Seamus, and Dean active in ELF for now." The tall redhead's heart screamed for him to pull her out of the game—that she was more vulnerable now—but his head told him she would be safe so long as Finnegan and Thomas were near.

"Yeah, and we need to keep our ears open around the Ministry—and watch the papers. If this is politics, we'll know it," Harry added. "We've had a load of international press here these past weeks and you know they're going to have something to say about what happened earlier tonight...and it's going to be a while before the excitement dies down."

"Then that's it. We just watch and listen and hope something breaks," Ron agreed. "We should set up a meeting with Hermione, Dean, Seamus, and Dad and fill them in on what we've talked about."

"You're on, mate," Harry said, tossing his napkin onto the table. "Ready to head home?"

"I am. Hermione's sure to be waiting up and she's got work tomorrow," Ron said. "So much for your bender, yeah?"

"Yeah. Thanks, brother. I really wouldn't want to face Ginny inebriated, especially in front of the family," Harry admitted. "Besides, talking it out with you gave us a little something to go on; all a right pissing would have given us is a not-so-little headache!"

Ron let out a slight belly laugh. "So she's at the Burrow?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Your Mum cooked. Lamb stew."

"Bloody hell," Ron gasped. "Do you think there's any left?"

"Merlin's colon, Ron," Harry laughed. "You just polished off a massive burger and double-chips! How can you possibly be hungry after that?"

"I'm a Weasley," Ron chuckled, slapping Harry on the back. "Come on. Let's go. Our witches are waiting."

Bidding the bartender a cheery farewell, Ron and Harry stepped out of the ornate pub into Queen Victoria Street. They found a space between a couple of buildings near the railway station, ducked in, turned and vanished with a _pop!_ Andboth of them sober as saints.

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Draco Malfoy woke up nauseated and disoriented, his whole body aching. He'd suffered under the Cruciatus curse more times than he cared to count, and although this pain was nothing like the unforgivable torture curse, there was little else he could compare it to. He had no idea what happened to him, where he was, or how he got there. Slowly, his eyes focused and he relaxed, the rising panic ebbing away. _Astoria_. With her by his side, he knew he was all right.

He noticed lines of worry in her otherwise smooth face as she sat in a less-than-luxurious chair reading _The Daily Prophet_. Draco tried to say her name, but all that came out was a hoarse croak, but that was enough. Astoria abruptly lifted her head to look at him, her reading forgotten. The worry lines turned to dimples as her eyes lit up and a brilliant smile stole across her lips.

"Draco, you're awake," she said softly, taking his hand and kissing it lightly. "I'll be right back." She made to rise, but Draco didn't want to let go of her hand, his grey eyes begging her to stay.

"It's all right, my love," she assured him, squeezing his fingers. "I'm just going to fetch Miss Prewett. She asked me to let her know when you woke up. I'll be right back, I promise."

Reluctantly, he released her hand and settled his mind to collect his thoughts. _Miss Prewett?_ He looked around and immediately recognised that he was in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Why was he here? Astoria soon returned with Fiona, who immediately cast a couple of examination charms over him.

"The internal bleedin's stopped, but you'll need a wide range o' potions to prevent the bleedin' from startin' again, Mr Malfoy," Fiona said.

Draco still couldn't remember what happened. The last thing he knew, he'd been at the Ministry about to be credited for having finished fourth place in the duelling tournament. Beyond that, nothing. "Wh..." Draco rasped. "What... happened?"

Pain shot though his body from the simple exertion required for speech. Fiona looked at him while she checked his vitals. "What is the last thing you remember," she asked. "And try not to talk too much. It's gonna hurt a bit for a while."

Draco nodded and took a deep breath to prepare for the coming pain. "Ceremony... Ministry..." he said barely over a whisper.

Astoria nodded and took his hand again. "That's right, my love."

"You were the target of an attack staged by Muggleborn extremists, Mr Malfoy. The attacker was apprehended by the Aurors, but not before you'd been struck by a particularly nasty curse," Fiona told him. "Fortunately for you, Mrs Weasley—Hermione, that is—recognised it because she took it a few years ago herself. Since Madame Pomfrey treated her successfully, she suggested ya should be brought here instead o' St Mungo's."

Draco decided against an attempt to respond and allowed Astoria to take control of the discussion instead. "Will he be all right," Astoria asked, even though she already knew the answer.

Fiona looked at Draco and chose her words carefully, so as not to instill panic or give false hope.

"You'll recover completely, but it'll take a few weeks. This curse causes hypersensitivity to your nervous system, causin' great pain and internal bleeding. Without treatment, it ends in a painful death. You'll hafta take several potions for the comin' week or two, but I reckon you'll be able to leave the hospital wing in a couple days, barrin' any incident," she replied. "And now that you're awake, I'll just go and prepare them potions for ya." She gave the lovers a wink and a smile and then walked away to the potions cabinet.

"So…Potter and…Granger…saved…my life," Draco asked, the pain of asking the simple question contorting his countenance.

Astoria gazed into Draco's eyes and gave him a warm smile. "Yes. The Aurors sprang into action and locked the entire arena down within moments of the attack. Ron Weasley even tried to shove you out of harm's way, but he wasn't able to reach you in time. It was Hermione who recognised the curse that struck you."

Draco's head spun, which didn't help the overall discomfort by any means. Part of it could be attributed to a headache born of the curse, but mostly, it had to do with the processing of the information he'd just received concerning his condition and how he found himself at Hogwarts.

Potter had listened to him when he had been approached by Mafalda's minions and trusted his word, when the Auror had no reason to. The two of them had risked their lives together to uncover her plans and thwart her. But Weasley had remained suspicious of him, and uncomfortable with Potter's cooperation with him. He couldn't blame the redhead, really. Draco had never done much to garner his trust or confidence in all the years they attended Hogwarts together. But now he learned that Weasley had tried to save him, probably at the risk of his own life. And Granger, whom he'd mocked and called _Mudblood_ more times than he remembered, had made sure he got the best care as soon as possible, saving his life. What was this world coming to?

Like many times before, Draco's mind wandered off to thoughts of his mentor and godfather, Severus Snape, a true enigma of a man if there ever was one. With one look at Astoria, his heart beat faster and Headmaster Dumbledore's voice filled his mind, lecturing about how love was the greatest power in the universe. Snape had done a lot of things out of love—hard things, but the right ones.

That could be said for Potter and his friends, too. Draco knew they didn't like him, although there was some kind of mutual respect that had blossomed between them. But in spite of the past, they still chose to do what was right by saving a victim of an unprovoked attack, regardless of his name or social standing.

From the extremists' perspective, Draco could understand why they would attack him. He'd been a Death Eater after all, and his family had been part of Voldemort's inner circle. And in the duelling tournament, he was the only non-Auror in the final quartet, an accomplishment in and of itself. After watching the Aurors in the team final, Draco realised he should be very proud of his fourth place showing, and he was.

"Are you feeling all right, my love," Astoria asked.

"Just... thinking..." he replied, giving her a wan smile.

"The family's worried, Draco," Astoria said just above a whisper, nodding to the paper she had been reading. "_The Prophet_ says the Ministry's received dozens of owls carrying demands for reform. There have even been direct threats against Purebloods unless we give up our seats on the Wizengamot in favour of democratic elections for all seats."

"Too much change... too fast... chaos," Draco rasped, although with a little stronger voice.

Astoria nodded. "That's what father's afraid of. Even he can see that there's need for reform, but an entire society simply cannot change overnight. I'm all for democracy, but not if it'll be abused by extremists seeking revenge for what our ancestors did."

"Very…astute…my love," Draco smiled weakly. "My father…"

Astoria quickly pressed two fingers against his lips to preclude him from launching into a painful set of apologies that were no longer necessary. "I know all about your family's involvement with Voldemort, but you've stood trial. You accepted your punishment and you've worked very hard to return honour to the Malfoy name ever since," she assured him, caressing his furrowed brow.

Tears welled in her eyes as she continued. "My family weren't directly involved with Voldemort's Death Eaters, but my parents sympathized with their basic philosophy, and to an extent, so did Daphne and I. My father never raised his voice against Pureblood tyranny when we all knew he should have—we _all_ should have. It took a horrible war for us to finally wake up and realise that we'd been wrong all along. That's what's important now."

"I…it's going…to take…time," Draco forced. "So much…to…unlearn."

"That's right, my darling," Astoria replied with a watery smile. "But the extremists want to rush it all and—"

Fiona returned with a tray containing almost a dozen cups containing an assortment of potions of varying colours, odours, and degrees of viscosity. "Mr Malfoy, these are restorative and healin' potions: one to reduce the sensitivity to your traumatised nervous system, one to help you rest, and the rest are nutrition supplements. There's water on your bedside table to wash 'em down with, and if ya _keep_ 'em down, you can have some broth later on."

Draco took his potions obediently, although most of them tasted horrible. "Thank…you…" he grimaced, laying his head back on his pillow. Dizziness set in and with a wan smile for his love, he drifted off into the welcoming arms of dreamless sleep.

"Will he really completely recover, Miss Prewett," Astoria asked, wiping her tears away.

"He'll have a time of it, but don't you worry, honey," Fiona replied gently. "He'll be fine as frog's hair in no time. He's got 'im a strong constitution and that's workin' in his favour."

Before she walked away, Fiona patted the worried girl on the shoulder. "Your Mr Malfoy's gonna be out like a light for a good four or five hours. You might wanna let his momma and yer family know how he's doin' and get a little rest yerself," Fiona advised. "Wearin' yerself out ain't gonna do anybody a lick o' good."

"Thank you, Miss Prewett. I will," Astoria promised. She leaned over and kissed Draco's forehead and made to leave. A small smile played across his lips as he slept on.

"Yer welcome. And the name's Fiona," the Apprentice Healer replied with her signature warm smile. "Now, git."

With a slight giggle, Astoria turned and left the hospital wing, making her way to the headmistress' office to Floo home to her family's estate. Fiona checked Draco's vitals one more time before she disappeared into the office to Floo Seamus with an update on her patient's condition.

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Alastor Gumboil and Arthur Weasley stepped into Kingsley Shacklebolt's office to discuss their department and the situation they found themselves in following the attack on Draco Malfoy. They took their customary seats and waited for the Minister to open the discussion.

Kingsley leaned forward at his desk, his elbows supporting his weight. Reminiscent of Albus Dumbledore, he steepled his fingers and gazed at his visitors. "So…where do we stand?"

Arthur spoke up first, having led the initial debriefing meeting with the Aurors and DMLE Squads. "Well…we've determined that although the attacker was working alone in the arena, he was, in fact, a hired wand."

Kingsley raised his eyebrows. "A hired wand?"

"Sorry, sir. The Muggles have an expression, _hired gun_. A gun is a Muggle weapon," Arthur explained, but stopped himself lest he launch into a diatribe concerning various fascinating Muggle devices. "Simply put, someone paid Mr Darby to attack Mr Malfoy."

"He seems to have cooperated during the interrogation," Gumboil observed, nodding to the report Arthur had forwarded to him prior to the meeting.

"He confessed under Veritaserum," Arthur corrected. "Harry questioned him himself. You could say Darby's a victim in this too—a poor soul desperate enough to do anything to earn a few Galleons."

"At the prospect of a lighter punishment, no doubt," Gumboil huffed.

Arthur scowled privately at the Undersecretary's callous assessment. "Possibly, but he knows he's facing a long time in Azkaban as it is. But either way, he's more than willing to cooperate if he can."

Kingsley sighed loudly. "So, we have someone who must truly hate Purebloods who hired this man to attack Mr Malfoy," he said and then looked at Gumboil. "Alastor, you know people who have raised strong voices for increased rights for Muggleborns. Have you heard any talk about staging such a drastic stunt?"

Gumboil thought carefully before he answered. He had to be careful. His own convictions did him credit, but vehemence could cost him. "I think we must regard this as a very serious warning and call a special session of the Wizengamot to address our outdated and highly-prejudicial laws concerning Muggleborns versus Purebloods. By the way, how is Mr Malfoy?"

Arthur noticed the evasiveness of Gumboil's answer. As a matter of fact, he didn't answer Kingsley's question at all, but he knew now was not the time to call the man out for it; that was Kingsley's prerogative.

"He's recovering, thanks to Mrs Weasley, who recognised the curse, which made it possible to give him the correct treatment immediately," Kingsley reported. "I'll call for a full session as soon as I can. We need to allow time for our colleagues to respond. I think you're right about the warning, Alastor. On one hand we can't let terrorist extremists rule our actions, but we also need to prevent this from happening again. Alastor, what issues would be the most pressing to for us to address?"

Arthur sighed in frustration. This was just what Alastor Gumboil lived for—conflict and debate. His behaviour since the Prewett trial had more than established that. This latest incident was just what the bastard needed to raise discord once again. He was beginning to cotton onto all his son-in-law wouldn't say.

Gumboil was delighted to find himself in position to offer advice to the Minister on this matter, but he had to school his body language and demeanour to avert any suspicion that might overshadow the still-shaky trust the Minister held for him. "There are, of course, a few minor issues, such as the advantage all-Wizarding families have over Muggleborns, since Muggleborns don't learn about who they are until age eleven. This question also involves the Restrictions on Underage Magic, since it's perfectly legal for Wizarding parents to teach their minors magic at home prior to their first year at Hogwarts."

Arthur nodded. "This is true, Kingsley. I taught my eight-year-old daughter a hex that afforded her a means to defend herself against her older brothers' pranks. But otherwise, our children were not allowed to use magic at home, except in self-defence; however, it is true that other families allow their children to practice between terms and even train them to some degree."

"Which puts Muggleborns at a distinct disadvantage," Alastor finished. "There are other similar issues, but they pale in comparison to the biased constitution of our community that allows a system with elected and inherited seats," Alastor argued.

Kingsley looked troubled, but had to admit once again that the Undersecretary had a point. "Yes, but we need to go about this carefully and judiciously. Changes to a constitution must be made gradually and with careful consideration to the community as a whole," he said pointedly. "Alastor, as a member of the Wizengamot I can't command you in any way, but I urge you to start with what you consider minor issues. We need to crawl before we can walk, and walk before we can run."

Kingsley's assertion angered him, but Gumboil had to credit the Minister for his ability to differentiate between Gumboil the Senior Undersecretary and subordinate to the Minister for Magic, and Gumboil the member of the Wizengamot, who was free to speak his mind in session. "I think we need to show the whole picture to the Wizengamot. If you want to avoid future attacks, I believe the extremists, as you call them, must be assured that the Muggleborn issue is given serious consideration, from everyday matters to the workings of our very government."

'_As you call them.' What would _you_ call them, Alastor?_ Arthur began to feel more and more dubious about the man and was convinced they'd done the right thing by watching him last autumn. He'd known Alastor Gumboil for years as a veteran law-enforcement agent with a pristine record. There was no way he could imagine the man ever involving himself in an unprovoked attack on anyone. There was the Antrim debacle, but that was simply an off-duty exercise in bad judgement. Arthur was sure Alastor never meant to incite a riot, nor for anyone to get hurt…_did he?_

"Raising the issue of a new constitution and depriving the ancient Wizarding families their inherited seats at this point in the name of greater equality could be construed as an act of anti-Pureblood politics. It could cause as much trouble as the Death Eaters' anti-Muggleborn politics did," Arthur reasoned.

"I'm in the rare position of being from one of those Ancient families, but without a seat due to medieval events that can't be helped. Worst case scenario, it could be seen as revenge rather than justice. And let's not forget that there are still several wealthy and well-connected Pureblood families. Now, I'm not defending the current system, but the large body of Muggleborns in a clash with the powerful and wealthy Ancient families could be devastating, politically, financially, and socially."

"What do you suggest, Arthur," Kingsley asked before Gumboil had a chance to argue.

"I agree with you, Minster," he replied, and then turned to Gumboil. "You have a long career in the field, Alastor. You know very well that reality and regulation don't generally go hand-in-hand. Laws govern our society, but as legislators and enforcers, it's more about applying the laws to reality rather than blindly applying them to idealism or tradition without consideration for possible repercussions. At the same time, simply changing the laws rashly, no matter the intent, could prove just as disastrous as following the existing ones without question."

Alastor couldn't deny the wisdom of the DMLE Head's words. Reluctantly, he nodded. "I still think the whole picture must be presented to the Wizengamot as I've previously stated, but you speak wisely, Arthur. I propose a committee to study the constitution. That should at least show the intent to bring about equality in our government. In addition, I'll propose a series of changes to our existing laws, bringing about the most-urgent reforms."

Gumboil had learned finesse from his mistakes in Antrim and had no designs on making them again. _I'll need to place more pressure on the Ministry itself to force those crusty old fools on the Wizengamot to even consider my demands._

"Thank you, Alastor. You're a strong voice for the Muggleborns. We can only hope this initiative in the Wizengamot will lead Muggleborn opinion to adapt to your line of thinking rather than the extremists'," Kingsley said, closing his file.

"Finally, I want the DMLE to know I'm very pleased with how you've handled the entire tournament, including the attack. The Aurors, Hit-wizards and Squads seem to be working together well. I'm sure it's due to your fine leadership, Arthur, and your insightful reports and work, Alastor. Now, if there's nothing more, I'm sure we all have our fair share of parchment to push. Good day, gentlemen," the Minister said with a grin.

They all shook hands and Arthur left for his office at Level Two. He knew he should feel good about this meeting, but there was something about the entire situation that made him uncomfortable. Was it just Harry's suspicions concerning Gumboil, or was it the fact that he couldn't deny that they were justified? Arthur decided to take a leaf from Molly's book—it's nothing a good cup of tea couldn't remedy.

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Hermione left her cubicle for tea with Selma in RCMC's small breakroom. It was equipped with a kettle and all the accoutrements for a basic tea, including a cool cupboard containing milk and cream and another dry cupboard stocked with an assortment of biscuits. In the middle of the room stood a rather well-used table and matching chairs, and a few rather ugly but surprisingly comfortable love seat and matching armchair that had once graced the Minister's office.

Although Hermione enjoyed the Ministry cafeteria, she'd felt a bit awkward these last few days. She was a well-known Muggleborn and respected spokesperson for Muggleborn rights, but ever since the attack on Draco Malfoy, it appeared that some people seemed to think Hermione supported it, taking to whispering and staring in her presence. Others boldly approached her to discuss the issue, many arguing in favour of Gumboil's assertions, and that made Hermione even more uncomfortable. But her co-workers in RCMC spared her that, so with a happy sigh, she sat down next to Selma with a steaming cup of tea in her hand, supported by a matching saucer.

"What's troubling you, dear," Selma asked in her grandmotherly tone.

Hermione truly appreciated Selma. She was like a third mother to her, with Helen and Molly holding first and second place. But more importantly, Selma was a good friend she knew she could trust for objective and honest advice. Gathering her thoughts, she unburdened her heart.

"... and it's not that I don't agree that there's great need for reform, but I can't help but think there's something sinister under all the warm fuzziness. But for the life of me, I just can't put my finger on it..."

"And not quite putting your finger on something drives you to distraction, am I right," Selma chuckled.

Hermione burst into laughter. "How Ron and Harry managed to put up with me all these years is a mystery to me. The number of books I've tortured them with and nagged them to read over the years would cover the entirety of Devon County. To this day, they have yet to read _Hogwarts: A History,_" Hermione said, shaking her head. Her smile then faded and she fixed her gaze on her friend's face. "Sel, I'm honestly as unnerved now as I had been when Voldemort returned but lurked in the dark."

The older witch took a sip of her tea and nodded slowly in agreement. "I know the feeling, Hermione, and it's the same one I had in the 70s before the first war. It's an uneasy sense of foreboding, right?"

"Foreboding. Yes. But we really can't afford another war. We have yet to recover from the last two," Hermione sighed. "The Minister has called a special session of the Wizengamot and I have the feeling that I should prepare a speech for it. We've really got to do something about the Muggleborn issue before our world erupts in chaos."

Selma nodded enthusiastically. "Knowing Alastor Gumboil as I do—and I have for over twenty-five years—I can promise you that he'll present a load of suggestions in his pushy way during that session. If no one's prepared to face him down, he'll manage to win just enough votes to further his agenda, despite the traditionally-inherited Pureblood seats that will surely oppose him."

"Yes, and that's primarily because his agenda is honourable; the trouble is that he appears to want too much too soon," Hermione lamented. "Maybe I can win enough of the elected seats as well as the...shall we say less-archaically-grounded...Pureblood families…to further the Muggleborn agenda, but in a gradual and sensible manner."

They both sat in silence with their tea for a while. "You know, Hermione, if you could convince Harry to support you, it might be just what you need, apart from your brilliant speech," Selma added.

"I know," Hermione sighed. "But that won't be easy. I mean, Harry would certainly back me, but to make him speak and take direct part in politics? That'll involve some careful planning and execution…and a load of fast talking."

"Oh? Why's that," Selma asked, taking a bite of a shortbread biscuit. "Wasn't his mother a Muggleborn?"

"Yes, Lily Potter was a Muggleborn, but that's not the issue," Hermione explained. "Harry hates politics and wants nothing to do with them, but he also realises that as a public servant, he's stuck with them. He also sits an inherited seat on the Wizengamot as Lord Potter—another thing he's rather dubious about. He's afraid that if he were to speak out, it would look like he's using his fame to gain support."

Selma sighed again. "Hermione, I can't say I approved of everything Albus Dumbledore got up to, but he could manoeuvre the Wizengamot just because he was who he was without needing to take direct part beyond his role as Chief Warlock. Politics is a dodgy game."

"And in the middle of it all, Harry still wishes to be_ just Harry_ and live a normal life," Hermione added.

Selma considered Hermione's dilemma as it related to the Head Auror. She'd worked in the Ministry for over forty years and saw good and bad people come and go, but one thing had always been clear: one's private life and one's professional and political life hung in a delicate balance. For a celebrity, that balance became precarious.

She carefully placed her teacup onto its saucer and folded her hands in front of her on the table. "Hermione, the reality of it all is this: Harry can be _just Harry_ with his friends and family, but in session, he's Lord-Baron Potter-Black; at work, he's Chief Potter; but to the public at large, he's the New Dumbledore, the greatest and most-powerful wizard in Britain."

"I'll have a talk with him, but I want Ginny there, too. She has a way with him no one else has."

"Two against one, eh," Selma asked with a grin.

"Oh, I think he can have Ron on his side—Ron's _always _on his side—but Ginny and I can make them listen," Hermione said impishly. "The trick is making Harry see how important his support is going to be to this effort."

At this point, Amos Diggory stepped into the room for a cuppa. It seemed odd to Hermione that he would go to the trouble since he had a rather extensive tea-service in the privacy of his office, where he could relax and stare at his Cedric-wall in peace.

"Ladies," he greeted them surprisingly cheerfully.

Selma and Hermione finished their tea. "Mr Diggory. We were just on our way back to work, sir," Hermione replied.

"Very good," Amos replied, pouring himself a cuppa. With a nod, he returned to his office ahead of the two witches. Hermione and Selma followed him out the door and returned to their respective workstations—Hermione to her cubicle and her House-elf labours and Selma to her reception area and the interns.

_A/N 1: The event in this chapter involving US federal agents and the Hell's Angels motorcycle club never happened, but the infamous organisation does have hundreds of chapters all over the world and has been officially linked to the sort of illegal activity we mentioned here, including their bloody history with The Outlaws._

_A/N 2: The Black Friar is an actual London pub built in 1875, located at 174 Queen Victoria Street, Blackfriars."Ivres"(plural verb) is French for "drunk."_


	42. Chapter 42 Countdown to Controversy

**Chapter 42 – Countdown to Controversy**

Taya stepped out into the chilly Devon air on her way to the Weasley hen house to fetch the daily cache of eggs as a rather large regal owl approached the Burrow. Instead of entering through the kitchen window, it swooped around Arthur's shed and landed on Taya's shoulder. It held up its leg, hooting and snapping, as if it were in a hurry to be on its way. She sighed and accepted the two letters, allowing the bird to go on about its errands, but not before it left a couple of small punctures from its sharp talons. _Thanks. You're a real pal, ya know that?_

Aunt Molly was convinced the Ministry owls were a bit full of themselves and rather proud of carrying important parchments, but delivering those letters to Taya seemed to be something this owl deemed below its dignity, but still its obligation. The owl soared back toward London, perhaps in hopes of carrying a letter to the French or German Minister for Magic next time. Taya chuckled and looked at the letters, both from the States. One was addressed _Taya, The Burrow, Devon, England. _She immediately recognised the handwriting as that of Coy Dennis, who wrote Granny's letters as she dictated them. The second one bore the seal of the Secretary of Magic himself and was addressed to Marshall Jayce Silvercloud.

"I better get this letter ta Jayce right now," Taya muttered to herself. The eggs would have to wait. She rushed inside, allowing the door to slam behind her. She found her aunt preparing breakfast in the kitchen. The older witch yelped at the noise, turning toward Taya with her wand drawn.

"Aunt Molly, an owl delivered a letter for Jayce from the Secretary of Magic, so I never got to the eggs. Sorry." Taya felt a little bad about shirking the simple task, but any letter from the US government in any capacity took top priority in Jayce's life.

"No worries, dear. I'll collect them. You go ahead and deliver that letter," Molly said nodding toward the stairs.

"Thanks, Aunt Molly. This looks really important," Taya grinned and raced up to Percy's old room where they'd been staying. She wasn't sure if he'd be awake yet, but knowing Jayce, he probably would be. But just in case, she opened the door slowly, wincing at the slight creaking sound it made as she pushed inward.

She stuck her head around the door and sure enough, he lay there wide-awake grinning like a schoolboy, his dark eyes twinkling in the early-morning sun. "Mornin', angel-face."

"Mornin'" she smiled, crossing the small room to sit on the edge of the bed. She leaned down and gave him a quick peck. "Eww! Buffalo breath!"

"Hey, I just woke up. Give a brave a break, will ya," he laughed, grabbing her around the waist and pulled her down on top of him.

"You know if anybody else dared ta call ya a brave, ya'd go ballistic," Taya teased. "But that's neither here nor there. I got a letter for ya from the Secretary o' Magic back home."

"Listenbee? What would he be writin' me for," Jayce asked rhetorically.

"How 'boutcha read it and find out," Taya teased, slapping him on the forehead with the envelope.

"Smart ass," Jayce growled playfully, snatching the envelope from her hand. "Now let's see here." Privately, he'd been hoping for some word from Washington. Despite having enjoyed his stay in England, he hadn't received any further directives from either Blackthorne or Listenbee following the end of the tournament and that had frustrated him. _Hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait._

He perused the letter printed on official stationery, his eyes lighting up and a bright smile splitting his classic Native American features revealing straight white teeth. "Read this, babe," he said and Taya took the letter, it wasn't very long.

_Silvercloud,_

_I've been reading your reports with great interest. It is obvious that we need to keep developing our relationship with the British Ministry of Magic, but specifically, the Auror Office. I see no person better cut-out for that job than you_

_Effective immediately, you are transferred to my personal staff for the coming year and you are appointed Liaison to the British Ministry of Magic under the Secretary of Magic of the United States. Your main objective will be to work closely alongside the Aurors, but as a member of my staff, you'll also have a better opportunity to strengthen our relationship with the British Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt._

_At the end of one year, February 2001, we will evaluate the situation and make further decisions then. I look forward to working with you and many more of your concise and enlightening reports._

_Sincerely,_

_Arlan Listenbee_

_Secretary of Magic of the United States of America_

_PS: Please assure Miss Gallatea Prewett that we have taken the liberty of securing a year's sabbatical for her with the State of South Dakota._

"This is amazing," Taya squealed. "You'll work for the Tight House then!"

_The Tight House_ was a commonly-used term for the Office of the Secretary of Magic in Washington DC. It was magically-concealed, squeezed between Muggle buildings on Pennsylvania Avenue, close to its Muggle counterpart. It didn't even have an official address. In truth, the office complex was anything but tight and housed the Secretary's offices, including those of his entire staff.

Various satellite offices, also magically-concealed, lay spread throughout Washington DC, all connected by an internal Floo network. Hidden under Capitol Hill, lay the largest official complex in Wizarding USA, the Federal Assembly, the equivalent of the Wizengamot, but functioning more like a unicameral version of the combined houses of the Muggle Senate and House of Representatives.

"Somethin', ain't it? Me—a reservation kid from western South Dakota appointed to the Secretary's personal staff before I'm 30," Jayce said feeling overwhelmed, but overjoyed at the same time.

"Yeah, and DC even went so far as to cover my freckled behind," Taya mused. "Ye're gonna accept, right," Taya asked hopefully.

"Baby, a man doesn't say no to a personal appointment from the esteemed Arlan Listenbee. If I was to do something that stupid, I'd spend the rest of my shambles of a career counting Snow Pixies in Alaska," Jayce assured her with a chuckle. "Now…how about that letter from Granny?"

Taya looked at it, still clutched in her hand. "Good grief, I almost forgot about it," she gasped, tearing into the battered envelope. "Here goes…"

"_Dear Taya,_

_I was never any great shakes at Divination, but I had an inkling or two that you and your man won't be back in the Holler any time soon. I don't know exactly what that means, but I expect you and your sister were truly called home to England. It was your Momma's dream that you—all three of you—could one day head back there to be with your Daddy. It didn't quite work out that way, but the important thing is that you found your true family and that warms my heart more than I can say._

_Now Taya, don't you and Onie go worrying about me none. I have more than enough folks looking after me, fetching and doing. I'll admit I ain't no spring chicken, but I ain't counting on taking a dirt nap just yet neither_

_As I'm more than sure you know, life goes on as usual in the Holler, except for the boys here who pined after our Onie when I told them she'd met herself a fine Irishman. Give that brave of yours a hug from me and send my love to your sister._

_Granny_

_PS: Them quilts Miss Hermione wanted are almost done. We're just fixing to stitch the last one down. We'll ship them off in the next couple of weeks."_

"She knew..." Taya said.

Jayce collected his thoughts. "... and understood we'd feel funny about leaving her after O-Nee-Tsah came here."

"But she's right, she won't even have to ask to get whatever help she needs." Taya knew very well how special Granny Tyree was to the people of Rook Holler. She was their Healer, their collective grandmother, their confidante, and for many, their teacher. Her close friendship with Coy Dennis ensured that she'd be taken care of if she needed it, as he checked in on her every day, usually with a Carver boy or Emery Johns or George Cox in tow.

"The Holler's a special place, Taya. It's sort of like the reservation's supposed to be. People really care for each other and live according to the old school," Jayce said.

Taya made to interrupt. She knew full well that the reservations weren't the ideal places they could be, even though the inhabitants did their best to preserve their very ancient heritage, whereas Rook Holler really could be described as idyllic in many ways.

Jayce placed the index and middle fingers of his right hand on Taya's lips. "Let me finish, Tay-O-Wee. You ended up in the Holler because of your dad's involvement in the war over here. And even though you were displaced, you and O-Nee-Tsah should count yourselves lucky to have grown up there."

Taya leaned into her man's chest and nestled her face into it. "I just wish…I wish Momma could-a lived ta come back with us, ya know," Taya sighed.

"I know, babe. Butcha know what? Your mom's here with ya, right now," Jayce reminded his love, rubbing her back lovingly. "Every time ya think about her or talk about her, she's here. My grandfather used to say that those we love only truly pass away when we, the living, don't remember 'em anymore. That's why the Lakota tell so many stories about our ancestors. It's how we keep our loved ones around us."

Taya raised her head and gazed into his eyes. "Momma used to say that those who love us never truly leave us." She let go a little laugh and wiped a stray tear from her face. "I guess old folks ain't so addled after all."

"I guess not," Jayce chuckled. "Now…since you've declared I have buffalo breath, let me up so I can shower and chase that wooly herd out of my mouth. Then we can break the news to the family."

"Kay, but first…" Taya gave Jayce the hug Granny had asked her to give him.

Fifteen minutes later, Jayce and Taya descended the rickety stairs to the kitchen. By now, Ron and Hermione had awakened and seated themselves at the table. One look at her niece and soon-to-be-nephew (if she had anything to say about it) told Molly Jayce's letter contained something of great importance. Once the six inhabitants of the Burrow were seated she looked at them.

"Well, are you going to tell us before or after you burst?"

Taya nodded to Jayce, as she thought he should be the one to tell them. "It's yer news, baby."

"I've got new orders," Jayce said solemnly. "I'm assigned to the personal staff of the Secretary of Magic."

"So, it's Washington DC then," Hermione assumed.

"Not really," Jayce replied, shaking his head. "I'm the Secretary's Liaison to the British Ministry of Magic—at least for the next year."

The kitchen fell silent while they all took in what Jayce had just told them. Ron's eyes opened wide with the realisation of what his cousin's significant other just said. "So you'll be staying in England for at least another year?"

Jayce nodded and grinned widely. Taya nodded her head adamantly. "It's true! And I'm on an official leave-of-absence from the Parks, courtesy of Uncle Sam!"

"That's wonderful," Molly beamed. "And Fiona will most certainly be delighted once she finds out! Oh, this calls for a celebration!"

"She better be, since she's bound 'n' determined to stay in England 'til hell won't have it," Taya said.

"Scotland, Taya," Hermione whispered. "She's in Scotland."

"Oh, yeah. That's right," Taya apologised. "Lucky for me that your fellow scorekeeper at the tournament didn't hear me say that."

"Minerva," Hermione said, breaking into a smile "Label her—or anything else—Scottish as English or even British, and you'll see some interesting human transfiguration."

"Making Draco-the-Amazing Bouncing Ferret look like child's play," Ron snorted. "That was just classic."

"You're talkin' about that blond guy at the tournament, right," Jayce asked. "The one that was attacked? She turned him into a ferret at some point?"

"The same. Minerva didn't actually do it, but she went all bonkers because another Professor, a Death Eater in disguise, did it to prove a point," Ron said.

"Hush, Ronnie. Minerva was right to go all bonkers. That sort of thing is against school policy," Molly scolded, and then turned to Taya and Jayce. "This is such great news! We'll have more time together!"

"We understand if you'll find a place of your own, but you're of course welcome to stay here," Arthur said.

"Taya, have you any ideas as to what you'd like to do," Hermione asked, taking a bite of toast.

"I haven't thought about that yet, really," Taya said "I guess I'll find work somewhere, but don't I need to get some kind of permit, since I'm not a British citizen."

"Babe, I'll make more than enough for both of us," Jayce reminded her, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"I know, Jayce, but I still want to have a job of my own. Life as a house witch just isn't for me. I'd be stir-crazy in a week."

Molly put her teacup on the table with a clatter. The others looked up at her in alarm. "Jayce and Taya are staying here and you immediately start to talk about where they will live and about bringing in Galleons," she huffed. "Gallatea-dear, I'm sure that Arthur, with his contacts at the Ministry, or George with the people he knows in Diagon Alley can help you find something."

"Of course," Arthur agreed. "And it won't be any trouble to get you that permit, either. I can push that right through with the Minister this afternoon."

"Too right," Ron agreed. "Dad's connected." They all shared a laugh as they continued to tuck into their traditional English breakfast. "But that's not even the most-important thing."

"Finding a job legally isn't important," Hermione sniffed haughtily. "This from one of the top three Aurors in the country. What, pray, tell, is the most-important thing, then?"

Ron grinned wickedly and kissed his wife's temple. "Hermione, I'm shocked. The most-important thing is: When are we bringing the family together to celebrate this?"

The others around the table burst into laughter while Hermione swatted her husband on a broad black-clad shoulder. "Prat."

Arthur looked at his wife lovingly, knowing she'd very likely already planned it from the moment Jayce made his announcement. "Molly Weasley, your first thought was about celebration. Therefore, good lady of the house, bringst Ogden's Finest forth, and ye shallst be sloshed."

More laughter filled the air. Molly knew very well that Arthur was just taking the Mickey out of her because of her reluctance to include too much Firewhiskey into family celebrations and her constant chiding of their daughter for her love of courtly language. She thought how Arthur's mangling of it would likely have caused Ginny to laugh herself silly.

"Maybe countin' Snow Pixies wouldn't be such a bad alternative to livin' with this bunch," Taya asked Jayce.

"Tempting, but no," he grinned and looked at Molly. "It would be great to celebrate this with the family, Molly. Arrange it as you see fit and let us know if you want any kind of help... apart from Arthur bringin' out the Firewhiskey."

The rest of the breakfast passed quickly and before long, Arthur, Ron and Hermione were ready to Floo to the Ministry. Jayce joined them, since he wanted to send a reply to the Secretary of Magic, and also notify Kingsley about his appointment and find out what his duties will be for the next year with the Auror Office.

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Ron strode into his and Harry's office to find his best mate already sorting through a pile of memos that had arrived since yesterday morning. On his own desk, Ron found the pile of daily reports to be signed off and filed. _He always leaves me with this ruddy shift shit. One of these days, Potter. One of these days._

"What's the good word, mate," Ron called cheerfully, belying his displeasure about the shift reports.

"What? Oh! Morning, Ron," Harry said with a start, not having heard Ron come in. "Your stealth work's getting better."

"Thanks…I think," Ron replied. "So…shift reports?"

"All yours, my friend," Harry snorted. "I had to do them yesterday and deal with all the attack crap over the weekend. It won't kill you."

"I guess. So…Ginny on the road again?"

"Yeah. She left for Holyhead early this morning," Harry replied. "The Harpies have a two-match stand against Appleby this weekend, so they're hard at it."

"The Arrows, huh," Ron asked. "I doubt they'll be much of a threat, but you never know. They've surprised a lot of teams this season, including Kenmare and Ballycastle."

"Tell me about it. Ginny meditated for a full hour before bed last night," Harry said, tossing a useless waste of parchment into the air and zapping it with his wand.

"Meditating," Ron repeated. "You've started her on that, have you?"

"Well…yeah. If she's going to learn Occlumency, she needs to do that, you know," Harry reasoned. "You mean you haven't started Hermione on it?"

"Bloody hell! You know what? I was supposed to get in touch with the Patil sisters! Remember the one Inquisition when Bill mentioned the _Advero_ charm? And we talked about all of us learning Occlumency," Ron gasped, slapping himself in the head. He grabbed a sheet of parchment and a quill and began to scribble a note to Parvati in Lee's office. "Between the two of them, they can get the whole family started on it."

"If they'll do it," Harry reminded him.

"Right. If they'll do it," Ron sighed, a little crestfallen. "Anyway, we won't know until we ask. And really, all Hermione needs is a book on meditation and she's on her way."

Harry had to smile at that. It was true. If there was a book about something, Hermione could read it and act on it and then teach the subject to someone else. "Oh well. Good luck, then."

A few minutes later, a parchment aeroplane soared out of the Auror Offices toward the lifts for a ride to Level One where all Ministry administrative offices were located. "Now for these ruddy reports."

"Well, hurry up, mate," Harry said, incinerating the last of the memos unworthy of filing. "We have to get to Hogwarts before lunch."

"Hogwarts? Why," Ron asked, then paled. "Oh. Malfoy. His statement, right?"

"Right in one," Harry grumbled. After having heard Darby's story, he really wasn't looking forward to his interview with Malfoy. He would have to disclose the man's confession along with a synopsis of what happened after Draco fell and he really didn't know what to expect by way of a response from the proud Slytherin or his family.

"Well, it was inevitable, you know," Ron said. Since his hair had grown long enough to pull into a ponytail, his appearance had become less-roguish and more aristocratic and athletic. His increased bulk due to regular exercise rivalled his brother, Bill's, command of respect in a crowd.

"It goes with the territory," Harry agreed. "I'm going to go down for some coffee and a muffin. Can I bring you anything?" This question was, of course, only perfunctory, for Harry knew well that Ron would definitely like something. "Coffee? A pastry? A whole box of pastries?"

"Very funny," Ron snorted. "Just a coffee and a chocolate-chip muffin, if they have it. If they don't, apple-cinnamon's good. Mum made a full-on English breakfast this morning. Oh! That reminds me. Jayce's with Kingsley right now. He has some news."

"Oh? What news," Harry asked, tossing his maroon Auror's robes over his black fatigues.

"You'll see. It's his news to tell," Ron smirked. _Suffer, you snarky git. Leave me with shift reports, will you?_

"All right, then. Large coffee and a muffin," Harry said. "Be back in a tick." He left the office as Ron turned his attention back to the previous day's reports.

"Merlin, Reynolds," Ron huffed. "D'ya think you could write so I could _read it?_ Old goat, anyway." By the time Harry returned with the coffee and muffins, he'd just signed off on Reynolds' report. With a furrowed brow, he thanked Harry for the snack and continued with his work.

Harry leaned over to see how far Ron had gotten with his review. "Reynolds, eh? How that man got through Hogwarts and then onto the force is a mystery to me. I mean, how did the professors and examiners ever grade his work? It's illegible!"

"You noticed," Ron sneered. "This is why you did this to me, isn't it? You didn't want to fight your way through Reynolds' chicken scratch." Harry just grinned wickedly and sat down at his desk, propping his booted feet on it while he sipped his coffee and munched his orange-cranberry muffin.

"Aw, don't be such a spoil-sport. I brought you two muffins," Harry teased.

"Small compensation for a headache," Ron growled, taking a sip of his coffee. "Ohh, but that's good stuff. Thanks, mate. I might just forgive you…this time."

"I'm most-gratified," Harry teased some more, bowing his head in mock respect. "I'm eternally in your debt. Now hurry up. I want to get this thing with Malfoy over with as soon as we can."

Twenty minutes later, Ron finished his last report and banished them to the filing cabinet. "Finally! You ready to go?"

Harry dropped his feet to the floor and tossed his empty cup and wrapper into the bin, which shuddered and belched. "Let's do this."

Donning their maroon robes of office and checking their look with one another, the two top Aurors in Britain made for the lifts, opting not to run the stairs and muss themselves. Harry pushed the button and the car opened immediately for them. "Must be my lucky day," he smirked as they boarded the car that would take them to the Atrium Level so they could Apparate to the Hogwarts gates.

"Hey, maybe Minerva'll let us have lunch with the students," Ron mused. "We haven't seen the Munchkins in a while."

"You know she will," Harry replied, stepping out of the car, ignoring the sickly-sweet voice of the recording. "She loves me."

"Thinking of playing the hero card, Potter," Ron sneered in a bad impression of Lucius Malfoy.

"Thinking of a feast for lunch, Weasley," Harry sneered back.

"Okay, hero, let's go then," Ron laughed as they reached the Apparition point off the Atrium. With a synchronised spin, the two best mates spun down and vanished with the softest of pops.

Harry and Ron arrived outside the gates a full minute later. Apparition hops from London to the Burrow took only seconds, but from London to the highlands of Scotland took a bit longer. For Harry, Apparition was only slightly less-disorienting than Portkey travel and far less-embarrassing than Floo travel. At least he landed on his feet when he Apparated. He gladly traded dizziness for clumsiness.

The two passed the winged boars perched on the stone gateposts and began their trek to the castle. As they approached, they noticed the half-Giant and a red-haired witch leaving Hagrid's hut. "Wonder what they're about," Ron muttered.

"No idea," Harry replied, waving to them.

"'Arry! Ron," Hagrid boomed. "Good ter see ya!"

"Hey, Hagrid," Harry replied while Fiona stepped into Ron's embrace. "Onie. What's going on?"

"Oh, well, we're goin' ta look in on the Thestral 'erd. One o' the mares is about ter foal," Hagrid explain.

"And Hagrid invited me along to help out if there's a problem," Fiona added. "And before ya ask, yes, I can see 'em."

"Merlin," Ron breathed. "D'ya think…d'ya think I might see one now?"

"It's possible, Ron," Hagrid replied. "After the war 'n' all, it wouldn' surprise me a bit. Care ter find out?"

"I'd like to, Hagrid, but Harry and I need to get up to the castle to take Draco Malfoy's statement," Ron declined. "You know—the attack."

"Oh, right," Hagrid said, scratching his chin through his scraggly beard. "Terrible thing, tha'."

"Yeah, it was," Harry agreed. "But maybe after lunch?"

"I got a class—third-years—but after tha' we can have a look," the Care of Magical Creatures professor suggested. "If ya wanna come ter me class, ye c'n see Beak—er—Witherwings. The kids're studyin' Hippogriffs this week."

"He let me pet 'im," Fiona gushed. "I bowed, then he bowed, then I went right up and rubbed his beak. He really likes that."

"Yeah, we know," Ron snorted. "In our third year—"

"Stuff it, you," Harry snarled. "We really need to get up to the castle. We'll escort the third-years to your class. It'll give us an excuse."

"Right you are, 'Arry. Ron," Hagrid beamed. "See yer after lunch, then." Harry and Ron watched as Hagrid and Fiona walked off toward the Forbidden Forest and the clearing where the Thestral herd nested. The two Aurors turned back to the castle, jogging to make up for lost time. They burst through the heavy door, having barely broken a sweat.

Arriving outside the doors to the infirmary, they adjusted their robes and re-tied their ponytails before they squared their shoulders and stepped in, oozing authority and professionalism. Except for a set of dividers that provided privacy for Draco Malfoy, the ward stood deserted. "Guess once we graduated, it's been pretty dull around here," Ron smirked.

"You mean once _I_ graduated," Harry chuckled. "The poor woman must be bored to tears these days."

"I hardly think so, Mr Potter," the matron's voice sounded behind them. "It seems Mr Weasley spent his share of time on my ward. And children still fall from broomsticks, you know."

"M-madame Pomfrey," Ron sputtered. "We…we didn't see you there."

"That would probably be because you didn't look, Mr Weasley," Madame Pomfrey snapped with a slight smile. "What can I do for you this morning? Has Mr Potter found a way to injure himself?"

Harry chuckled and drew the surprised matron into a hug and kissed her slightly wrinkled cheek. When he released her, she giggled, her cheeks turning rosy-pink. "No, ma'am. We're here on official business."

"We need a word with Malfoy," Ron added. "About the attack. How's he doing?"

"Well, it was pretty touch-and-go there for a bit, but once we got the bleeding stopped and the wounds closed, he began to mend," Poppy reported. "Fiona's been working with him closest, but he's made great strides in just the past 24 hours. Miss Greengrass has been invaluable in his recovery."

"Can we speak with him," Harry asked. "Is he strong enough for that?"

"Yes, but no more than about ten or fifteen minutes," the matron ordered. "He's mending, but he's still very weak."

"Understood," Harry said. "Auror Weasley?"

"Right. Thanks, Madame Pomfrey," Ron said with a slight bow.

Harry and Ron stepped quietly to the partition and rapped lightly on the metal frame. "May we come in for a few minutes?"

Astoria stood and slid the partition aside to see who wished to visit her fiancé. "Oh. Chief Potter, Auror Weasley. Please. Come in."

"Thank you," Harry replied, stepping through with Ron right behind him. He decided that since he had the best rapport with the Malfoy scion, he would conduct the interview while Ron took notes.

"Potter. Weasley," Draco whispered. "A pleasure."

Harry ignored the slight sarcasm and got right down to business. "Madame Pomfrey says you're on the mend. Is there anything you need?"

"How about a new chest," Draco smirked. "This one's a bit…beat up."

Harry and Ron couldn't help but smile. Draco wasn't exactly known for his razor wit, but once in a while the two Aurors had to admit he could pop a good one off. "Indeed," Harry said with a nod. "Draco, what do you remember about last Sunday evening?"

"Not much," he replied. "We were all at the centre of the arena floor and then there was a flash of light and then…nothing."

"He knows he was attacked, but we don't know why," Astoria interjected. "Does anyone know why someone would want to kill my fiancé?"

Harry sighed. This was the part he'd dreaded all morning. "Draco, the man who cursed you was what we're calling a _hired wand_. It means someone hired the assailant to attack you."

"You caught him, right," Draco asked, gritting his teeth. Some of his gnashing was anger, but most of it was lingering pain from his wounds.

"Yes, we've got him," Harry assured them. "We caught him trying to sneak out of the Atrium. Chang and Finnegan spied him moving through the crowd and stunned him. He was lying on the floor on his back with ten wands in his face when we got to him."

"Anybody…we know," Draco asked.

"Actually, no," Harry said. "He would have been a fourth- or fifth-year when we started Hogwarts. His name is Elwood Darby. His parents were Muggleborns murdered during the war and their home burned to the ground. He was an indigent, barely existing in Knockturn Alley. Somebody hired him to put the hit on you for 50 Galleons."

"Don't tell me," Draco began. "The Muggleborn Registration Act, right?"

"Right. It appears that Mr and Mrs Darby refused to register. Dolohov led a raiding party," Harry told him. "Darby fought with the resistance, but since he hadn't sat his NEWTs, he couldn't find a job after the war. He was desperate and…well, he gave in to temptation."

"Who…who hired…Darby," Draco asked. Harry and Ron knew Draco Malfoy well enough to know when the wheels began to turn in his head.

"We don't know—for sure," Harry said. "We have a list of suspects, but until we can come up with a real lead, we can't officially name names."

"So what's going to happen to Mr Darby," Astoria asked shakily. "I mean, there's got to be some law that can help him, considering what happened to him in the war."

"Unfortunately, Miss Greengrass, attempted murder is attempted murder," Ron replied. "It doesn't matter whether the suspect is a war-hero or a street-urchin. The law is the law. Elwood Darby is facing life in Azkaban. He was officially charged and bound over for trial yesterday."

"So he…confessed," Draco concluded.

"Yeah. I've got a copy of his statement for you if you'd like to read it," Harry offered, removing a scroll from his robes. He handed it to Astoria, who opened it and held it up for Draco to read.

The Malfoy scion read the parchment over, his lips moving slightly as he went along. Astoria read over his shoulder, her eyes widening as Elwood Darby's story laid itself before her. Her hand moved to her mouth as tears welled in her bright eyes. "Draco, darling, we've got to do something," Astoria cried. "We can't let that poor man spend the rest of his life in Azkaban because…well, because a corrupt government destroyed his life."

"I have his Pensieve memory if you'd like to see that," Harry offered, extracting a vial of silvery material and holding it up for them to see.

"We don't have a Pensieve," Astoria argued.

Ron stepped over to the fireplace and tossed a pinch of powder in. "Headmistress' office!"

A moment later, Professor McGonagall's head appeared in the green flames. "Auror Weasley! To what do I owe this visit?"

"Harry's interviewing Mal—Mr Malfoy. He wants to see his attacker's Pensieve memory. Would you mind," Ron asked.

"Of course," Minerva replied. "I'll send Dinky with it right away."

"Thanks, Minerva," Ron said, pulling his head from the flames. A few moments later, a tiny _crack!_ rent the air revealing a tiny little House-elf buckling under the weight of the stone vessel.

"Dinky is bringing the remember dish, sirs and miss," she squeaked.

Ron reached down and relieved the little creature of her burden, allowing her to return to her duties. "Don't worry, Dinky. Chief Potter and I will return it to Professor McGonagall."

"If you is wishing it, sir," she squeaked, and vanished with another _crack!_

As soon as Ron set the Pensieve down on a firm surface, Harry poured the memory into it and helped Draco sit up enough to dip his nose into the bowl. Astoria followed, wanting to see for herself the actual events as written in Darby's statement. Several minutes later, Harry and Ron steadied them as they were ejected from the memory.

"Storie, I…"

"It's the right thing to do, love," Astoria urged gently. "Remember your own trial."

Draco sighed. His father would have demanded satisfaction, whether in the courts or a duelling arena. His father would have seen the man packed off to Azkaban to be greeted with the Dementor's Kiss. Time was Draco himself would have demanded the same. But now, he just wasn't sure what to do. On one hand, the man tried to kill him with a horrible curse—a curse he knew all too well as Antonin Dolohov's specialty. On the other hand, he knew how desperation and fear could drive a man to do things he would never have ordinarily even considered, let alone done.

"Draco, love?"

"Chief Potter, how can I help," Draco asked resignedly. "What can I do to further the investigation and help Darby too."

"You want to help Darby," Harry asked, aghast. "He confessed to it all. His trial is going to be little more than a formality."

"Potter—Harry, I…I feel I owe it to him," Draco confessed. "It was my father's lot that ruined his life. If I can do something to get him a reduced sentence, I want to try."

Astoria took her fiancé's hand in her own and kissed it over and over as tears streamed down her face. Here was another chance for Draco to prove to the world that he was the good man she knew and not another conniving and self-serving chip off the old Malfoy block.

"He'd need legal representation better than the Ministry can provide," Harry warned the blond wizard. "He can't begin to afford it. He hasn't a Knut to his name."

"I can ask my father," Astoria suggested. "If anyone knows how the legal system works, he does."

"But he's on the Wizengamot, Miss Greengrass," Harry argued. "It could be construed as a conflict of interest."

"Not if he abstains," Draco corrected him. "Any member of the Wizengamot can act as counsel so long as he abstains from the final verdict. Lord Greengrass is a highly-skilled barrister, Potter."

"Oh yes," Astoria agreed. "He's worked on a few Muggle cases on the side as well. He may be all Slytherin, but Daddy knows which side his bread is buttered on."

"I never knew—"

"And neither did anyone else, including my mother," Astoria giggled. "Daphne found out by accident and told me all about it. It was a paternity case against some young Muggle noble prat. Daddy made a small fortune on the case, too. He managed to convince the girl's family to take 50,000 pounds to keep their mouths shut. The noble's family also paid for an…um…ambi…amber…"

"Abortion," Harry finished for her. "They terminated the pregnancy." Harry noticed the horrified looks on the faces of the other three within the partition. All three of them were Purebloods, steeped in Pureblood tradition to some degree. Abortion was virtually unheard-of in the Wizarding world as so few children are born into it, the Weasleys being an exception.

"Yes, that's it," Astoria confirmed, her face turning a light shade of green. "_Abortion_."

"That's…that's barbaric," Draco spat, wincing again with the sharp pain the exertion induced. "It's…it's _murder!_"

"Some would say so, yes," Harry replied regretfully. "But all that aside, you want to help Darby. He's charged with attempted murder. The only thing I can think of that might garner him a reduced sentence is—"

"Aggravated assault," Ron finished. "He also wants to cooperate with the investigation. That might figure in as well."

"Storie, Floo…your father," Draco decided. "Potter, if you'd care to take my statement?"

"Of course," Harry agreed. "Ron?"

"I'm ready," the redhead declared, quill perched against parchment. "Fire away."

Ten minutes later, Harry and Ron left the hospital wing to make their way to the headmistress' office. They discussed how they thought Darby's case might play out. Arthur was sure to agree to Malfoy's terms—he would press charges for attempted murder, but as soon as Lord Greengrass moved for a continuance, Draco would agree to rescind his original charge in favour of aggravated assault.

If all went according to plan, Darby would serve no more than five years in Azkaban and then five more years' probation with a nominal number of hours' community service. Harry thought this would be a fine way for his Magical Brotherhood Fund to help ex-convicts rejoin society in a safe and productive manner, rather than toss them back into the streets as indigents who would surely re-offend.

Upon arrival at the Gargoyle that guarded the stairs to the head's office, Harry and Ron stopped short. They didn't know the password. Harry'd had enough exchanges with the thing that he felt he really shouldn't have to give it. "We need to return Professor McGonagall's Pensieve. Would you mind letting us by?"

"How do I know you're really Chief Potter," the Gargoyle sniped. "You could be some nutter Polyjuiced or something."

"Oh he's a nutter all right, but he's not Polyjuiced," Ron snickered. "He's really Potter."

"Thanks so much for your support, Weasley," Harry muttered. "Do you want me to take a Wizard's Oath or something?"

The Gargoyle paused a moment, then stepped aside. "If I didn't like you so much, I'd make you wait like that ruddy Mick that wanders around here like he owns the place."

"Whatever," Harry snickered. "But one day you're going to have to make peace with Auror Finnegan, you know."

"I'll be gravel before that ever happens. Now go before I change my mind," it grumbled. "Wizards."

The headmistress was more than happy to invite two of her favourite three alumni to lunch with the rest of the school. They sat with the Munchkins, now known around the school as _The Spawn_ since the Ape-arition Bomb incident, and exchanged all the latest news. Dennis and the Gryffindor team gave full reports on the progress they'd been making on the season, which made Harry and Ron very proud. They had another match against Ravenclaw, which hadn't proven to be much of an opponent to any of the teams except the Hufflepuffs, who would be no match for the superior skill and speed of the Gryffindors.

"Don't go into it all full of yourselves," Harry counselled.

"Yeah, because anything can happen," Ron agreed. "Just make them play _your_ game and the cup is yours."

After lunch, Ron and Harry escorted the third year Slytherins and Gryffindors to Hagrid's class. Harry bowed to Witherwings, who recognised him instantly and bowed in reply. Harry walked up to him and gave him a friendly hug around his thick feathery neck.

"An' tha's how yer approach a Hippogriff," Hagrid boomed. "Now, 'oo's next ter give it a go."

A Slytherin girl approached cautiously and bowed to the proud animal. As he had first done with Harry so many years before, Witherwings cocked his head and studied her, as if decided whether or not she was worthy of his attention. The entire class held its collective breath as they looked on. The girl was about to back away when the Hippogriff suddenly dipped his body and returned her greeting.

"Well done, Miss Waylett," Hagrid boomed. "Go on, now. Give 'im a pat. That's it. Right on 'is beak. He likes tha."

"Care to check out the Thestrals," Harry whispered. "It's about time you saw what you flew to London."

"Yeah. Sure," Ron replied nervously. For some reason, anything that had anything to do with death still unsettled him, even after all he'd seen and done during the Battle of Hogwarts. He followed Harry to a clearing where he saw, to his amazement, a small herd of black skeletal horse-like creatures whickering and pawing the ground foraging for whatever they could find.

Harry summoned a few large slabs of mutton from the kitchen and handed a couple of them to Ron. "Here," he said. "Horses are herbivores and Hippogriffs are ominvores, but Thestrals are strictly carnivorous. Go on. Toss the meat over to them. They won't bite you."

Ron tossed a slab of meat to a group of foals and another to a couple of mares watching nearby. Harry tossed his among the stallions and stepped back to watch them. "I learned how to feed them from Luna back in fifth year. I found her out here one day. She was barefoot. The 'Claws had stolen every pair of shoes she owned."

"I wish I'd known," Ron said regretfully. "I should've been nicer to her."

"Nobody knew," Harry replied. "She never complained because she knew they'd return her stuff at the end of the year."

"Doesn't matter," Ron growled. "She didn't deserve that." Harry didn't reply because there was nothing more to say.

Following a few moments communion with the strange creatures, Harry and Ron left the glade and walked back to the gates to Apparate back to the Ministry. Jayce and Arthur were probably finished with their meeting schedule and would be waiting to break the news of Jayce's new assignment to Harry.

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Harry's and Ron's day had taken a definite turn for the better. Jayce came by without Arthur to find out what they wanted him to do within the Auror Office, explaining that he was willing to take shifts with the others, consult, or whatever they needed.

"Honestly, we could use the consulting bit, Harry," Ron offered. "I mean, he's got combat experience, mate!"

"And you don't," Jayce coughed, trying not to choke on his amusement. "You guys kicked the ass of the nastiest bad-boy to ever walk this planet. What could I possibly teach you?"

"It wasn't as glamorous as all that, mate," Ron said sadly. "We didn't know what the hell we were doing. We didn't even have a plan—just a mission and a few cryptic clues from a barmy old man."

"We got through on luck and adrenaline," Harry agreed. "And Hermione's amazing brain."

"That's not the story we got in the States," Jayce told them. "The reports said there was some glorious battle and—"

"There was one glorious battle, if you want to call it glorious," Harry spat. "It was the final and only real battle of the whole war and it happened on the grounds of a school. The rest of it was a load of corrupt politics lorded over by a madman. Think of Hitler's Third Reich and you'll have the measure of it."

"Yeah—no marching, no coordinated attacks or counter-attacks—just a lot of spells and death," Ron said, swallowing back the sobs that threatened to tear through his throat. "It wasn't anything you'd recognise as tactically brilliant. It was just…chaos."

"Ron, my man, you'll find that war is little more than organised chaos," Jayce explained. "Sure, you can orchestrate all ya want, but whatever happens in the field just happens. A lot of times, the original plan goes right out the window and all ya can do is improvise and make do with whatcha got. I learned that in Mogadishu. What's important is thatcha won and put that lunatic down for good."

"But at what cost," Harry asked. "How do we minimise the cost?"

"That, Chief, is the 64 million-dollar question, ain't it," Jayce replied pointedly. "The only answer to that is to train your troops to the top of their potential and then train them some more. Make full use of your advisory staff. A good leader listens to his aides and delegates responsibility among them. No one man can fight a war and hope to win it. He needs his friends."

That particular adage hit Harry where he lived. Throughout his years at Hogwarts and early in the war, he'd tried to keep his friends and family safe by placing himself between them and Voldemort. But time and again, he'd been proven wrong. It really was teamwork that won the war. But good as his Aurors were now, they needed more if they were going to be the fighting force he wanted them to be. Let the DMLE Squads play policemen; his Aurors needed to be soldiers—the best fighting force in the magical world—and he and Ron knew former US Army Ranger Jayce Silvercloud, US Marshall, was their ticket to that end.

"Jayce, we need you to train us like we're Ranger recruits," Harry said flatly. "What is it the Americans say? Be the best you can be?"

Jayce nodded, a sly grin stealing across his face.

"We want to be the best we can be. Wands, munitions, everything," Ron told him. "We're launching a broom corps, and put Auror Cho Chang in command. But before she's ready to lead a unit like that, she needs to learn how to do it right. Auror Seamus Finnegan's assigned to infantry, but good as he is, he needs to learn to do it right as well."

"Then all you'd need is artillery. By the gods, you're serious, aren't you," Jayce gasped, in awe of the determination in their young faces. "You want to become true warriors!"

"Yes," Harry growled. "I swear on all that's holy—and maybe a few things that aren't—that _never_ will another dark lord _ever_ rise to power in Britain again. I refuse to allow another child to become an orphan because of one man's hatred and a prejudiced government's impotence."

"Then we need to start at the beginning," Jayce said quietly. "Boot camp. This can give us a baseline figure as to where you're at and what ya need to work on. From what I've seen and heard, you're off to a good start physically and magically, but if you want to become a crack fighting force, we'll need to play a few war games."

"War games? Like what we do in the training room," Harry asked.

"Something like that, but on a grander scale," Jayce explained. "I'm talkin' survival skills and thinkin' on your feet kind o' stuff. I'll teach ya's how to live off the land—some the white man's way, some the Lakota way. When I'm done, there won't be a dark lord in the universe that'll be able to put a wand to ya."

Ron's eyes lit up bright as Christmas-tree faerie lights. "Bloody hell! When do we start?"

"I'd like to start with you two and Finnegan," Jayce said. "I might even include a brother or two. Bill seems like the type who'd thrive on this shit. I can't train you all on my own."

"Are you kidding," Ron barked. "He's a Curse-breaker! He worked in Egypt for years. He'd love it! If you can tear Charlie away from his Dragons, I'm sure he'd be game. Dunno about George or Percy, though."

"George might be your R&D man, Harry," Jayce mused. "He's a prankster and a damned fine inventor, so I'm told. Munitions come in many shapes and sizes, not just guns or missiles. Percy and your dad, though—they're your eyes and ears on the inside with the Minister. Kind of like your aides-de-camp on the sly."

"Say, Ron," Harry began. "Would you mind nicking down to the cafeteria and picking up some pumpkin juice and some crisps for us? I'm feeling a bit peckish."

"Yeah, sure, Harry," Ron replied. "I'll be right back." Ron jogged out of the room and closed the door behind him.

"So…how's the build," Jayce asked. "Still on schedule?"

"Dead on," Harry replied conspiratorially. "I finally got the fuel tank back—it's brilliant. All that's left is to put it back together."

"Excellent," Jayce grinned. "So when's the final push?"

"Saturday. Ron's on a twelve-hour from eight in the morning. That should give us plenty of time to finish the bike," Harry said. "It's you, me, Dad, and Bill."

"Not a problem, my man," Jayce agreed. "We can set up a kind of assembly line, starting with the engine, then the electrical stuff, the chain, and what-not. Then we can install the Shovelhead and fire it up. If she runs, we're home free with the rest."

"That's what I was thinking," Harry agreed. "Once we're done with that, Dad and Bill can cast all the charms and wards on it."

"Right on," Jayce said, offering Harry a high-five. "He's going to drop a load when he sees it!"

"Yeah, but it's Mum I'm worried about," Harry chuckled. "She's going to hex us all into oblivion!"

"Hey, I'm back," Ron called from the door. He sauntered in followed by a cardboard carton filled with bottles of pumpkin juice, Butterbeer, and at least a dozen different flavours of crisps. At the bottom lay a half-dozen Chocolate Frogs.

"Merlin's Maalox®, Ronnie," Jayce howled. "Didja leave any for anyone else?"

Ron smirked. "Not a chance, mate. I cleaned them out."

"And another third-world country bites the dust," Harry snorted.

Ron set the box down on the conference table and unloaded the food. The three of them spent most of the rest of the afternoon snacking and talking about their plans for the new Auror Office that would eventually come to be known as the Auror _Corps_.

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Wednesday morning found the denizens of the Burrow, plus Harry, seated around the breakfast table. Since Ginny was on the road again, Molly insisted that her son-in-law take his meals with the family. They had just finished a hearty breakfast of pancakes, sausage, and fruit when the post-owl swooped in and delivered a special issue of _Witch Weekly_ and dropped it in front of Molly. As a columnist, she automatically received a free subscription to the magazine that declared her daughter and daughter-in-law as two of the three most-beautiful witches in Britain.

"This is odd," she muttered, unrolling the magazine. I had no idea there was to be a special edition. "Oh! It's about the tournament!"

"They sure took their time," Ron snorted. "Maybe they did a decent job."

"Yeah, they even beat out Xeno Lovegood," Harry said. "So what does it have to say? Any good photos?"

"They've got a lovely spread of the Opening Ceremonies and lots of nice action shots with articles to go with them—oh, here's Ronnie's team winning and Harry beating Seamus for the gold. And—oh dear. Oh, oh dear. I can't believe they'd—this is—this is unacceptable!"

"What is it, Aunt Molly," Taya asked, concerned that her face had gone white.

"It's—it's an editorial from some foreign correspondent from a German newspaper. _Der Shree_, or something," Molly said, passing the magazine to her niece.

Jayce leaned over to have a look. He'd spent a little time in Germany while he was in the Army, so he had a rudimentary command of the language. "That's _Der Schrei_, Molly. It means _The Scream_ or _The Shriek_. Sounds like a tabloid to me."

"Well, what does it say," Hermione asked anxiously.

Taya spread the pages out and began to read:

"_**Potter's Hidden Agenda?**_

_by Sigrid Reitter_

_Courtesy of _Der Schrei_, exclusively published in English by _Witch Weekly

_Like every spectator watching the Duelling Tournament sponsored by the British Ministry of Magic, I was very impressed with the skills displayed by the participating Aurors and the highest-ranking trio among them: Chief Harry Potter, Assistant Head Ronald Weasley and Auror Lieutenant Seamus Finnegan. The new Auror generation is already legendary—the fabled members of Dumbledore's Army, who risked their own young lives to win freedom not only for themselves but for us all. Does this sound too good to be true? Of course it does, and for good reason."_

"Why do I get the feeling I'm about to be crucified," Harry groaned.

"They wouldn't dare," Hermione snarled. "They couldn't!"

"Read on, Gallatea," Arthur said softly. "Get it over with."

"_Let us look at Harry Potter, first of all. He's famous for something that wasn't his doing. He has stated that he survived the killing curse because his mother stood between him and the Dark Lord, sacrificing her own life for his. He's not The-Boy-Who-Lived, but the Baby-With-A-Brave-Mother. Using his fame, he formed a dodgy, and then-illegal paramilitary group known as Dumbledore's Army, using the political agenda of the Ministry of Magic of the time as an excuse."_

"We'd never have passed our Defence OWL if Harry hadn't agreed to teach us," Ron snapped. "Umbridge—she was—no bloody way! No way in hell are these people going to run Harry down for helping us pass our exams!"

"That's right," Hermione agreed. "We talked Harry into teaching us because he knew more spells and hexes than we did because of the Triwizard Tournament. Harry's lessons were our only hope."

"We know, dear," Molly pacified her daughter-in-law, patting her arm. "Go on, Gallatea."

"_The following year, Potter plotted with the late Albus Dumbledore, a man notorious for interfering with the Ministry. The late-headmaster had long been rumoured to desire to overthrow then-Minister Cornelius Oswald Fudge and seize power himself. One can only wonder what Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were really up to."_

"I can't believe this," Harry snarled. "Dumbledore didn't want to run the Ministry. Merlin knows how many times he declined to run! This is madness!"

"Too right," Arthur agreed. "Albus had his faults, but anarchy was not one of them. Go on."

"_Their plans were thwarted when Albus Dumbledore was killed in early June of 1997. Approximately two months later, Harry Potter disappeared for nearly a year with his two best friends, Roland Wesley and his on-again-off-again paramour Hermione Granger."_

"_Roland Wesley_," Hermione snorted. "Please."

"Hey, at least she got _your_ name right," Ron replied with a huff. "And Harry's."

"Oh lucky us," Harry growled. "You might as well go on, Taya."

"_All of a sudden, Potter returned at the final battle and defeated Voldemort, claiming to have undermined the dark powers of his enemy during his time on the run from the Ministry. Powers so horrible that no one can ever be told about them. And the evidence for this? The word of one of Dumbledore's and Potter's cronies, Kingsley Shacklebolt—a mere pawn moved into the role of Minister for Magic. It's hardly surprising that Potter's father-in-law is appointed by Shacklebolt as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, becoming Potter's direct superior."_

"Unreal," Jayce said. "How do these people get away with publishing this crap? In the States, this Sigrid Reitter, Der Schrei, and Witch Weekly would be hauled into court for libel!"

"Yeah, and the fact that we can't tell anyone about Voldemort's horrible powers is because it's a case of national security," Ron added. "If that ever got out, who knows what might happen."

"That's enough, son," Arthur said. "Gallatea, I assume there's more?"

"Oh yeah," Taya replied. "There's a lot more."

"_At this point, Potter managed to weasel his way into the Auror Office, and soon after, Head Auror Gawain Robards is killed in battle. Not long after this, Assistant Head Auror John Dawlish, successor to Robards, stepped back in favour of Potter, who now rules the Auror Office with Wesley by his side. Doesn't this strike anyone as odd? No doubt, Potter's next move is the complete takeover of the Wizengamot, which by now is dominated by Potter and his sister-by-blood-adoption, representing the Ancient and Most-noble Houses of Potter and Black respectively. In addition, the aunt of one of his DA Auror subordinates, none other than Amelia Susan Bones, thought dead until after the war when she resurfaced to take the post of Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has taken her place as Chief Warlock of that august body._

"Poor Amelia," Molly lamented. "She's never been anything but fair during her time as an Auror, as Head of DMLE, and as Minister for Magic for that short time. She's going to be just sick when she sees this. Go on, dear."

"_One has to admire Potter's skill at subduing people to do his will, and his ability to do it so convincingly. It is obvious his marriage to Ginny Weasley is an arranged one, for mutual benefit. The Weasley family, notoriously economically-strained, had all to gain by marrying their daughter off to the famous and enormously wealthy Harry Potter. She certainly increased her __chances to land a Chaser contract, and despite posing as Potter's wife it's obvious she lives her own life as a professional Quidditch player. Potter has also bent Arthur Weasley to his will, and as previously stated, his marriage allowed him to take over the Department of Magical Law Enforcement through his father-in-law. The fact that Potter's wife is considered the most beautiful witch in Britain is of course a pleasant bonus, since we suppose she fulfills his carnal desires."_

"Oh no. Oh bloody hell no," Harry growled, his fists clenching and unclenching, turning his knuckles white.

"Harry…take a few deep breaths, mate," Ron said, working hard to contain his own temper. "It's just words. Everyone knows it's all lies."

"Do they, Ron," Harry snarled. "Do they? You know how the sheeple are! If it's in the _Prophet_ or _Witch Weekly_, it must be true!"

"Harry, dude. This is pure libel," Jayce said. "You could sue the writer, her paper, and Witch Weekly for disseminating it."

"Not in Wizarding Britain, Jayce," Arthur said sadly. "We have no laws governing the press, other than where riots are concerned. They can publish anything they want. It's up to the readers to decide whether they wish to believe it or not."

"This has happened to Harry before, Jayce," Hermione told him. "In our fourth year, the _Prophet _smeared Harry's, Hagrid's, and my names all over the place. In our fifth year, Harry and Professor Dumbledore were touted as senile and neurotic. Now it's starting all over again."

"You mean to tell us that the press has freedom without responsibility? That's insane," Taya cried. "Lives could be destroyed with a single headline!"

"Tell me about it," Harry groaned, his face planted into the table.

"I'll be having a few words with Prunella about this, make no mistake," Molly declared. "I refuse to write for a magazine that would print such filth about anyone, especially members of my family!"

"Actually, Mum, the damage is done," Ron interjected.

"Yeah, don't mess yourself up over this," Harry said. "It'll blow over…eventually."

"But I can't imagine that Lucretia Wellingford would have allowed such a thing," Molly argued. "Granted, Witch Weekly's sold us some real tripe in its day, but this takes the cake! No! I'll not lend my name to such rubbish!"

"_Harry? Are you all right, love?" _She could feel his anger and disgust through their bond.

"_Gin?"_

"_Yes, love. I take it you've seen Witch Weekly this morning."_

"_We're reading it at the Burrow right now. I'm so sorry, Gin."_

"_This isn't your fault, Harry. Whoever this Sigrid Reitter is, she hasn't made any friends in Holyhead."_ She sent a wave of her love and support in an effort to calm her stressed husband.

"_They're not buying it?"_

"_Not a word. Gwenog and the others are all set to call a press-conference denouncing Reitter, her article, the German press, and _Witch Weekly_ for printing it."_

"_You're okay, then?" _He smiled as another wave of love and sass passed through their bond.

"_We'll get through this, my love. For now, just keeping doing what you're doing. Mrs Carpenter said to tell you the worst thing you can do is react or try to hide. If you do that, Sigrid wins."_

"_Okay, love. But hang around. Taya's got a bit more to go. Then we'll talk, okay?"_

"_I'll be here for a little while yet. I'm not due on the pitch for another half-hour."_

"_I love you."_

"_I know, but I love you more."_

"Harry? Harry," Ron said, nudging his friend. "You in there?"

"What? Oh yeah. I was just thinking—calming myself down, you know," Harry replied. He looked pointedly at his two best friends as if to convey that he'd just had a short chat with Ginny. They nodded as if they understood.

"_The British Wizarding population love Harry Potter and hail him as their Saviour, but when you look beyond the glamours, a sickening truth emerges—those close to Potter gain power and prestige as his popularity increases exponentially. Today, Harry Potter controls the Minister for Magic, the Chief Warlock and all levels of Magical Law Enforcement, and after the brilliant propaganda stunt—the Ministry Duelling Tournament—the message is clear: no one in their right mind should dare challenge him._

_Is Harry Potter setting himself up to achieve the dictatorial domination Tom Marvolo Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, could not? Instead of prejudice and violence, Harry James Potter employs benevolence and charm; where the people hated and feared Tom Riddle, they love and revere Harry Potter."  
_

"Everything I've done I've done for our people, for the peace," Harry began softly and sadly. "My parents died fighting for peace in our world. Fabian and Gideon died for it so Taya and Onie could live in that world. Sirius, Dumbledore, Mad-eye, Remus and Tonks, Fred, Colin, and at least fifty others died to give us that. _I_ DIED FOR IT!"

Everyone at the table jumped when Harry roared out that last statement. "WE ALL SACRIFICED OUR OWN SECURITY SO INGRATES LIKE THIS SIGRID REITTER COW COULD LIVE IN PEACE AND SAFETY, FREE OF TOM RIDDLE'S TYRANNY! THIS IS THE THANKS WE GET?"

"Harry…c-calm down," Ron said, rising to move to his brother's side. "She won't get away with this. We'll prove it all to be the lies it is."

"She's already gotten away with it, Ron," Harry reminded him, tears welling in his emerald-green eyes, turning the sclera burning-red. "It's on the streets now."

"Harry, you've done far too much good for our world," Hermione reminded him. "The people won't stand for this—not most of us anyway."

"Um…folks," Taya began nervously. "There's a little more."

"Very well," Arthur sighed. "Finish it."

"_But there is still hope for Wizarding Britain. With sound voices such as that of Muggleborn Wizengamot member Alastor Gumboil, who is not afraid to speak his mind in a struggle for equality, we can hope that power-mongers like Harry Potter can be stopped before they gain another foothold on our government. However, one has to wonder how long it will be before he is silenced is this struggle for power where Harry Potter appears to crush any opposition to his agenda without anyone noticing."_

"That's it," Taya said, closing the magazine and sliding across the table to her aunt.

Hermione sat quietly, contemplating what she'd heard. Something about the syntax bothered her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. "Molly, might I borrow that for a couple of days?"

"Of course, dear, but whatever for? It's trash," Molly said. "I was just going to chuck it into the fire where it belongs."

"Well, I want to copy the photos and articles for the family scrapbook," she lied. "We'll need at least one duplicate of each, since the pages are printed front-and-back."

"I didn't think of that," Molly giggled. "Honestly, I can't believe myself sometimes. But once you've assembled the scrapbook entries, burn the rest!"

"I will do it," Hermione agreed. In reality, she wanted to read over the Reitter article a few more times in hopes of pinpointing what it was that bothered her so.

Arthur finished the last of his tea and stood up from the table. "Ronnie, Harry, Hermione, Jayce—we need to be off if we're going to arrive at the Ministry on time."

"But Dad, what if there are…reporters…and…stuff," Ron asked. "How are we going to get through that?"

"I'm sure the on-duty teams can handle them," Arthur assured his youngest son. "If nothing else, we draw our wands and start stunning."

"Oh that'll go over like a lead balloon," Jayce laughed. "Just plough through and keep saying _no comment_, because it's best if you don't comment—at least not yet."

"How do you know so much about this kind of thing," Hermione asked.

"How? My dear Mrs Weasley, _I_ work for the government of the United States of America!" They all burst into laughter as Molly and Taya pushed them all out the door with kisses and hugs. At the Apparition point outside the Burrow's wards, the five of them spun down together and vanished in the frosty February air.

When the Burrow contingent arrived at the Ministry, they found utter chaos. Reporters, curiosity-seekers, and Ministry workers trying to get to their departments blocked the entrances and filled the Atrium, which had now been cleared of all evidence of a duelling arena. Jock Thompson and Don Ross led a patrol of Troopers parted the crowd of shouting journalists and surrounded them, placing Harry and Hermione at the centre. Arthur, Ron, and Jayce had already drawn their wands and fell into step with the detail.

Hermione grabbed her brother's hand and held on for all she was worth. "Ignore them, Harry. Just breathe. We're almost to the lifts, now," she whispered, as he eyes darted in all directions.

"Hermione, this is insane," Harry whispered in reply. "Someone could get hurt in all of this!"

"I know, Harry. That's why we need to keep moving. That's why we're surrounded by law-enforcement."

Once they arrived at the lifts, they were met by Percy, who informed them that they were to report to the Minister's office immediately. "Damage control," he told them as he ushered their group into the lift. "Minister Shacklebolt wants to call a press-conference."

Jayce winced. If he could get the Minister to listen, he'd advise him to hold out for a couple of days to get a feel for public opinion. To answer Reitter's charges now would only fuel the fire.

Percy escorted them directly into Kingsley's inner office, where they found him sitting back in his leather chair with his hands clasped under his chin. A storm raged on the dark man's countenance. "Please. Sit down. Harry, are you all right?"

"Yes sir," Harry replied. He almost assured him that Ginny was all right, too, but didn't want to reveal to the room that he'd already had a telepathic chat with her about the article.

"Any ideas, people," Kingsley asked. Jayce tentatively raised his hand. "Marshall Silvercloud."

"Sir, if I may—Percy told us that you were considering a press-conference. Is that true?"

"I've given it some thought—"

All of a sudden, the door swung open, admitting a very flushed and excited Alastor Gumboil. "Sorry I'm late, everyone. I had a helluva time fighting my way through that crowd!"

"Alastor, so good of you to join us," Kingsley replied. "Have a seat. Mr Silvercloud has the floor. Jayce?"

"Thank you, sir," he said, eyeing the new arrival. "About this press conference—"

"A capital idea, Kingsley," Gumboil interrupted. "That article contained some serious allegations against our Chief Potter and his family. They must be addressed."

"I disagree, Mr Gumboil," Jayce snarled. "And I believe I still have the floor."

"My apologies, Marshall," Gumboil replied with false contrition. "Do go on."

"Minister Shacklebolt, it's my opinion that to stage a press-conference this soon might indicate that you're trying to cover something up. While Fräulein Reitter's article is certainly defamatory, to address her charges could set off a firestorm of controversy."

"So what do you propose," Kingsley asked pointedly. "Are you suggesting we just ignore it all and go on as if nothing's happened?"

"Who gives a damn what he proposes," Alastor snapped. "He's a bloody American with no authority here whatsoever! Who the hell is he to suggest anything?"

"Marshall Silvercloud is an attaché to the American Secretary of Magic, you smarmy git, and has been assigned to DMLE as a fully-accredited member of our team," Ron snarled.

"Auror Weasley, that will do," Arthur barked. "Stand down."

"Yes, sir," Ron said, re-taking his seat.

"Please continue," Kingsley said.

"Sir, I'm suggesting that you wait a couple of days for the initial fervour to die down. Get a feel for public opinion and go from there. You'll be able to address the public's concerns directly, rather than haphazardly as you try to guess what they're thinking," Jayce advised.

"Interesting. Arthur?"

"I have to admit Marshall Silvercloud's got a point," the DMLE Head replied. "It's more than evident that this article was meant to incite controversy and if we try to address it too soon, we're liable to just make it worse."

Kingsley looked over at the Undersecretary. The man was literally boiling over with a retort. "Alastor?"

"Sir, Reitter's article is an outrage," he began. "He's slandered you, Chief Potter, Arthur's family, and the memories of those who fought so valiantly and gave their lives for our way of life. This journalistic trash must be taken out and Sigrid Reitter sent back to Germany. We cannot tolerate such insolence."

"Ever heard of _freedom of the press_, Mr Gumboil," Jayce interjected. "It's one of the freedoms we Americans enjoy and it appears that it's a freedom you Brits enjoy as well. The only difference is that nobody in this country seems to understand that with freedom comes responsibility. However, to censor the press is wrong. What needs to happen here is _censure_, not censors."

"But she's all but destroyed Potter's reputation," Gumboil argued. "We cannot allow that. _The Daily Prophet_—"

"_The Daily Prophet_ is under a directive to take responsibility for what it disseminates," Kingsley interrupted. "This is why we no longer see any of the excrement that passed for journalism before and during the war. However, they have the freedom to print the truth as best they can. Evidently, _Der Schrei_ does not exercise that responsibility and _Witch Weekly_ has made a serious error in judgement by printing a translation of Reitter's article in their pages."

"I think," Harry began. "What Marshall Silvercloud is trying to say is that there should be legal recourse for anyone libelled or slandered in print, rather than censorship and constraint. Am I right?"

"That's right, Harry," Jayce said. "So, again—the best thing I can see to do here is to let the initial outrage die down and allow the people to talk among themselves. Listen on the streets—find out what they're really thinking. Then have your press-conference."

"Perhaps Harry and I could write some special legislation to present to the Wizengamot allowing injured parties to call reporters and columnists like Sigrid Reitter and Rita Skeeter to task, demanding they either back their stories up with cold, hard facts or print a retraction," Hermione suggested.

"And if the publication or author of the offending article or articles refuses to comply, they leave themselves open to civil or even criminal action," Jayce finished. "It's very simple—freedom bears responsibility. That goes for the private sector as well as government."

"Meanwhile, Chief Potter is left to languish in the mire of public opinion, good or bad," Gumboil stated sarcastically. "No, Minister. We must come to his defence immediately."

"I think Marshall Silvercloud's right," Harry said quietly. "I really don't want to deal with the press right now because I wouldn't have anything decent to say to them. We all need to calm down anyway. I say let's wait a few days."

"Too right," Ron said.

"Yes, I think that's best," Hermione offered.

"I'm with Harry, Kingsley," Arthur said. "Let's wait it out a bit."

"I disagree. This is a mistake. They'll crucify us all," Gumboil argued.

"All right, then," Kingsley said, leaning forward in his chair for the first time since the meeting began. "Harry, I'll trust your people to clear the Atrium."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, standing and stretching his arms and legs. "But first, Auror Weasley, Marshall Silvercloud and I would like to escort Hermione to RCMC."

"Of course," Kingsley agreed. "Arthur, I'll be in touch. Alastor, please remain after everyone has gone."

"Of course, sir," Gumboil replied.

As soon as everyone else left, Kingsley addressed his Undersecretary for DMLE. "Alastor, I don't know what you think you're doing, but if your activities with ELF or in the Wizengamot lead to another disaster like Antrim, I will retire you from the Ministry. Do I make myself clear?"

"Minister, I have no desire—"

"Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear. Undersecretary Gumboil," the Minister repeated stiffly.

"Crystal, _sir_," the man said. _You'll regret this, you Pureblood bastard. You, Weasley, Malfoy, Bones, and the rest of them. Your days are numbered._


	43. Chapter 43 Hermione's Triumph

**Chapter 43 – Hermione's Triumph**

_A/N: justanothermuggle and siledubhghlase/ghostchicken hereby offer our apologies that Ron's birthday has been rescheduled for Chapter 44 due to the long-winded diatribe delivered by Alastor Gumboil during the special session of the Wizengamot. Please feel free to pelt the Senior Undersecretary with rotten fruits and vegetables._

Despite Senior Undersecretary Alastor Gumboil's insistence that the Ministry do immediate damage control in response to Sigrid Reitter's defamatory article in _Witch Weekly_, Kingsley's decision to take Jayce's advice proved wise. A few trusted DMLE Troopers had been sent out to monitor the two major magical shopping districts of Magical Britain, Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade Village, where they found public opinion to be widely mixed, but generally outraged at what they now called the _Reitter Writ_.

On the side, Harry had contacted Dung personally to act as his man on the street—that street being primarily Knockturn Alley. Word had gotten around about the humane manner in which _the Darby lad_ had been treated after his arrest, so opinion tended to lean Harry's and Kingsley's way. However, the real litmus test would be the special session of the Wizengamot, which had finally been scheduled for Friday morning. What happened there would surely determine the climate in a somewhat divided community.

On Thursday morning, Hermione received owls from Patricia and the Prewett twins reporting that except for a few random "dorks," the students of Hogwarts stood behind Harry and the Aurors, especially since most of them thought so highly of Seamus, Susan, and Cho for the way they treated the students in general, but mostly because of how quickly they took down Ryan Stiles and his lot after their attack on Jessica Spinnet and how kind they'd been to her in her time of uncertainty.

In addition, many female students had taken to sporting Harpies Quidditch jerseys emblazoned with Ginny's number 6 and POTTER emblazoned on the back, regardless of which team they usually supported. The Gryffindors had transfigured felt drink coasters into six-centimetre round patches with a red number 7 embroidered over a gold background, which they stitched onto the left breast of their jerseys—no wands, no sticking charms—_by hand_.

Unfortunately, a few fights had broken out amongst many of the sixth- and seventh-year boys, a couple of which had turned rather nasty, but none of them proved to be anything Hagrid, Seamus, and Professor Watson couldn't handle. Still, battle lines had been clearly drawn and if something didn't give, it would be only a matter of time before Hogwarts became a war zone once again. Hermione hoped against hope that perhaps the girls had exaggerated.

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Harry felt really uncomfortable about this special session of the Wizengamot. He paced like a caged animal as he waited in the antechamber with the others before they would parade majestically into the chamber. If he were honest, he felt ridiculous. Harry hated pretence, but the Wizengamot thrived on it. Carrying the mantle of Lord-Baron Potter-Black annoyed him enough, but being forced to flaunt it on a panel he had little respect for annoyed him even further. _What was it Taya said? Oh yes: An ounce of pretension is worth a pound of manure. Too right that is_.

But the pomposity of it all was truly the least of his concerns. The riots, the attack on Malfoy and the hostility directed at Purebloods were alarming, but the latest unrest spawned from Sigrid Reitter's article in _Witch Weekly_ had given a voice to those critical of Kingsley's administration and Harry Potter's rise to Auror Head. It felt like fifth year all over again and that made him angry. While he was most-gratified that public opinion leant primarily in their favour, the news media still held a certain degree of sway over the Wizarding public, who still hadn't learned to think for itself. The _Prophet'_s silence on it all baffled him. He expected that Kingsley had already had words with his editor-friend until after they could release an official statement. So far, _The Daily Prophet_ had simply reported that the attack on Draco Malfoy was under investigation and that the man would recover. If the _Prophet_ didn't make a fuss, why should the people? Because _Witch Weekly_ would do it for them.

Apart from the struggle between Muggleborns and Purebloods with Half-bloods riding the political and moral fence, there was a growing unrest within the Ministry between those who supported Kingsley and those who didn't. One good thing was at least certain, Sigrid Reitter didn't speak for the majority of Wizarding Britain, but the minority who agreed with her was making the most of the points she had made and the buzz in the Ministry cafeteria, the Atrium, and around the departments would give bees a headache.

The voice of a Wizengamot page called the gallery to order and bid those in attendance to rise for the Minister for Magic and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. They were to remain standing until each and every member had taken his or her seat. The whole thing had been orchestrated so as to make as little noise and take as little time as possible. Merlin he wished Ginny could have been here.

"_I'm here."_

"_I mean where I can see you, here."_

"_That bad?"_

"_Worse."_

"_You'll be fine."_ Ginny sent a wave of her love and support through their bond. _"Just listen to what they say, take most of it with a grain of salt, and agree with Hermione."_

"_You make it sound so simple."_

"_It's the Geezergamot, Harry. They _are_ that simple!"_

Harry had to suck in his lips to stifle the burst of laughter that threatened to break free. As it was, he couldn't completely hide the smirk. Chancing a look around, he noticed a few of the elder members scowling at him, presumably for his lack of pretence. _"Ginny, please don't make me laugh. I could be thrown off the Wizengamot for having removed my wand from my arse or something."_

"_Oh, now that'd be a tragedy, wouldn't it?"_ Ginny sent him a blast of humour so strong, that he had to grip the arms of his rather luxurious chair to keep still.

"_What? Removing my wand from my arse or getting thrown off the Wizengamot?"_

"_The Wizengamot. You've never had your wand stuffed anywhere but in your holster and if you're tossed off, how will our brilliant sons take their rightful place when you and Hermione retire? When you and Hermione joined, the collective IQ rose 500 points!"_

Harry couldn't stop the snort that managed to escape this time. The wizened old elder scowled at him once again and shook his head as though Harry were an errant child and he were a stern headmaster at some exclusive school for boys.

"_You're killing me, witch."_

"_Feel better?"_

"_Much." _Just then, Amelia Bones stood and raised her arms to bring the meeting to order. _"Gotta go—they're starting."_

"This special session of the Wizengamot is now in session," she declared.

The chamber was full to overflowing. The press, usually seated around the top of the gallery, had been relegated to a few conjured chairs along the walls. With every member of the Wizengamot—the Purebloods in their inherited seats and Half-bloods and the Muggleborns in their elected seats—and every seat in the gallery taken, the usually cool air turned steamy with the heat from the hundreds of bodies crammed into such tight quarters. Those who hadn't arrived in time to find a seat were encouraged to listen on the wireless, as the day's proceedings would be broadcast all over Britain.

Ron sat among the visitors, his eyes glued to his wife. One look at Harry, though, told him just how uncomfortable his best mate was. He hoped Ginny was by his side through the bond because he knew Harry would never make it without her. Ron knew Harry didn't like the ridiculous plum robes and wonky-shaped hat he had to wear, but he also knew how much he loathed politics. Harry had told Ron that morning that he hoped Hermione's words would be enough because he really didn't want to have to speak, but he would if he had to if it meant convincing the majority of the body to proceed with caution regarding the necessary changes in the laws and constitution for Wizarding Britain.

Ginny wished she could have been there, physically. She thought back to those tough weeks that Harry had to live without her while she attended training camp and how hard it had been on him. In fact, it nearly killed him at one point. She decided she would claim a sour stomach and beg off morning practice so she could open their bond and be there for her husband that way. Their banter served to calm Harry a bit and her constant presence would give him the extra support he would need to endure _The Grand Farce_, as he called it last night, especially if he had to address the session.

Through his eyes, she could look out over the assembly and study the faces and body language of most of those in attendance. Judging from the way people's eyes darted from one face to Harry's and to another and back, there was no doubt that many considered Harry Potter the most powerful and influential wizard in Britain and were likely to agree with anything he agreed with, said, or did.

However, Ginny noticed a few attendees who clearly called themselves fans of Reitter, but they behaved according to the code of conduct in the Wizengamot and it was only their facial expressions and body language that revealed their opinion of Harry. These were certainly among those Seamus once called _sheeple_. Their opinions waffled from one side to another with the turn of a page or a change of underwear—whichever came first. _Geezergamot _and _sheeple_—Ginny would be forever grateful to Seamus Finnegan for his clever way with words that kept the spirits up of the students and the DA during that hellish year at Hogwarts during the war.

Harry's display of magic in the duelling tournament fuelled the belief that Harry indeed was the New Dumbledore, and the pubs were often filled with those who drank to that notion. Ginny wondered how many of them sat in the Leaky or the 3Bs listening right now still felt that way.

Ron had eyes only for Hermione, who, unlike Harry, enjoyed the workings of the Wizengamot. Although she'd been heard to say that there were a few too many institutionalised fossils and entirely too much bureaucratic meandering on any given subject, but she constantly urged Ron, Harry and Ginny to look beyond that and see the deeper meaning of the proceedings. The only deeper meaning Ron was interested in was the fact that Hermione was the only person who could make those awful plum robes look sexy. Hell, Hermione looked sexy in any kind of clothes—or out of them, for that matter.

As that thought sashayed through his mind, she locked eyes with him and gave him a shy smile—the one he'd come to adore over the years. His stomach leapt and his heart began to pound. _I love you_, he mouthed. _You too_, she replied and turned her attention to the Chief Warlock.

"Will the Junior Undersecretary please present the agenda," she demanded with authority.

Percy Weasley, seated to the left of the Chief Warlock and to the right of Wizengamot Administration Services Secretary, Audrey Martin, comported himself as the professional he was, although his old air of pompous self-importance shone through a little bit. He stole a glance at Miss Martin as he stood to deliver the official agenda. He'd never seen such grace in note-taking as he saw in Audrey as she watched over the blue Quick-quotes quills that danced across the parchments, recording every word of the session.

"This special session is called by direction of our Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt," Percy declared with a nod to the Minister, seated to Amelia's right. "His statement is as follows: _The last couple of months have again shed light on the burning question that has fuelled two magical wars that destroyed our world. As Minister for Magic, it is my sworn duty to serve our community in the best way possible within the letter and spirit of the law. I response to the memory of those horrible conflicts and the civil unrest over the past several months, I call for a debate in the Wizengamot concerning the need to update our laws governing the rights and privileges of the social classes commonly known as Pureblood, Half-blood and Muggleborn. Can our society survive on the status quo, or would changes to our centuries-old way of life increase our chances for a lasting peace?_ Signed, Kinglsey Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic."

As soon as he finished, Percy bowed slightly to the Minister and Chief Warlock and took his seat next to the Secretary. He looked around the chamber, taking note of the reactions of the press corps and those seated in the gallery. While the reporters scribbled furiously or muttered to their quills, the audience showed a hodgepodge of emotion: Some appeared unaffected, some appeared thoughtful, some fidgeted, clearly unsettled, and some scowled in anger and distrust, but no matter the case, it was obvious to Percy that many an opinion would be heard today.

To Hermione's surprise, Gumboil made no move at all when the debate commenced. She expected him to be the first to ask Madame Bones for the floor. Instead, an elder member moved to speak, and with her indulgence, the debate began. The elder member, a Mr Octavius Bunch, launched into a diatribe that boiled down to his assertion that their current laws had served their community well and there was no need to change them at this time, although he was sure some change might be needed at some point. In other words, the man hadn't said anything of value at all. _Typical_.

In a mere twenty minutes, the debate had sunk into oral trench-warfare between an irate group of Muggleborns and a couple of heads of minor Pureblood and Slytherin families. Gumboil could barely contain his glee. This was the moment he'd been waiting for, but as he was about to make his move, Hermione beat him to the punch and asked for the word before he could even open his mouth.

"The Wizengamot recognises Madame Black," Amelia said, acknowledging her. Hermione hesitated for a few moments before she remembered that as the representative of the House of Black, she wasn't Hermione _Weasley_, but _Madame Black_.

She stood before the Wizengamot and the chamber fell silent. Hermione commanded a fair amount of respect, despite the fact she was a new member of the Wizengamot and a Muggleborn to boot. Her status as a lady of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black garnered her some modicum of indulgence from the hard-line Purebloods, but she was also a decorated war-hero and that couldn't be denied or ignored.

"Honoured members of the Wizengamot, Minister, members of the press, and my fellow countrymen listening to this session on the wireless," Hermione began with a slightly-shaky voice. She appeared confident, but Ron knew his wife was terrified. She had always been rather a loner, except for her friendship with him and Harry, so she rarely spoke out about anything outside the microcosm of Gryffindor Tower. Since the war, she'd become a bit more vocal, but still not enough for her to be truly comfortable before a large audience.

"The Second Wizarding War is over, but the fighting continues. Wizards and witches all over Britain have been injured or killed in riots and attacks over blood-status within our world. This debate has more than laid bare the great difference in opinion that exists. We are all a part of a single community, a fact you continually and obstinately disregard. Friends, we can't all have our own way all the time.

Lord Voldemort tried to force a stiff caste-system favouring the Purebloods, limiting the rights of the Half-bloods, and calling for the cruel imprisonment and outright extermination of all Muggleborns. This is not a productive society and one steeped in this tradition cannot survive. Many of our prejudices are based in fear—fear of losing what we have. Pureblood families are afraid of losing the power they hold through their inherited seats on this body and the wealth they have accumulated over the centuries and passed down for generations. Half-bloods and Muggleborns are afraid of marginalisation—that is to be shunted aside as less- or unworthy members of our community. They stand to lose the tenuous grip on that which they fought two wars to win."

At this, a murmur spread across chamber, allowing Hermione to catch her breath before she continued. "I, for one, see the need for change in our world—change that would benefit all of us in the long-run—but it must come about gradually with careful consideration rather than rashness motivated by fear. I propose that the Chief Warlock might appoint a committee consisting of members from both inherited and elected seats. Its function would be to work alongside her to develop a comprehensive plan for the development of our community and present it for deliberation in this chamber. Thank you."

Hermione took her seat to a thundering round of applause. Ron's pride in his wife shone in his sparkling sapphire eyes and the broad grin that stretched from ear-to-ear. Still, he couldn't help but watch Gumboil for a clue as to what he might be thinking. The thunderstorm on the man's face said it all and Ron couldn't be more delighted.

Internally, Alastor Gumboil seethed. Torn between anger and admiration for Hermione, he didn't know whether to shout her down or applaud. He was angry that she'd managed to pre-empt him again, first with her treatise and now with her more-than-eloquent speech, but he couldn't help but admire her poise and beauty as she delivered her message. Contrary to his initial urge to argue, he allowed common-sense to take control. Hermione's message and proposal would be all but impossible counter without making himself look and sound like a fool. In truth, anyone who spoke out against Hermione's proposal would appear to have a personal agenda he or she wished to put before what was best for the entire community.

Harry hoped fervently that Hermione's proposal would be approved of and that would be the end of the day without need for him to address the assembly. He also watched Gumboil, who seemed to consider whether he should speak or not. Clearly, Hermione's speech had basically trivialised anything he surely had prepared. Instead, Virgil Greengrass rose and asked to speak.

"The Wizengamot recognises Lord Greengrass," Madame Bones declared.

"_This should be interesting."_

"_Yeah, but Hermione was awesome, Harry. What more could anyone add to that?"_

"_I don't think he wants to add anything, Gin; I think he wants to support Hermione's proposal."_

"_But…he's a Pureblood."_

"_So are you, love."_

"_Good point."_

In all honesty, Harry wasn't entirely sure of his own assertion and it was obvious from the looks on Ron's and Hermione's faces, there was trepidation for what the esteemed Head of the House of Greengrass might say. Harry and Ron had some measure of the man based on their visit with Draco and Astoria, but Virgil Greengrass didn't mince words or play politics. He was notorious for his all-business demeanour in the courtroom and on the Wizengamot, and had even run against Amelia Bones for Chief Warlock. His traditional Slytherin heritage added to their trepidation, although he never truly aligned himself with the hard-line Pureblood fanatics. But Hermione, for all her accreditation, was still a Muggleborn and that might be a point Lord Greengrass would make against her.

"Honoured members of the Wizengamot, Minister, our esteemed press, and wizards and witches present or by your wireless," Greengrass began. "The House of Greengrass is well-known as a well-stream of conservative value, proud of our long history as an all-Wizarding family."

"_All-Wizarding instead of Pureblood. He's going to support Hermione, Gin."_

"_I hope so."_

"However, conservative is not synonymous with disdain for change. The Pureblood supremacists under Tom Riddle wanted instant gratification, bringing the Wizarding world back to a time before Muggleborns even existed. That, ladies and gentlemen, is not conservativism; that is madness."

The chamber buzzed with private commentary while quills scratched over parchment. "In truth, such a philosophy is unrealistically ideological and far from beneficial to anyone but a single dictator, as Tom Riddle's murderous regime proved. Logic stared in the face of that regime and therefore the House of Greengrass abstained from such politics, although we do share many Slytherin traditions and views. The reign of Tom Riddle, known commonly as Lord Voldemort, clearly showed us how ill-conceived politics put forth by radical fanatics can lead to the decay and ultimate destruction of a society."

Lord Greengrass paused for effect and to gather the rest of his thoughts. He played the assembly like a violin, presenting his ideas as an attorney would present closing arguments in a high-profile court case. With a meaningful gaze around the chamber, he cleared his throat and continued.

"It does not matter whether a bit of legislation is presented in the name of equality or the _greater good_, ill-timed and radical change can lead only to chaos; however, the reality is that Wizarding Britain has lost touch with the times and has allowed herself to become bogged down in the past. I'm sure many of you do fear the loss of a bit of power. To some extent, that would most likely happen. A few of the more-influential families might suffer a slight loss in that arena, but their prestige will surely fade if they insist upon wallowing in the mire of archaic tradition."

Another buzz erupted from the chamber while Lord Greengrass conjured a glass of water to drink. Harry and Ron caught one another's eyes and grinned. The two Aurors knew that Hermione's speech had won the day and Gumboil was going to have to keep his gob shut or make a fool of himself before all of Wizarding Britain.

"Order," Amelia Bones called, banging her gavel on its wooden pedestal. "Lord Greengrass still has the floor. Lord Greengrass?"

"Thank you, Madame Chief Warlock," he replied respectfully. He surveyed the chamber assembly once again before he moved in for the kill. He had to choose his words carefully because his closing remarks could make or break Hermione Weasley as an accepted and respected legislator.

"In closing, ladies and gentlemen, I must assert that if we do not make an effort to integrate those of mixed blood firmly into our community with all the rights and privileges contained therein in a responsible manner, we risk losing the confidence and trust of the people we purport to serve. That loss would lead only to anarchy and the eventual extinction of our world. Therefore, I move that the Wizengamot accept Madame Black's proposal in its entirety. Thank you."

With this, Virgil Greengrass bowed to Hermione, Kingsley and Madame Bones before returning to his seat amid handshakes and nods of approval from those around him. Hermione could hardly breathe as the realisation that the strongest voice among the most-traditional Slytherin families, Draco Malfoy's soon-to-be-father-in-law, supported her, a Gryffindor and a Mudblood.

Coincidentally, Harry had been thinking the same thing as he turned his attention once again to Gumboil, who looked even more torn and tormented. Hermione, a woman he admired with an unhealthy fervour, had gained the support of the House of Greengrass, a family Gumboil—and ELF—despised, if only on principal. In addition, Greengrass' speech seemed to have a strong influence on the other Wizengamot members in the inherited seats.

"_Gumboil looks like he's been forced to kiss a Blast-ended Skrewt."_

"_Why is he so upset? He's getting his change and it looks like Hermione's delivered it for him."_

"_He wants wholesale change now, Gin, not over time. Besides, Gumboil isn't too keen on any Purebloods having a say in the matter."_

"_What. An. Idiot."_

"_Indeed."_

Hermione had certainly gained a lot of support among the elected seats on her own, but if the question were called now, her proposal would win by a landslide, setting in motion a gradual and safe process that would take years to come to complete fruition. Gumboil didn't think for one moment that such a process would achieve any significant change—at least not the kind of change he envisioned. He had to do something, but what? Hermione's speech had essentially negated anything he had prepared, so any action now would have to be improvised. Without any real certainty as to what he might say but trusting his oratory skills, he signed to Madame Bones.

"_I don't believe it. Gumboil's going to open his mouth."_

"_Again, I say: What. An. Idiot."_

"The Wizengamot recognises Alastor Gumboil," Madame Bones said. Following reports of his activities since his outbursts at the Prewett trial, she could only hope the man had learned to contain himself. She could appreciate the need for one to act on one's personal convictions, but Gumboil had a propensity for allowing his temper to rule his head sometimes. He had been a good Hit-wizard, but left to his own devices, he could be dangerous.

Gumboil turned to Hermione and nodded slightly. "Madame Black, you are very wise for a witch of your age. I think I speak for all of us when I say that change is necessary and certainly imminent," he began, deliberately disregarding Greengrass' speech altogether. "But I would like to see it come sooner rather than later. The unrest and violence we've seen lately are clear indications that we need change _immediately_, rather than over the course of time. While Madame Black's proposed committee argues good legislation point-by-point, innocent people might be injured or even killed. The most important change is the abolition of inherited seats on the Wizengamot."

The chamber erupted in gasps and shouts, while quills continued to fly across parchment. The Chief Warlock banged her gavel to restore order, but it took Harry's nod to Boot and Goldstein to dispatch the DMLE Squads around the room. Their fierce presence brought order to the chaos Gumboil had hoped to incite.

"Order! I must have order or I shall clear this room," Amelia barked. The look in her eyes held pure venom. This man had nearly incited a riot right there in session, something she would not tolerate. Kingsley Shacklebolt, for his part, looked ready to hex the man into the next kingdom. After all he'd said he'd suggest a committee, in fact what Hermione had proposed.

"Mr Gumboil, please continue," she growled, eyeing the assembly as if daring them to rise again.

"Thank you, Madame Bones," Alastor said patronizingly. "Friends, I do not wish to undermine the honour and prestige of the Wizengamot. I simply wish to bring balance to it. With all the seats occupied according to the will of the majority of our community through free election, we can pass righteous and just laws so that we may rule according to the pleasure of the people, not the Pureblood elite."

It was obvious that Gumboil wanted to continue, but the chamber erupted in another mix of angry voices, applause, cheering and chatter. Madame Bones had to remind the Wizengamot that Mr Gumboil still held the floor. Beside her, Kingsley Shacklebolt seethed. He wanted to put paid to the warning he had given the Senior Undersecretary only a few days before, but since the Wizengamot was separate from his duties on the Minister's staff, Kingsley's hand were tied. Worse yet, Gumboil knew it.

"I can understand your position, Madame Black," Gumboil continued. "But you represent the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. Under the current system, you have taken your seat on the Wizengamot not by the will of the people, but by virtue of the fact that your friend and brother, _Lord_ _Potter_, has declared it so."

Gumboil had caught everyone's attention as he launched what seemed to be a full-frontal attack on Hermione and Harry, decorated war heroes, bearers of the Order of Merlin, First Class and two-thirds of the fabled Golden Trio. Did he, a member of the Minister's senior staff, know things about _Potter's hidden agenda_? This was a question a number of members of the Wizengamot secretly asked themselves. In the gallery, Ron's blood boiled. It took the utmost concentration to resist the urge to draw his wand and destroy the man who had just defamed his wife and their best friend.

"Power is known to corrupt, and I'd hate to see either of you, Madame Black and Lord Potter, two of our nation's most admired heroes, corrupted by this system. I like to consider myself the voice of the common wizard or witch working hard to earn a decent living—the majority of the population. We can solidify their rights and possibly influence the long-term development of the community with only a few swift decisions."

Hermione had to admit she was impressed with his speech, and more so since it was almost entirely ad-libbed. All of those meetings in pubs, despite the couple that ended in violence, supported his claim that he was the voice of the common wizard or witch. Practically everyone knew someone who had met him at one of his rallies, if they hadn't done so personally.

Hermione understood that the initial hostility against Harry and herself was merely a means to grab hold of everyone's attention. Once he managed that, he went on to spread balm on the wounds by declaring his admiration for their heroism, which he knew neither of them were comfortable with. Again, she found herself agreeing with his reasoning, although she had presented a different and less-inflammatory proposal to meet the same ends.

"We've talked about the fear about making rash decisions and rapid changes that might end in chaos. I think Head Auror Potter would agree with me that in the field, law-enforcement personnel often find themselves in a situation that forces them to make split-second decisions, and that the wrong one could lead to someone's death. That said, let me point out the many reports concerning the DMLE under Arthur Weasley, but in particular the Auror Office under Head Auror Potter. Their efforts have resulted in a stronger-than-ever force for peace and order. Friends, this is evidence that quick decisions can be beneficial.

At the same time, quick legislation would bring about much-needed equality in the private as well as the public sector, which I hope we all can agree is a good thing. Therefore, my proposal stands. I call for the immediate abolition of inherited seats on the Wizengamot and a date set for free elections. Of course, the current occupants of those inherited seats would be more than welcome to run and earn their place on this august body fairly and honestly. Thank you."

Gumboil bowed to Madame Bones, ignoring Hermione and the Minister, and took his seat. The chamber buzzed and rumbled with the resultant chatter. The previous notion that Hermione's proposal would pass by a vast majority faded a little. Ron raged internally at the sight of his Hermione's trembling lip, knowing that Gumboil's slights—minor as they were—cut her deeply. He clenched and unclenched his fists, again fighting the urge to draw his wand.

For his own part, Harry had all he could do to contain his own anger. Gumboil could say anything he wanted about him, but his family was off-limits. More and more, Harry's resolve that the Senior Undersecretary had masterminded and orchestrated the attack on Draco Malfoy formed into an absolute lead. Somehow, he would prove the bastard's involvement and would crucify him with great rigour before the very body he just manipulated so deftly.

"_Harry, you're going to have to speak."_

"_I know. I just hope I can convince them that Hermione's way is the best way."_

"_You, Hermione and Ron saved the Wizarding world. In all honesty, you can do no wrong. One word from their beloved Saviour and Hermione's proposal will pass."_

After several minutes of shouting and gavel-banging, Madame Bones waved her wand and set off a shrill whistling noise that caused the assembly and those listening at the wireless to cover their ears. The chamber fell silent as everyone sheepishly turned their attention back to the Chief Warlock. "Members of the Wizengamot, please follow the established code of conduct," she barked. "Or I shall be forced to adjourn this meeting."

Ron wished his father had been able to sit with him and offer some words of reassurance as the meeting progressed. He could tell by Harry's countenance that he too felt unsure and very unsettled by the whole thing. Despite Gumboil's seemingly honourable intentions concerning the abolition of the inherited seats, Ron truly believed Wizarding Britain wasn't ready for such a drastic measure while she still licked her war-wounds. There was still too much bad blood between Muggleborns and Purebloods, evidenced by the riots and overall unrest the Aurors had to put down over the past several months. And with the recent criticism against Kingsley and Harry, the passage of Gumboil's proposal could very well tear the magical community apart.

Bracing himself, Ron willed some of his own strength and positive energy to Harry, who reluctantly signed to Madame Bones. Harry saw no other choice but to speak out in Hermione's defence, as a vote at this stage would most likely favour Gumboil.

"_Well, here goes, I guess."_

"_Just be yourself and tell it like it is. You'll be great."_

Madame Bones raised her hands again. "The Wizengamot recognises Lord Potter." The introduction of the Boy-Who-Lived worked as effectively as a silencing charm. The saviour of Wizarding Britain, the New Dumbledore, the living legend called Harry Potter was about to speak. Harry was sure that the only way he was able to stand before so many people this way was because he felt Ginny's love supporting him through their bond. In his mind's eye, he could see her warm smile and the blazing in her eyes that gave voice to Gryffindor's lion.

Squaring his shoulders and fixing his gaze, he spread his notes on the podium. "Chief Warlock, Minister, esteemed members of the Wizengamot, and all of you fine people here and by your wireless, I can very much sympathise with the Muggleborn point of view, since I myself was raised as a Muggle, never knowing I was a wizard until my eleventh birthday."

While most of Wizarding Britain knew that The-Boy-Who-Lived had been raised by Muggle relatives, they weren't privy to the particulars of Harry's life between the ages of fifteen months and eleven years, nor were they aware of the way he was treated growing up outside of Hogwarts. They were shocked to learn that Harry had no idea who or what he was until he received his first Hogwarts letter.

"My mother, Lily Evans Potter, was a powerful and talented Muggleborn witch whose life was snuffed out by a madman. My father, James Potter, was a Pureblood descended from many generations of wizards, and he also died by that madman's wand. My parents died because of the ill-conceived notions and politics of Tom Riddle, who wanted swift and ruthless change that would eventually lead to the eradication of all Muggleborns. We all know how that turned out."

The assembly, including most members of the Wizengamot, snickered at Harry's barb.

"Since I've taken my place as Head of the Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Black and Potter, I've been privileged to see our community from the Pureblood point of view. Oh, have I mentioned that I'm a Half-blood?"

"_Good one, love."_

"_Thanks."_

Harry paused to let his initial remarks sink in. Even Gumboil had to admit he was impressed with the young Auror. In very few words, Harry had managed to connect to the entire population of Wizarding Britain with little regard to anyone's blood-status. Gumboil had only managed to address the Half-blood and Muggleborn majority.

"Lord Greengrass made a very important point," Harry said, first referring to him rather than Hermione, since to address her first could be perceived as a confirmation of Reitter's claim that he intended to take control of the Wizengamot with Hermione by his side. "Lord Voldemort's reign taught us that rash decision-making will lead to disaster. But I want to present another image arguing for a gradual means of change. At Hogwarts, I served as captain for the Gryffindor House team in my sixth year. We all know that one must be quick and agile to play successful Quidditch. But it takes teamwork to win—teamwork that is built and honed gradually, marrying theory and practice, until a group of individuals with individual strengths and talents becomes a team united in a single purpose—to win the House Cup."

Harry paused to gather his thoughts and take a few deep breaths. Ginny sent another wave of support that would enable him to finish his speech. Outside the chamber, Britain had probably never been more focused on the proceedings of the Wizengamot than at this moment. Pubs, usually abuzz with commentary or calls for more drink, lay silent as they waited for the next word from their revered saviour.

"To haphazardly pass instant legislation without due deliberation would be like tossing seven first-years, who had never flown together before, onto a Quidditch pitch against a team of veteran seventh-years. No matter how skillful the individuals on the first-year team, they would be crushed by the seventh-years who had years of practice and match experience on them. The risk of injury to the players due to an un-intercepted Bludger or mid-air collision becomes great, not only for the first-years, but for everyone on the pitch. Therefore, I must support Madame Black's proposal for gradual change brought about by a conscientious committee consisting of members from both inherited and elected seats. Thank you."

Hermione couldn't help but smile at Harry's Quidditch allegory. Yes, it was brilliant, but at the same time, it seemed so mundane for the Wizengamot. Ginny sent wave after wave of pride through the bond, which helped calm Harry's shaking hands and pounding heart. He didn't realise that he had spoken to the Wizengamot with the power and authority worthy of the Head Auror. Harry's speech had carried such an impact that no one else seemed willing, or daring enough, to add anything more.

For several minutes, Madame Bones waited to see if anyone else cared to add their thoughts to the question. Seeing none, she rose and banged her gavel. "I hereby declare the debate closed and call the question." Madame Bones called. "Esteemed colleagues, we have two proposals before us and we much choose which we will enact. Madame Black proposes that we should form a committee to review our constitution and laws concerning blood-status in order to create legislation to improve upon them for the betterment of our society. Conversely, Mr Gumboil proposes the immediate abolition of inherited seats on the Wizengamot in favour of free elections. Are you ready to find?"

"AYE," the members replied unanimously.

"Very well. Those in favour of Madame Black's proposal, tap your wands on the plate in front of you," Madame Bones instructed and waited for a minute until all the votes registered. "Those in favour of Mr Gumboil's proposal, tap your wands on the plate in front of you."

Several minutes later, Percy handed a parchment to Madame Bones who addressed the chamber.

"With 63 percent of the vote, the Wizengamot favours Madame Black's proposal," the Chief Warlock declared. "Congratulations, Madame Black."

The session adjourned and the people began to leave the chamber, once the Wizengamot had passed through the door to their private antechamber. Harry pushed his way through the mass of plum-clad humanity and took Hermione in a joyful embrace. "You did it, Hermione! You were brilliant!"

"I couldn't have without you, Harry," she demurred. "I thought Gumboil had us. Your Quidditch analogy was spot-on!"

"What can I say? I know Quidditch—and by the way, Ginny sends her love and congratulations," Harry told her.

"Thanks, Gin," Hermione whispered into Harry's ear.

Harry held Hermione around the waist as the members congratulated her for her victory. Only a few held back, among them Alastor Gumboil. He'd hoped for a victory today, and he was close to having it. But in his dismay at having lost to Hermione, he noted that there was a respectable amount of support for his ideas. 37 percent of the Wizengamot supported him and through them, he would bring about a firestorm of change that would bring the Pureblood bigots to their aristocratic knees.

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Outside the Wizengamot chamber, a mob of reporters waited to harass anyone they found interesting with questions. Kingsley, Amelia, Gumboil, and Harry and Hermione were their prime targets. In the antechamber, all except Gumboil assembled. The latter left the room and approached the reporters. _I'll have to give them guarded answers. _As soon as he appeared, he was welcomed with a barrage of questions shouted over one another in an effort to be heard first.

"Mr Gumboil, will you keep working for the abolition of the inherited seats?"

"What are your feelings right now, having lost the vote?"

"Do you oppose Purebloods, Mr Gumboil?"

"What do you know about Potter's and Shacklebolt's plots?"

"Are you, Mr Gumboil, lobbying to become the next Minister for Magic?"

"Mr Gumboil, if you please, could I have a photo?"

"Any thoughts on Madame Black's or Lord Potter's first speeches in the Wizengamot?"

Gumboil stopped walking and turned around. The stampeding herd of reporters fell silent among camera flashes and scratching quills. "I'm most-gratified that 37 percent of the Wizengamot support free elections. It encourages me to keep working for the abolition of the currently unjust system. I have nothing but the most humble respect for the decision of the Wizengamot and I shall request to be a representative of the elected seats on the committee the Chief Warlock will form. That's all can say at this time. Thank you."

With this, Gumboil walked on as the barrage of questions resumed. There were many things he would have like to have told the press that he didn't dare. His public image had taken a blow after Antrim, but it appeared to be rapidly improving. He couldn't afford another disaster and besides, there were other ways to send messages to the press.

In the antechamber, Amelia, Kingsley, Harry and Hermione remained. "We have no choice. We must face the press," Kingsley reasoned. He turned his attention exclusively to Harry and Hermione. "Unless you want to meet them, Amelia and I can take care of it."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "I've never had much use for the press, and after that article in _Witch Weekly_, I have virtually none. I'd rather not bother with them right now because I'm afraid I might say something we'd all regret."

"Are your wards at home secure," Amelia asked. "Just in case they come nosing about."

Harry and Hermione nodded with a slight blush.

"Why the blush," Kingsley asked.

"Well, it's just that I added a few...improvements...when I and Bill cast them," Hermione confessed. "Ionúin Bhaille and the Burrow are veritable fortresses."

Kingsley laughed a booming laugh. "So my Head Auror, his Assistant Head, and my Head of DMLE live in homes protected by unauthorised, or to put it bluntly, _illegal_ wards?"

"Well…yes," Hermione confessed.

"Would you please consider doing my house too? I'm not harassed by unexpected visitors, but there have been a few owls slipping through—owls that shouldn't have been able to breach the wards. It's nothing serious, but I'd appreciate it if you looked them over."

"I can talk to Bill and find out when he's available have a look at them, sure." Hermione said.

"I take it you're well-warded at Hogwarts Amelia," Kingsley asked and she nodded. "Well, let's face those pesky Pixies, then. I mean, _reporters_."

Reporters, free-lance and attached, always flooded the Wizengamot chamber when the Minister for Magic and/or the Chief Warlock announced a press conference. To Harry's and Hermione's relief, this cleared the way to the Atrium allowing them to leave unnoticed to meet up with Ron at the Apparition point.

Harry was struck by the thought that there should be secret passageways in the Ministry building that would allow Aurors, Hit-wizards and the Trooper Squads to move quickly and virtually undetected around the complex, should the need arise. It would also allow the moving of prisoners to and from Azkaban, as well as prominent guests safely and discreetly. At this point, there was a Floo in Kingsley's office allowing travel to a few specific locations, such as the French Minister's and the Muggle Prime Minister's offices. The Floo in Harry's and Ron's office, as well as in the other offices, were restricted to calls only. Entering that fireplace would divert any intended address to the Department of Magical Transportation for a good dressing-down and a hefty fine. These restrictions resolved a question of security, therefore everyone entering or exiting the complex had to do so though the Atrium. With a sigh of relief, Harry and Hermione reached the Apparation point where Ron stood waiting for them, and they all spun into the ether.

Kingsley stared down the crowd of reporters. His impressive height and presence brought their chatter to a halt. They watched expectantly as he drew up to his full height. "The Wizengamot have today decided to allow the Chief Warlock, Madame Amelia Bones, to form a committee consisting of representatives from both elected and inherited seats of the Wizengamot. I'm looking forward to working with this committee in the ongoing process to rebuild our community following the devastating war against Voldemort," Kingsley said as an introduction. It amused him that, nearly two years after his defeat, people still cringed at the mention of Tom Riddle's alias.

Kingsley immediately relinquished the floor to the former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She began to speak before any of the press corps had a chance to shout a single syllable.

"I intend to encourage every member of the Wizengamot interested in serving on this committee to apply. Once I have a list of candidates, I will choose not only from the inherited and elected seats, but I will also strive to include members of varying ages and backgrounds within this body."

"We will now open up the floor for questions, but we shall proceed in an orderly fashion. You will keep your mouths shut until we give you the word, or you shall be removed from this chamber," Kingsley barked. The reporters, used to being allowed to shout out their questions like a mob of screeching magpies, listened in shock as the Minister imposed rules on them. "Please, first question."

An army of hands shot into the air, and after a few moments' consideration, Kingsley gave the word to a reporter from _The Daily Prophet_. If he had his way, only the truly legitimate publications would have his favour, but in all fairness, he had to allow the tabloids to have their chance as well.

"Minister, do you think this committee can accomplish any real change in this century?"

Kingsley weighed his words for a moment before replying. "A new century has just begun. Two wars have shown the need for change, and let me point out that there has been a lot of change already. Madame Bones is the first witch in history to become Chief Warlock. Madame Black is the first Muggleborn ever to occupy an inherited seat. Those groundbreaking examples are of great importance to the further healing and restructuring of our society. Because of this change, we also need to make sure our laws are updated and remain relevant. This end is the purpose for which this committee shall be formed, and since Madame Bones is a witch who likes to get things done, I trust that she and her committee will do exactly that."

"Let me also point out that those not chosen to serve on this committee are more than welcome to present their suggestions to the Wizengamot," Amelia added. "And may I also reveal that Hogwarts has answered Madame Black's call for suggestions from the general public. Our students have been issued a challenge to come up with proposals for better laws than the existing ones. Madame Pince, our librarian, has already acquired ten new copies of _British Wizarding Law_ and our students are very eager to study it."

"Madame Bones, Minister Shacklebolt, what are your opinions concerning the current system with inherited and elected seats on the Wizengamot," the next reporter asked, a question they both expected and prepared for.

"I think that in due time, all seats on the Wizengamot will be elected ones," Amelia stated. "But transition to that end must come about judiciously and gradually, making sure that the democratic spirit of free election and a pure wish for justice for all wizards and witches is the driving factor behind that and any change. _Justice_ is easily confused with or mistaken for _revenge,_ and if we start down a path on which revenge will dictate our legislation, Wizarding Britain will enter a second dark age that will tear us apart socially and economically."

"Would you be willing to give up your inherited seat Madame Bones," the reporter asked to follow up his question.

"Under the current system, I hold my seat because the late Lord Bones appointed me to it. As of this time, the House of Bones has no official Head. Since most of our clan was murdered by Voldemort's Death Eaters, the House of Bones consists of myself and my niece, Auror Susan Bones. At this point, I would break the law if I, without the consent of Lord Bones, would give up the Bones seat," Amelia explained. "And going against the will of the Lord of my own House would, by law, earn me a life sentence in Azkaban."

Kingsley had to hide a smirk. Of all the members in an inherited seat to put that loaded question to, the reporter picked the wrong one. Not only was Amelia's situation unique, but she was also the former Head of DMLE, and knew Wizarding law inside out.

"As Minister for Magic, it is not my job to legislate, but to lead the Ministry according to our current laws. I can present proposals to the Wizengamot if I deem it necessary. The question about inherited and elected seats has already brought to the Wizengamot's attention and a resolution has been passed to address it. Should the inherited seats become elected ones while I am still Minister for Magic, I will continue my cooperation and dialogue with the Wizengamot as I do now."

The reporters seemed to realise they wouldn't get anything more out of the Minister or the Chief Warlock on this issue. Next to receive the word was a reporter from _Witch Weekly_. Kingsley braced himself and hoped for the best.

"_Witch Weekly_ pointed out a number of very disturbing facts in the last issue concerning you, Minister, and your association with Harry Potter. Listening to the debate today, I couldn't help but notice that Madame Black and Lord Potter were the ones behind the proposal that won the majority. Doesn't this strike you as rather odd, since this was the first time those two young people even spoke to the Wizengamot?"

Kingsley sighed. He hoped there wouldn't be any questions linked to that article, but he braced himself for them anyway. "First of all, there isn't one piece of solid evidence to back up any of the claims made by Fräulein Reitter. Her assertions are little more than speculation based on circumstantial evidence and her own assumptions," Kingsley began. "And quite frankly, I'm not surprised that Madame Black gave such and eloquent speech. The fact is that she earned ten NEWTs with 'O' on every single one of them, and is by many regarded to be the brightest witch of her age. As for Lord Potter, I found his mundane analogy refreshing and most fitting to the question at hand."

"But Minister Shacklebolt, you must realise that questions arose when a notoriously poor family like the Weasleys rose to prominence so soon after the war at the same time that Lord Potter and Madame Black joined the clan. One has to wonder what schemes the fabled Golden Trio were up to while they were in hiding."

Kingsley didn't like where this was going at all. What did the turn of fortune for the Weasleys have to do with the mission the three best friends had been sent upon during the war? One thing was for certain, though: there was no way in Heaven, Hell or Middle Earth he would reveal anything about the Horcruxes. He knew from the outset that it would just be a matter of time until the mission the Trio had fulfilled would be debated, and the fact that it hadn't happened until now was most likely because of all the focus on rebuilding the community, the trials of the surviving Death Eaters, the entire business with Mafalda and the general unrest among the Muggleborns. He couldn't disregard the question, since it would fuel the speculations Reitter had voiced.

"Lord Potter took his place here simply because he'd come of age. He also took proper responsibility, by law, and chose someone he trusts enough to adopt as his sister and placed on the Wizengamot. The appointment of Arthur Weasley as Head of DMLE is not related to the seats of Houses of Potter and Black on the Wizengamot. He was the most-experienced office head in the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

DMLE took a hard blow during the war, since many of its employees fought in the war and perished. Responsibility fell to what few experienced staff remained—alive and not imprisoned—including Undersecretary Alastor Gumboil, Mr Arthur Weasley and Senior Auror John Dawlish. It was on Auror Dawlish's recommendation, with the support of the entire Senior Auror staff, that I offered Chief Potter his current position, and despite being a Ministry employee for only a short time, I recall an article in _The Daily Prophet_ that examined the records of the Auror Heads, showing that Chief Potter's experience stood up very well to his predecessors." Kingsley glared sternly at the reporter from _Witch Weekly._ "And those records are available to you to check your facts for your next issue."

"Indeed I have looked at them, and what should've been Mr Potter's seventh year at Hogwarts is blank. Erased? Omitted? Hidden?"

Kingsley had done his best to steer his previous answer away from that year, but this reporter clearly wouldn't drop the matter. _Bugger. _"That year in Mr Potter's and Mr and Mrs Ronald Weasley's lives is a matter of national security on my orders and for good reason. I will tell you this, though: Voldemort was the worst Dark Wizard in known history. Even if you'd ferret out the most hideous and banned books on Dark Arts, you would still be worlds apart from the horrific spells and rituals Tom Riddle developed.

The books I refer to are banned to prevent over-ambitious people from turning so dark that they lose every shred of their humanity. Some of them are to be destroyed by Aurors and Curse-breakers should a copy ever be found to still exist. Other, shall we say _less-potent,_ banned books are available to Aurors to peruse under careful supervision simply because they need to understand the Dark Arts in order to fight them.

During my time as Head Auror, I stumbled upon a few books and items that still haunt my nightmares, and should I describe any of them in detail, you would very likely lose your lunch. I assure you that everything I've come across in my experience pales in comparison to what Mr Potter and his friends endured to defeat Voldemort. If you argue that these events should be made public, you must also support the idea to put books imbued with dark curses with the potential to destroy good people by consuming them—figuratively and in some cases, disturbingly literally—on the shelves of Flourish and Blotts. The result would most assuredly be the rise of another Lord Voldemort."

The cadre of reporters stood in silent awe as Kingsley's speech ended. He'd spoken with authority and hoped his reasoning would discourage any further questions of that nature. Before the reporters had collected themselves, Kingsley went in for what he hoped would be the kill that would put an end to any debate about Sigrid Reitter's article.

"And don't any of you even _think _about bringing up the ridiculous claim that Mr and Mrs Potter's marriage is arranged. Do any of you remember the Potters' official press release about their relationship?"

Kingsley considered his words carefully to reveal nothing but that which was already publicly known "_I love her more than life itself_, were Mr Potter's exact words, and he ruddy means it. If you happened to read the news in May of that year, you would remember that Mr Potter took the killing curse during the Battle of Hogwarts, dying for his friends and loved ones. I'd say it's a good guess that Ginevra Potter was on the very top of that list of very special people." Kingsley took a few deep breaths "Now, are there any further questions about the debate in the Wizengamot?"

Cautiously, the reporters asked questions about the session for another half-hour. Once the last of them had gone, Kingsley looked at Amelia with concern etched across his brow. "Did I go too far with that wench from _Witch Weekly?_"

"She never lost her lunch, did she," Amelia smirked.

"Thank you," Kingsley said "But I'm afraid we haven't heard the last of this yet."

"I'm afraid you're right," Amelia agreed. "Care for a cuppa?"

"Sounds good to me," Kingsley replied and offered her his arm.

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"'Mione, what's wrong," Ron asked as they undressed for bed. She had been rather quiet since they had returned home from the Ministry. If anything, Ron expected her to be excited about having won over the Wizengamot against Alastor Gumboil.

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong, Ronald," she replied absently, struggling with the hooks on her bra. "It's just been a long day."

"I know you. Something's bothering you," Ron countered. "You've barely spoken a dozen words since we got home and now you're having trouble with something you do every night without a single thought." He stepped over behind her and released the hooks that held the garment in place. It fell away and down Hermione's arms. Ron caught it and tossed it into the dirty clothes hamper and then encircled her waist with his strong arms. "This is about what Gumboil said about you and Harry, isn't it?"

Tilting her head up to look into his face, her protest fell flat as she gazed into his deep blue eyes. "Yes. It is. And Reitter's article about our family."

"'Mione, you were brilliant," Ron assured her. "You were so brilliant, Lord Greengrass stood with you."

"I know," she conceded as the climbed into bed. "It's just that…well…we didn't stay for the press-conference and I think we should have."

"Oh," Ron replied. "I suppose. But Harry really didn't want to, did he?"

"No. You know how he is about the press," Hermione said. "I'm just worried that our absence might reflect badly on us after Gumboil's barbs and that damned article." She snuggled into his arms with her back to his chest as they leaned against the headboard.

"Like you're hiding something?"

"Something like that. But Ron, Gumboil's arguments were good ones," she groaned. "He had them eating out of his hand. Some of the people in the gallery were eyeing me like…like I was some kind of…criminal."

"You're not a criminal, Love. You have your seat fairly and according to the law as it is now," Ron assured her. "He didn't have a leg to stand on, really. Harry wanted someone in that seat that wouldn't allow prejudice to rule his or her judgement. He went to Andromeda first, right?"

"Well…yes, but—"

"No buts," Ron interrupted. "The next choice would have been Draco Malfoy, but he sits the Malfoy seat with his mother as an advisor. Dad wouldn't take it because…well, I think he hopes that one day our family seat will be restored to us. And wasn't it Andromeda who suggested you and the means to do it?"

"Well…yes," Hermione admitted. "But…but they don't know that."

"They don't know all the details because it's none of their bloody business," Ron insisted. "Your blood-adoption into the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black is a family matter. Technically, Gumboil was right about your having that seat because Lord Potter said so, but that doesn't make it wrong. Alastor Gumboil is a ruddy fanatic who's just as caught up in blood-status as the Pureblood supremacists."

"I realise that, Ronald," Hermione huffed. "But he's got a point just the same."

"Be that as it may, Love, I can just about guarantee that if elections were held tomorrow, you'd still have your seat. You're the brightest witch of your age, a war-hero, and a damned fine woman," Ron told her pointedly. "Anyone who's ever dealt with you knows that, including Draco Malfoy." He kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer to him.

"Draco? Why," Hermione asked.

"Because you've put him in his place countless times over the years, but more importantly, it was _your _quick thinking that saved his life," Ron reminded her. "And I can also tell you that had he been physically able to attend today's session, he'd have backed you."

"How do you know that," she asked. "Draco Malfoy back a Mudblood? Come on."

"Because he's asked Lord Greengrass to represent Darby," Ron said, rubbing her arms.

"Are you serious," she gasped.

"No," Ron snorted. "I'm Ron, but yes, he wants to help Darby now that he knows why he was attacked."

Hermione couldn't help but smile. They hadn't played the Sirius/serious joke on one another in a long time. "So he viewed the memory, then."

"Yes, and he read Darby's statement," Ron told her. "I think our Miss Greengrass has had a good influence on him. He really wants to do the right thing."

"But you have your doubts, don't you," Hermione asked, knowing how much her husband despised the Malfoy heir.

"'Mione, I really don't know what to think," he sighed. "I mean, my instincts tell me not to trust the ferret, but at the same time, Harry does. And Malfoy did help up crack the Mafalda Prewett case at the risk of his own neck, which is a very un-Malfoy thing to do."

"Ron, the war changed a lot of us—some for the better, like Draco Malfoy—but some for the worse—like Alastor Gumboil and his lot," Hermione observed. "But then again, some people learned nothing at all."

"Such as…?"

"The general public, Ron," Hermione said. "The ones Harry calls _sheeple_. They still allow themselves to be led around by the nose by the media and expect the Ministry to solve their problems for them."

"So you imagine that showing yourselves for the press-conference would have changed that?" Ron couldn't quite get his head around what was actually bothering his wife.

"Not changed it, but maybe refuted Sigrid Reitter's allegations and Gumboil's snide remarks about Harry and me and our qualification—or lack thereof—to sit on the Wizengamot. He all but called us children."

Ron snickered and kissed her temple. "Love, compared to those old fossils, Mum and Dad are children. 'Mione, look: for as long as I've known you, you've been our age going on forty. And Harry? He's what Mum calls an _old soul_. And I think she's right. I mean, Harry's never had a real childhood, has he?"

"I suppose not," Hermione agreed. "But I did. My parents loved me and took good care of me."

"Of course they did," Ron agreed. "But it's more than that. Harry's carried the weight of the world on his shoulders since he was a baby. Once he fulfilled his destiny, he thought he'd be able to have a normal life. But Harry can never have what most people would call a normal life because he's special. He destroyed the worst dark wizard in the history of the world and lived to tell the tale."

"But I'm not special, Ron. I'm just…a know-it-all bookworm," Hermione added.

"Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley, you're special because you have a firm conscience that won't allow you to make rash decisions. You puzzle out everything. You always have. If not for you, we'd have never survived the hunt, let alone the war." Ron cast around his mind to find the words he needed to make his point and set his wife's mind at ease.

"Hermione, it doesn't matter what Sigrid Reitter says or what Alastor Gumboil says or what anybody says," he began. "You proved yourself in the snake-pit today—you and Harry both. You presented your arguments in a way that anybody who speaks the queen's English can understand."

"And Gumboil?"

"Political posturing, Love," Ron said. "I watched his every move during your speech and his own. You blew him out of the water before he even got a chance. He had to resort to blasting you and Harry for your youth and the fact that you sit inherited seats and why you sit them. When he said that you have your seat because Harry said so, he was alluding to Sigrid Reitter's insinuation that Harry is setting himself up to take over the Ministry. Then he smoothed it all over by saying how well Dad and Harry are running DMLE and the Auror Office."

"Yes, I know. I was listening too," Hermione replied.

"And the sheeple were buying it," Ron continued. "But then Harry, their beloved saviour, stood and gave his Quidditch analogy—something completely mundane—so they could understand how Gumboil's way was not a good way. Harry never said he was against free elections—I don't think anyone with any sense at all really would be—but he wanted people to understand that there's a big difference between split-second decisions in a fire-fight on field of battle and split-second decisions in the safety of a courtroom. And that, my beautiful bookworm, is why you won the day."

"But what about Harry's public image," Hermione groaned again. "This is all fine and good, but the article and Gumboil's assertions still hang in the air. The fact that Harry and I didn't sit for the press-conference is going to make him—us—look as though we've something to hide."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that, Love," Ron assured her. "Kingsley and Amelia know how to handle the press. I can almost guarantee you that they'll be able to address it and put the sheeple's little minds to rest."

"You really think so," she asked hopefully.

"I know so. This'll all blow over eventually," he said confidently. "The public will become bored with it all and look for something else to gossip about."

Hermione relaxed in her husband's arms. He constantly surprised her with his simple wisdom, something he'd only begun to exhibit since the war. He'd changed from and self-centred boy to an objective and thoughtful man in a very short time. At that moment, she realised that without him, she would simply drift through life alone and—what was it Trelawney once said—dry as the pages of the books she clung so desperately to? Well, it was something like that anyway.

"Ron?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For loving me."

"I should be thanking you, then."

"Why?"

"For letting me love you." In a trice, Ron rolled over and pinned her to the mattress. He crushed his lips to hers in a smouldering kiss that made her toes curl. She moaned as he sought entrance to her mouth, which she freely gave.

"Ron," she whispered. "I love you so much." She fisted her small hands into his thick ginger hair and wrapped her legs around his waist, arching her back as he kissed his way to her pulse point where her neck met her shoulder.

"My beautiful, beautiful Hermione," he groaned and pressed his arousal into her belly. "I want you so bad. I need you."

"Yes, my ginger god," she panted. "Take me."

Ron rose up onto his knees and lifted her left leg over his shoulder. With a single push, he entered her with a growl. He grinned wickedly at her whimper when his member pressed against her cervix. "You like that, Love?"

"Mm hmm…" she panted. "That's…that's amazing. Don't stop!"

"As you wish," he growled again and began to move his hips slowly and gently. He could feel the opening to her uterus and understood that too much thrust might cause him to breach it and cause her pain. "All right, Love?"

"Mm hmm…" was all she could manage. The sensation overwhelmed her, as they'd never made love in this position before. If her brain hadn't been clouded with desire for her husband, she might have wondered where he got the idea. But at the moment, she didn't care where the idea came from, just that it had come. "Oh gods, Ron!"

As he moved against her in the ancient dance, Ron reached down with his free hand and found the small bundle of nerve endings above Hermione's opening. With the slightest of pressure, he moved his thumb over it in tiny circles.

"Ron! Oh," she cried. "Oh gods! Yes!"

"Is my love close," he whispered.

Hermione had begun to pant and run her hands up and down her body. Because of the position, she couldn't reach any part of Ron and it frustrated her a little, which only added to her impending climax. "So close, baby," she panted. "So close."

Ron had hoped that was the case because the depth of his penetration and the sweet sound of her cries spurred him on to his own climax. "Hang on, Love. Just a little bit longer," he moaned.

"Together, my love," she cried. "Together!" All at once, Ron let out a mighty groan and made one final thrust into her body. The sensation of his seed spilling against her cervix, the pressure of his thumb between her legs, and the love that washed over them in waves sent her over the edge into that familiar abyss. They cried out one another's names as they fell into ecstasy as one.

For a few moments, they held still and allowed the tide of their passion to ebb. Ever so gently, Ron kissed Hermione's instep and ankle and carefully lowered her leg to the bed. "All right, Love?"

"Never better," she replied with a bright smile. "Never better." She welcomed him into her arms for a comforting post-coital snog. Content and fulfilled, Ron and Hermione Weasley nestled together under the blankets for a good night's rest.

"I love you Mrs Weasley."

"I love you too, Mr Weasley."


	44. Chapter 44 Happy Birthday Dear Ronald

**Chapter 44 – Happy Birthday, Dear Ronald**

Harry, Jayce, Bill, and Arthur sneaked out to the secret garage in the woods behind Ionúin Bhaille. The final days of the build served to keep Harry focused on something other than the stress induced by Gumboil's rant in the Wizengamot and the backlash from Sigrid Reitter's inflammatory atrocity in _Witch Weekly_. The day after the special session, The _Daily Prophet_ ran a story covering Hermione's victory and the press-conference that followed. Harry immediately dispatched Prongs to thank the Minister and the Chief Warlock for their competency in front of the press corps, but the _Reitter Writ_ still annoyed him.

Through it all, Ginny's constant presence in his heart and mind did much to keep his simmering temper from boiling over. As soon as she returned home, they sequestered themselves in their bedroom for twenty-four hours straight. For the first several hours of that time, Ginny held her husband while he sobbed out his anger and frustration, and then received him with a full heart in the warmth and comfort of their bed. Harry slept for the better part of sixteen hours afterwards and awoke feeling like a new wizard.

Today was Monday and Ron's birthday would fall two days hence on the first of March. All that was left on the build was to cast the flying/invisibility and perpetual petrol charms and then take it for a test run. Once it passed full inspection, Arthur would work a little magic at the Ministry to see that it was properly registered in Ron's name, complete with licences. Through the Ministry, the registration would appear in the Muggle computers as though it had been there all along.

"Well," Harry said, wiping his hands on an old chamois. "This is it, mates. She'll either run or she won't."

"She'll run, Harry," Jayce said. "We checked and double-checked everything and it's all as it should be."

"So…who'd like to do the honours," Harry asked his build-team. "Bill, how about you?"

"M-me," the eldest Weasley son gasped. "You…are you sure? This is kind of a big deal."

"Yes it is, and who better to take her for a test ride than Ron's big brother," Harry replied.

"Hear, hear," Jayce agreed. "Go for it, dude!"

Bill looked to his father for confirmation. He'd fallen in love with the classic Harley from the moment he laid eyes on it. "Go ahead, son. Give it a go."

"Okay…here goes," Bill said, taking a deep breath. He placed his right foot on the starter and dropped his full weight on it. The engine sputtered, but didn't turn over. He turned a worried face to Jayce, hoping for some kind of hope.

"S'arright, Bill," Jayce assured him. "There ain't enough gas in the carburettor. You might have to hit it a few times before it fires."

"Okay…one more time," Bill said. He repeated his first effort. This time the engine almost caught.

"Again, Bill," Harry said. "It took a couple of tries to start the Triumph the first time, too."

"Third time's the charm," Arthur said with a twinkle in his clear blue eyes. "This time should do it."

Bill took a few deep calming breaths and dropped his weight on the starter once again. This time the engine sputtered, caught, and roared to life, sending a flock of birds noisily into the sky.

"Wahoo," Jayce howled, high-fiving Harry and Arthur. "Hot snot, people, we're in business!"

Bill revved the engine a few times to make sure the fuel pump was working properly and that there were no leaks in any of the lines. Close inspection by Harry, Jayce and Arthur confirmed that their build was a success. Harry waved his hand, signalling Bill to let the engine idle for a bit to warm up. The chopper's Shovelhead engine rumbled its approval. Her surgical team had saved her life and she would take to the road once again.

Bill dropped the kick-stands, but left the engine running, as Arthur drew his wand and stepped forward. He first tapped the fuel tank and spoke an incantation that would ensure that it would never run dry. With the final flick of his wand, the tank glowed with a rose-pink corona, which faded after a few seconds.

"Excellent," Arthur said. "It worked. Now for the flying and invisibility mechanism." He tapped a silver button to the right of the speedometer, spoke another incantation, and the button glowed an interesting shade of green, and then faded back to silver. "And now she flies unseen," he beamed.

"Bill," Harry shouted. "Take it out to the road and through the village, buzz Xeno's place, then touch back down and come on back on the road. Don't go anywhere near the Burrow!"

"Right," Bill replied. "I'll be back in about ten." With a whoop and a shout, Bill pressed the clutch and engaged. The bike lurched. "Oops! Let out the clutch too quickly!"

The other three laughed and waved their hands to encourage him to try again. With a nod, Bill pressed the clutch again. This time, the bike moved forward slowly, picking up speed as Bill became more confident. Then with another shout, Bill shot off like a rocket toward the road, the Harley roaring between his legs.

Harry, Jayce and Arthur listened to the roar of the engine fade as Bill raced toward the village. "Harry, thank you. Ronnie's dreamed of something like this most of his life. When I fixed your Triumph, I wished I could have fixed one for him, too. What you've done here is above and beyond anything we could have hoped for."

"Dad, you know there's virtually nothing I wouldn't do for Ron. He was my first human friend and my best mate. When I saw the bike just sitting there collecting dust, I just knew it was meant for Ron," Harry replied.

"It's beautiful, son," Arthur sniffed, taking his daughter's husband in a manly, yet firm, embrace. Jayce looked on with pride. _This is family. This is what the grandfathers teach us about in the stories and legends._

Moments later, the roar of a motorcycle engine filled their ears once again. But when Bill pulled up, he had a passenger. "Ginny," Harry cried. "How did you…"

"Harry James Potter, you know you can't keep anything from me. I've known about this since you showed it to Bill and Fleur," she giggled. "I think it's wonderful. Congratulations, Love. Ron's going to love it." She reached up on her tiptoes and planted a sweet kiss on her husband's cheek.

"So you're not angry," Harry asked.

"Angry? What would I be angry about," Ginny asked incredulously. "You've done a very kind thing for my brother and I couldn't be happier."

"Well, then, I suppose we need to stash the bike until Ron's party on Saturday. You lot need to get with the others and explain what's going on. Swear them to secrecy, but what I want you to do is…" The others nodded their understanding and with handshakes and hugs all around, Bill, Jayce and Arthur left for the Burrow, leaving Ginny and Harry to cover the bike and lock the garage. Bill would cast the anti-theft wards once Harry presented the bike to Ron.

"So, Lord Potter," Ginny began. "What's on the agenda for this evening?"

"Oh…I was thinking about a candlelit dinner at that little Italian restaurant you love so much down in the village," Harry replied. "And then if there's anything decent playing, I thought we might take in a movie. How does that sound, Lady Potter?"

"Ooh, that sounds wonderful," she replied. "Shall we have a shower first?"

"Last one to the loo is a Flobberworm's mummy," Harry chuckled and broke for the house.

"I'll catch you, Auror," Ginny called after him. "You're not as fast as you think you are!"

"Prove it, Chaser," Harry called back. Suddenly, his legs felt weak and he pitched forward, landing on his belly with a grunt, his glasses thrown a few metres ahead.

Ginny pelted toward him and as she passed, she drew her wand and cried, "_Finite incantatum_," shrieking with laughter.

"Cheater," Harry shouted, leaping to his feet and tearing off after her.

"I didn't cheat," she panted when he caught her at the door. "I improvised."

"Oh is that so," Harry growled, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder. "We'll see about improvisation, my girl!"

"Harry, put me down this instant," she cried through her laughter. "This isn't fair!"

"I'm just improvising, Love," he reasoned sarcastically. "Turnabout is fair play, you know."

Harry carried Ginny into the house, her writhing body still draped over his left shoulder. Every few steps, he tickled her side, sending her into gales of laughter and kicks of protest. He held on as he climbed the stairs to the master bedroom, where he dropped her on the bed and leaned over her. "Do you yield, Mrs Potter?"

"No!"

Harry pressed his weight down on her again enough to keep her in place. With both hands now free, he was able to tickle her on both sides, turning her laughter to screams. "S-stop…Harry! I c-can't…b-breathe!"

"Do you yield," Harry asked again with an evil grin pasted across his face.

"Will you wash my back," she asked with a pout.

"Your back, your front, your top, your bottom…anything you want," Harry promised. "Do you yield?"

"Yes, I yield! Now let me up, you great lummox," she giggled.

Harry stood and offered her his hand, which she took. She wavered a bit on her feet as she hadn't yet caught her breath from the run and the tickling. He held her steady to his chest until her trembling subsided. "All right, Gin?"

She nodded, still panting a little. Then, without warning, she pushed away from him and shot into the loo, slamming the door behind her and throwing the lock. "Looks like you're the Flobberworm's mummy, Potter!"

"Am I," a soft voice spoke from behind her. She nearly jumped out of her skin, for right behind her stood her raven-haired god of a husband. "I'd call this a draw, wouldn't you?"

"Done," she conceded and allowed him to take her into his arms. He captured her lips with his in one of his signature mind-blowing Harry-kisses that she lived for. With a wave of his hand, the two of them stood stark naked, every stitch of clothing banished to the dirty clothes hamper. With another wave, the shower head exploded with warm water. "Harry," she breathed, as vapour filled the room.

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Minerva McGonagall had sequestered herself in her office sorting through a pile of parchment when a tiny owl entered and flew all around the office as though it were desperately looking for a perch. Professor McGonagall knew all too well who that owl belonged to. How many times had she seen Harry snatch this little fellow out of mid-air with the lightning-fast deftness of a natural Seeker? Adorable as the bird was, Minerva had neither the time nor the patience to play keep-away with an owl of any size.

"Come down here, you, or I'll transfigure you into a mouse," she told the owl in a friendly tone, imposing a threat she had no intention of ever carrying out. Still, the Pig decided he'd take no chances and dropped a rather official-looking letter onto the headmistress' desk. "Poor little thing. Did you fly here all the way from Devon," Professor McGonagall mumbled rhetorically as she tossed him an owl treat. "Now why would Ronald send you with Auror business rather than a Ministry owl?"

Pig hooted impatiently and stuck out his leg revealing a second letter.

"Oh, you have another for Miss Templeton from Hermione," Professor McGonagall concluded. "Well, go on over to the perch and rest while I read this," she told the owl and then adjusted her square spectacles to read the letter.

_Dear Minerva,_

_Hermione is very happy to hear that you've challenged the student body at Hogwarts to come up with suggestions for our improvements to our community. As she promised in her article last month, she will gladly bring the best proposals before the Wizengamot with full credit to the author. Now to the real reason I'm writing you: Harry and I would like to meet with you at your earliest convenience. Please feel free to Floo us to schedule a time._

_Sincerely_

_Capt. Ronald B. Weasley, OMFC_

_Assistant Head Auror_

Minerva considered the possibilities as to what two of her three favourite alumni might have in mind, but Pig took off to circle around the office again, interrupting her musings. "You'd better deliver that letter to Patricia, laddie," Professor McGonagall admonished the owl. With a cherry hoot, he took flight and flittered out of the office and down the spiral stairwell. As he passed, Pig left a chalky-white calling card with the Gargoyle that guarded the passage.

Shaking her head and smiling slightly, the Headmistress rose from her desk with a wince and a rather loud snapping of joints, and moved over to the grand fireplace that graced the head's office. Taking a pinch of Floo powder, she tossed it into the grate. "The Head of the Auror Office," she called clearly and green fire erupted. Using a rather heavy antique chair as support, she knelt gingerly on a rather fluffy rug she'd altered with a cushioning charm. Sticking her head into the flames she could see Ron and Harry at their desks with a cup of tea each, sorting through a rather ponderous pile of memos surrounding them.

"Minerva! One moment," Harry greeted her with a wide smile. He drew his wand and flicked it at the memos, which froze in mid-air and fell to the floor in a neat pile. He then stepped over to the fireplace and sat down cross-legged. "What can we do for you this fine morning?"

"Harry, Ronald. You sent a letter suggesting I got in touch with you two." _Flirt_.

"Oh. Right. Erm…well, we'd like to discuss the Auror Training Programme with you and the Heads of all the Houses," he said brightly.

"All right, Harry. We have a staff meeting after classes on Friday, and there should be plenty of time to chat before supper is served," she replied.

"That would be fine, Minerva," Harry agreed and turned to Ron with an inquisitive look.

"Yeah, sure," Ron said, nodding quickly.

Harry turned back to Professor McGonagall with his signature boyish smile. "Friday it is, then. I hope we'll be able to finalise the plans at that time."

"Have we become the epitome of efficiency, Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall asked with a smirk.

"We just like getting things done, Minerva."

"And you do it well. I'm looking forward to meeting you on Friday, then," she said and was about to pull her head out of the fire when she looked at Ron. "And yes, Ronald, you are perfectly welcome to have supper at Hogwarts after the meeting if you wish."

Ron smiled broadly. _A Hogwarts supper_. His mother's suppers never disappointed and there was always enough to feed an army, but there was just something about a feast in Hogwarts' Great Hall that nothing else could rival.

"Looking forward to it, Minerva," Ron grinned. With that the green flames vanished.

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Friday afternoon, four maroon-robed people passed through the front gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry, Ron and Cho had Flooed to Hogsmeade, where they met up with Seamus at the Three Broomsticks. Harry intended to present the details of the proposal for the new Hogwarts-based Auror Training Programme to Professor McGonagall with his wish to integrate the programme with the standard NEWT studies. Cho had been appointed commander for the broomborne unit, and they would start training very shortly. Seamus had emerged as the best choice as commander for the_ infantry_, as Jayce had called ground troops, so Harry had included the two of them in the meeting.

Although they made frequent visits to the castle for one reason or another, the sheer history and magical atmosphere of the place never ceased to leave them in wonder. Harry felt like an unsorted first-year each and every time he walked the ancient stone-and-mortar corridors. Here and there, one could still detect evidence of the terrible battle that took place there nearly two years before if he or she knew what to look for and where to find it. Harry and Ron found themselves looked straight ahead as they passed the now-repaired wall where Fred had fallen.

A few turns and they quickly found the the staff room where the meeting just had adjourned. Ron raised his fist to knock when Neville opened the door and nearly walked right into them. "Oi, dark magic alert in the staff room? I did notice a Doxy or two in the draperies," Neville greeted them with a smirk "I'm sure the four of you should be equal to them."

"And hello to you too, smart arse," Harry huffed, extending his hand with a grin.

Neville clasped his arm in the ancient way of kings and drew Harry into a manly embrace. "How the hell are you, Harry?"

"Can't complain…much," Harry replied.

"Everything all right there, Neville," Seamus asked.

"It's great. Thanks to Hermione's invitation to the students, I'll get to teach more. Pomona has to take on a few extra responsibilities as Deputy, because Minerva's going to take on second- and third-year Transfiguration classes so Amelia can counsel interested students in Wizarding law. Other than that, Hogwarts is Hogwarts. I just have to tell you this, though," Neville whispered with a gleam in his eyes. "Last night, a couple of Gryff fourth-years were busted breaking curfew, but you'll never guess how."

"Not Peeves, Filch or his damned cat obviously," Ron assumed. "The furry little menace still gives me the collywobbles."

"None of the above, actually," Neville confirmed. "We're guessing they missed a turn and ended up in a corridor they'd never been in before and met a bad-tempered suit of armour."

"Met," Cho asked. "How do you _meet_ a suit of armour?"

"Well…if you remember, they do try to sing at Christmas time, but Minerva thinks it might have been one she'd activated during the Battle of Hogwarts. Evidently, it got lost in the confusion and has been wandering around the castle ever since," Neville chuckled.

"A clanging suit of amour has supposedly been wandering around for nearly two years undetected," Harry asked incredulously. The four Aurors broke into amused laughter.

"Yes," Neville continued, still chuckling. "And the original magic that Minerva charmed it with to protect Hogwarts against Death Eaters must've been fragmented beyond recognition with all of the other magical interference flying about." By now Neville had broken into full-on laughter. "Because…because the ruddy armour mounted an attack on the Gryffs, who ran for their lives, finally seeking shelter in Filch's office with the ruddy armour trying to smash the door down. He had to Floo Filius, who to duelled the clanging heap and blasted in into the next kingdom before it finally fell apart."

"I'm sure that put a _dent_ in its pride," Cho giggled. The others groaned and shook their heads as though in pain.

"It's a good thing no one was hurt," Harry said, trying to look stern, but failing. "Kind of reminds me of our memorable encounter with Fluffy, yeah, Ron?"

"Did you have to bring that up," Ron moaned with a shiver. He'd never forget the array of very long and very sharp teeth filling the very large mouths of each of the very large dog's three heads. His stomach made a slight turn at the thought of Hagrid's Cerberus having drooled on his shoulder the night he and Hermione followed Harry through the trapdoor to rescue the Philosopher's Stone.

"Yes, and the Gryffs in question were discouraged from ever breaking curfew again."

The alumni greeted several of their old professors as they left the meeting, and then bid Neville goodbye. He needed to return to the greenhouses to tend to the thriving exotic plants Luna had brought from South America several months earlier. Minerva invited them into the staff room where Professors Flitwick, Hagrid, Slughorn, and Sprout awaited them. She then conjured a tea service and a few small cakes.

"Professors, thanks for seeing us," Harry greeted them.

"Honestly, Harry, I'm quite curious about your training programme, and with Aurors Weasley, Finnegan, and Chang in attendance, I find myself even more curious," the headmistress revealed. "Please be seated. Tea?"

The group of five took their seats and gladly accepted a cup of tea and a biscuit. Following some initial reminiscing and catching-up, Professor McGonagall turned to Harry. "Now, would you be so kinds as to tell us why we are here?"

"Of course, Headmistress McGonagall. As you know, the Auror Office plans to accept a number of apprentices next term and it's our belief that they'll be found primarily among the sixth- and seventh-year NEWT students here at Hogwarts," Harry began. "To that end, and because of the success we've had with our class, we'd like to base the new Auror Training Programme here at Hogwarts." Harry paused for the reaction among the professors.

"Since we, the Heads of House, have been invited to this meeting, I assume there's more to this than a request for the use of a few empty classrooms and room for a couple of extra students to reside at the castle," Professor Flitwick concluded. "Or this would have been a matter for Minerva to decide exclusively."

"That's correct, sir," Harry said and turned to Ron. "I'll let Captain Weasley explain, since a lot of the ideas for this programme are his."

Ron blushed as he turned to his former Professors. "Thank you, sir. You all know I wasn't a star-student like Hermione, and that my marks weren't exactly the making of legend."

"No, that would be your wife," Seamus snorted. He couldn't help wisecracking—it was in his nature. Knowing Ron as they did, everyone in the room couldn't help but let go a snicker or two.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Finnegan," Ron said peevishly. "Hermione and I figured out that the reason why I was able to finish the proscribed Auror Training regimen in such a short time was that I understood the purpose and importance of the course of study and how it related to my future as an Auror. Of course, her help was invaluable. But the point is that many students have a hard time connecting much of what they learn here to daily life. I think I would have been more eager to study for my OWLs if I thought the material had a practical use. The same applies to sixth- and seventh-years as they study for their NEWTs."

"Academic studies at NEWT level can certainly seem to be far-removed from everyday life and difficult to see the practical use for," Professor McGonagall agreed. "What do you propose?"

"Ye've come up wi' some idea, haven't yer, Ron," Hagrid asked, his beetle-black eyes glittering.

"Yes sir, Professor Hagrid, we did. We'd like to integrate the Auror Training Programme with NEWT studies for those accepted as apprentices, or _cadets_ as we'll call them," Ron confirmed. "And we'd also like to add the cadets' extra Auror-related training, apart from their NEWT classes."

"And once they have their NEWTs, the rest of their training will take place at the Ministry, as we can intern them until they pass the Auror exam and receive their licences," Harry said.

The professors looked at each other as if silently discussing the merits of the proposal. A few moments later, Professor Sprout turned to Harry. "What would you need from us?"

"The curriculum for the NEWTs will of course be the same for the cadets as it is for the other NEWT students, so your classes wouldn't be affected at all," Harry explained. "We intend to add additional cadet courses, as their standard coursework would be implemented in the Auror training—the real practicality behind the lesson, as Captain Weasley had previously explained. That would involve some coordination between the staff at Hogwarts and the Auror Office, but it can be done. We would need a few classrooms as well as use of the grounds, the Forbidden Forest and the Quidditch pitch."

"The Quidditch pitch," Professor Slughorn asked. "What on earth would you need the Quidditch pitch for?"

"Auror Chang, would you care to explain," Harry replied, deferring to her.

"Certainly, sir. I've been assigned the task to train a new branch of Aurors—a unit of _broomborne_ Aurors." The professors' faces registered surprise, as never had they heard of such a thing. "It's Red's…Ron's idea and it's my hope that a few players on the Quidditch teams are considering a career with the Auror Office."

"Dennis Creevey fer sure, Auror Chang." Hagrid boomed. "'E's Auror stuff, 'e is."

"I'm sure you'll have a more than a few candidates for your unit, Miss Chang," Professor Flitwick told his fellow 'Claw.

"I hope so, sir," Cho replied politely and retook her seat, returning the floor to her superior officer.

"Lieutenant Finnegan will be in charge of duelling drill and practise," Harry said.

"That's right. There'll be a lot o' duellin' to shape 'em up to Auror standards," Seamus said firmly. "And once their individual skill's enough, Captain Weasley and Auror Bones'll drill 'em in teamwork and tumblin' exercises. They'll be the best!"

"I'll do my best to teach Auror Regulations, and the basics to Occlumency and Legilimency, among other things," Harry added. "And we'll also bring in Junior Undersecretary Percy Weasley to teach Ministry Organisation. DMLE is authorised by the Minister himself to compensate Hogwarts in any manner she might need to accommodate us, of course. You need only to owl the school's needs to Arthur Weasley." _I'm sure Percy can come up with some kind of requisition form._

Harry leaned back in his armchair while Professor McGonagall surveyed her colleagues. "Are there any questions," she asked them.

"Is this to be a standing arrangement rather than an isolated experiment as your Auror class had been," Professor Flitwick asked.

"That's our hope, sir," Harry confirmed. "We have no official Auror academy, although we hope to someday. I mean, we could build one, but we don't have the manpower to staff it as yet—that's years down the road. But we do have Hogwarts and what better place to train cadets than right here, integrated with their NEWT studies?"

"You mentioned something about internship at the Ministry," Professor Sprout reminded them.

"Right. Internship is practical segment of an Auror's training," Harry explained. "But no cadet can go into the field in any capacity until he or she has passed her NEWTs and the prerequisite physical conditioning and class studies and exams. We don't have the facilities at the Ministry for that, but Hogwarts does."

"True," Minerva agreed. "Our student body has been less than half it once was, so space is hardly an issue. And we certainly have acres of land around the grounds we could convert into physical training facilities. In fact, it wouldn't hurt any of our students to get a little exercise."

Professors Slughorn and Sprout raised their eyebrows in surprise. Physical exercise was never something wizards set much store by, let alone engaged in. The closest thing to exercise anyone ever really got was Quidditch, and if many of the players on many professional squads were any indication, few Quidditch players could be considered prime specimens of physical fitness. Witches were often discouraged from engaging in such activity, as their traditional place was in the home raising the children, two steps behind their husbands.

"I don't know about that, Headmistress, but there is certainly plenty of grounds and forest to hike and run through," Harry laughed. He stole a look at Ron, who sported an almost diabolical grin. _Merlin help the cadets_.

"Right, then. Any more questions, comments, or observations," Minerva asked again.

No one seemed to have any further questions, but voiced their enthusiasm. "I think it's an excellent idea," Professor Slughorn said, already picturing a dinner party with several Aurors attending.

"I'll be happy ter take yer lot inter the forest. Lots o' dark creatures fer yer ter practise on in there," Hagrid volunteered.

"I'm all for it," Professor Sprout said in agreement. "Goodness knows an Auror should know his or her herbs for healing and potion-making.

"Combining academic knowledge and practical use is a very Ravenclaw idea. I couldn't be happier to help," Professor Flitwick added.

Harry's heart leapt at the prospect of putting his Auror training and talents to greater use than parading around at Ministry functions or showing-off in tournaments. "So…we're approved, then?"

"Was there any doubt, Potter? Now, with this business concluded, would you care to present your training programme to the students," the Headmistress asked.

"Absolutely, Headmistress," Harry agreed, pushing back his chair. Ron, Seamus Cho rose to their feet and stood before their Chief as military protocol demanded. The professors found the Aurors' behaviour rather interesting, having never seen military-like comportment before.

"Mr Potter," Minerva began. "What is all this _sir _and title-business with you lot all of a sudden?"

"What you've seen here, Minerva, is the new Auror Force. For too long, Aurors have been more like super-policemen rather than the military order they ought to be," Harry explained, offering her his arm. "We're meant to be soldiers, not policemen—that's the Squads' and Hit-wizards' job. If I have my way, your Aurors—yes, _your Aurors_—are going to be the fighting-force we were meant to be, and it starts with order and discipline."

"Impressive, Chief Potter," McGonagall agreed. "I assume, then, that Jayce Silvercloud has his hands in this?"

"The same," Harry said. "And when we're ready to start with next term's first cadet class, they'll all be calling me _Commander_."

The Heads of House arrived late for the supper, drawing the attention and awe of the student body as they entered together in a sort of arrow formation. As soon as the headmistress and the heads all reached their places at the staff table, Headmistress McGonagall addressed the students before the food could appear on the tables. The student body buzzed quietly as this could only mean some sort of important announcement.

"Your attention please," she called out and the buzz faded into silence. "I've just been in a rather momentous meeting with the Heads of the Houses and some very special guests. They have some rather exciting news for you."

At that moment, the great doors swung open and a very well-known quartet entered, maroon robes billowing behind them, boots shining, and black fatigues smartly-pressed. Seamus Finnegan was a frequent and well-liked personage around the school due to his position as Auror Liaison to Hogwarts, and his relationship with Miss Fiona. Cho Chang appeared regularly at the school in her rotation, and Harry and Ron needed no introduction.

"Please welcome Aurors Potter, Weasley, Finnegan and Chang," Professor McGonagall declared. The hall burst into cheers and applause for the four top Aurors in all of Great Britain.

They arranged themselves before the staff table and stood at attention. "Aurors! At ease," Harry barked and they all changed their stance from straight and tall to legs shoulder-width apart and hands clasped behind them. The student body gasped in surprise, for they had never seen such a thing—except for Patricia Templeton, whose father was a captain with the Royal Navy.

Ron and Harry gave Fiona a warm smile and Seamus gave her a wink and an air kiss, before gave his order. "Aurors! About face!" As one, they spun around crisply and stood at attention.

"At ease!" As one again, they planted their feet shoulder-width apart and clasped their hands behind their backs, their eyes constantly moving over the student body in the Great Hall.

"This autumn, Hogwarts will again become a facility for Auror training," Harry revealed flatly. "An Auror licence traditionally requires five NEWTs with at least an E grade. Defence, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration and Herbology comprise the most- common combination. As many of you probably know, only Auror Chang has sat for and earned any NEWTs, meaning that exceptions to this rule exist. The Auror Training Programme—or ATP—will be integrated with NEWT coursework, and those of you who wish to become Auror Cadets will, if accepted into the programme, put your studies into practical use with an additional regimen of specialised training, and eventually an internship with the Aurors at the Ministry. Once those requirements are completed and the corresponding exams passed, cadets shall finally submit to the Auror Exam to earn his or her licence. Let me point out that the training is very demanding, but cadets shall emerge in the best condition, physical and magical, imaginable."

Harry turned to Ron. "Captain Weasley?"

"Thank you, sir," Ron said, stepping forward while Harry joined the ranks _at ease_. "With our primary objective to fight the Dark Arts and protect our community from evil and heavy crime, the number of cadets we can train at this time is _limited_. Your grades, recommendations from your professors and Head of House stating that you have the skill and determination to become an Auror will be taken under advisement, but potential cadets must pass several interviews and aptitude tests that we will conduct before we make our final selections," Ron told the students with authority. "Lieutenant Finnegan?"

"Thank you, sir," Seamus said, stepping forward while Ron rejoined the others. "As Auror Liaison to Hogwarts, you are very welcome to approach me if you have any questions or concerns. Finally, Auror Chang has a piece of news for you. Auror Chang?"

"Thank you, sir," she said, stepping forward while Seamus stepped back with Harry and Ron. "I've been given command of a new Auror unit that shall be henceforth known as Broomborne. Please note that this unit is experimental. If chosen for this squadron, you will learn to fire precisely-aimed, precisely-timed high-powered spells at top speed from a broom. We will learn to assist Auror teams on the ground, and to ground flying creatures before they reach Muggle neighbourhoods."

"Thank you for your attention," Harry said and nodded to Professor McGonagall who revealed the supper. "Aurors, dismissed."

After a few moments of stunned silence, the Great Hall filled with student chatter. The announcement certainly inspired many students to give much thought to applying to become Auror Cadets; others, however had to leave any such notion as a feeble dream because they knew in their hearts that they lacked the academic excellence, magical skill, or balls required to even apply.

"What was that all about," Erica asked as the food appeared on the tables.

"That was the new Aurors," Dennis replied with a gleam in his eye. "That's military deportment found in Muggle armies. Those commands Harry gave are quite American, but Her Majesty's army does much the same thing."

"Wha' for," Joseph asked shovelling a forkful of shepherd's pie into his mouth.

"Because we're done playing policeman," Harry answered for him, as he, Ron, and Seamus joined the Gryffindor table.

"Too right," Ron added. "The Auror Force was actually meant to be more militaristic. It's just that over many years of corrupt government, misappropriation of funds, and general apathy, the Auror Force became the Auror Office, reducing us to a load of super-cops."

"If that," Seamus agreed. "By the end o' the war, there weren't more than about a dozen Aurors left and most o' them are only a few years out from retirement. They've been bashed to pieces due to lack o' proper trainin' 'n' equipment."

"But no more," Harry said, serving himself some of his favourite shepherd's pie. Without so much as a glance, he snatched a bread-roll from the air that Demelza Robbins lobbed at him.

"He's still got it," she giggled.

"Never lost it," Harry grinned. "We've got to start small, so we'll be accepting only the best, so sixth- and seventh-years only are eligible to apply for now." Harry directed his gaze at Dennis and Jessica, who had made it more than clear that they were interested. "Perhaps down the road, we can include fifth-years in the basics of an extended programme we have in mind, with their OWLs determining their eligibility to go on as cadets."

"How many can you take in the first class," Dennis asked.

"We're thinking twelve," Ron replied. "There were eight in our class, but Harry reckons we can handle twelve, with twelve more coming in the next year."

"Is that six from sixth-year and six from seventh-year," Patricia asked, purely for informational purposes.

"Hermione would be so proud of you, Pats," Ron chuckled. "No. The top twelve _applicants_ will be invited to join the cadet class, not six from column A and six from Column B."

"Bloody hell, Weasley," Seamus snorted. "Ye've got food in front o' ya and ya still got food on yer brain!"

"Merlin help you when Jayce—er _Sergeant Silvercloud_—take our sorry arses into the wilderness," Harry snickered. "To feed that gullet, your field-pack's going to have to weigh a metric tonne!"

Ron's face fell a little. "Then I'm going to have to be a good hunter, won't I?"

The Gryffindors in earshot all burst into laughter as they finished their meal and caught up on the latest news. After a while, Seamus stood from the table and took his leave. A certain strawberry Healer Apprentice had just stood and left the Great Hall, shooting him a come-hither smile. "Excuse me. Duty calls."

"Give her a wet one for us, will you," Harry called while the others howled.

"Yes sir! Right away, sir," Seamus replied with a crisp salute. He turned on his heels and pelted off toward the doors where he knew Fiona would be waiting for him. Sure enough, there she stood in her green scrubs and white trainers.

"Hey, good lookin'," she purred, stepping into his personal space. "That's some show y'all put on in there."

Seamus wrapped his arms around Fiona and pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers. "That was no show, darlin'. That's the way it's gonna be from now on."

"So Jayce is trainin' y'all then," she replied, snuggling into his chest.

"He is, startin' with me, Ron, Harry, 'n' maybe yer cousins Bill 'n' Charlie," Seamus replied. "But definitely the three of us."

"Will ya be out long? I mean, I can just about imagine what he's got in store for ya," Fiona said, taking his hand and leading him toward the stairs to her quarters.

"Just weekends for a bit, then maybe a couple o' weeks when he thinks we're ready," Seamus said. "Now, now, Miss. I can see those worry-lines around yer pretty mouth and eyes. We'll be fine and we've got ta learn this stuff if we're gonna be what we're s'posed ta be."

"I know," she said. "But it's just that…well…I worry is all."

"Worry? What about," he asked, stopping and staring into her eyes. "What're ya worried about? We'll be together and we'll have Jayce teachin' us along the way."

"Seamus, Jayce has full Army Ranger training and he's in top physical condition," Fiona said. "Now I know y'all ain't exactly fat 'n' flabby, but ya gotta understand that what's goin' on is a kind o' boot camp. It's hellish hard work and I'm just worried yer gonna…hurt yerselves."

"_Mo ghrá_, I'm more than aware o' that," Seamus assured her. "But we're all wizards, remember? Apparition? Portkeys? Healing potions? If somethin' happens, we're covered." He held her face in his hands and wiped away a few little tears that threatened to escape down her creamy cheeks. "And before ya ask, if we need the Portkeys for medical treatment, they'll drop us right here in yer lap."

Despite her trepidation, she couldn't help but giggle at the thought of the man she loved literally dropping into her lap. With another kiss, they continued their walk to Fiona's room hand-in-hand. She gave the password, "_Polecat_," and the door opened to admit them.

"Polecat," Seamus asked incredulously. "Doesn't that mean _skunk?_"

"Yep," she said, kicking off her trainers. "Named it for ol' Rupert Watson!"

"You. Are. The. Limit, woman," Seamus laughed, drawing her in for another kiss. "_Is tú mo ghrá_."

Once again, he used Gaelic when speaking to her. She still didn't know what any of it meant, but whatever it meant, it had a profound effect on her. She found it sexy and alluring and it never ceased to set her heart pounding. Although they'd been dating only a few months, she couldn't deny that there was something about Seamus Patrick Finnegan that set her mind a-wandering.

Seamus had been in love with Fiona Francine Prewett since the moment he laid eyes on her back on Platform 9 ¾ on the first of September. Their first date only cemented that reality in his heart and mind, removing any and all doubts he may have had. He so wanted to tell her in English that he loved her, but he was afraid it might frighten her away since they'd known one another only a short time. But still, in his heart of hearts, he hoped, and dreaded, that someday, she would ask him to translate.

"Seamus?"

"Yes, Love."

"Would you…would ya tell me what you just said," she asked, biting her lip. Someday had come.

"Uh…well, sure. If ya want," he replied unsteadily.

"I want," she said, leading him to the settee in front of the fire. They sat down together and Seamus took her soft milky-white and lightly-freckled hands in his tanned and rough ones.

"Onie, I want ya ta know that what I'm about ta tell ya is true and honest," he began. "I also want ya ta know that whatever stories ye've heard about me adventures around this castle are widely exaggerated."

"Oh? By who? You or gossipers," she smirked.

"Well…a little bit o' both," he admitted. "I'm not the cad I've been made out ta be. In fact, I never had feelin's like this before 'n' I'm a bit…unsure o' meself, here."

"Unsure o' yer feelin's or…"

"Unsure o' meself, Onie. I'm not good at expressin' me feelin's because…well…it's not somethin' a man does," he said, blushing furiously.

"Try me," she smiled. She was pretty sure she knew what he wanted to say, but she was careful not to get her hopes up. She couldn't bear to have her heart trampled again.

"Onie, _is tú mo ghrá_ means I…_I love you_," Seamus told her softly, his clear blue eyes locked onto hers. "I've loved ya since the first moment I saw ya on the platform that day. And _mo ghrá_ by itself means _my love_."

"You…you love me," Fiona asked, her sky-blue eyes burning with hope and desire.

"Onie, I'm hopelessly in love with ya," Seamus admitted, his heart pounding. So far, she hadn't laughed or flown into a rage. But she hadn't replied in kind either.

"Oh Seamus," she cried and threw herself onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I hoped ya'd say that ta me someday!" She began to cry tears of relief and happiness. Since she left Rook Holler, USA, she hoped her new start would net her a good man to share her life with. She and the Carver boys and Emery Johns and George Cox were good friends, but they weren't husband material—at least not for her.

She'd thought Rupert Watson was the one, but he proved to be a self-appreciating boor. Actually, he was a pretty nice fellow, but not for her. But Seamus Finnegan—now he was another story. He'd always treated her with deference and greeted her with a smile and a wink whenever they happened to meet. When he asked her out for New Year's Eve, it was like a dream come true. All evening, he was the perfect gentleman and put up with her lack of experience with the traditional dances of Ireland with a smile and more patience than any man should have to show a woman. He was fun, pure and simple, and now he's just told her he's in love…with _her_.

It took her a few minutes to collect herself, although Seamus wasn't complaining. He rather enjoyed holding her body close to his while she cried. She could cry him an ocean as long as she did it in his arms. _"__Geallaim duit go mbainfidh tú riamh aon rud ach deora caoin sásta as anois ar, grá._

She pulled back and looked him in the face, silently begging for translation. "I said: _I promise you that you'll never cry anything but happy tears from now on, love_."

"_I-is…_"

"_Is_."

"_Is t-tú…?_" Seamus nodded his encouragement.

"_M…mo ghrá…?_"

"If yer sayin' ya love me, then ya got it right," he grinned.

"That's what I'm sayin', Seamus Finnegan. _Is tú mo ghrá_ with all my heart!"

"_Is tú mo ghrá le mo chroí_," he corrected. "I love you with all my heart."

"What you said," she answered and crushed her lips to his with such force that it sent him onto his back on the settee with her lying on his chest.

Seamus' brain short-circuited for a moment. The vision of loveliness that fuelled many a wank in the shower now lay on his body snogging him for all she was worth. He drew his wand from his robes with a little difficulty and waved it over the settee, transfiguring it into a futon to give them a little more space to manoeuvre. He wasn't about to ruin the moment by Apparating them to her bed.

With a grin and a slight growl, he turned her over and leaned over her, staring into her shining eyes. They shone with love and a little desire, but he hesitated to do anything about that as yet. It wasn't that he didn't want to go further with Fiona—he was madly in love with her. It was just that he thought it more prudent to allow her to take the reins, as it were, and guide the buggy. He didn't want to do anything that might offend or hurt her and then have to face Harry and the Weasley boys afterward. Bill was no wilting violet, but Ron was a big bastard and he really didn't want to piss him off.

"Seamus, what's wrong," Fiona asked, her chest heaving and her eyes blazing.

"Wrong? Nothin', darlin'. Nothin's wrong," he replied. "I'm just…gatherin' me thoughts."

"What thoughts? All I'm thinkin' about is figgerin' out how to get your tongue ta dancin' with mine," she grinned.

"Oh I think that can be arranged," he grinned wider. "Would that be the tango or a waltz, Love?"

"Tango," she replied with a groan. "Waltzes are too tame fer me."

"Tango it is, then," he agreed and captured her lips once again. She parted her lips for him and he parted his for her, beginning a snog that would go on for hours, until Seamus had to make his rounds of the castle. When it was over, he left her with swollen and red lips, mussed hair, wrinkled scrubs and heart full of joy and laughter.

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Sunday morning dawned bright and relatively pleasant for early March in southwestern England. Devon lay not far from the sea and when the wind was just right, one could feel and smell it in the air. Today was one of those days and for Ron's twentieth birthday party, it was more than perfect.

Harry and Ginny had risen early to come to the Burrow and help with the preparations. While Ron knew the family would celebrate his birthday today instead of last Wednesday, he didn't know the magnitude of the celebration. Harry had gone out to the garage and cast a stasis charm on the chopper to protect the fluids and then shrunk it and placed it in the box he'd kept it in after he'd _requisitioned_ it from the Ministry Evidence Repository. He'd contemplated wrapping it up and tying a bow around it, but Ginny talked him out of it.

"If you did that, Ron might think it was a cruel joke, Harry," she chided her husband. "I promise you you'll get a far-better reaction if you park it by the pond and then conjure a box over it with a ribbon."

"You're right, as always, Gorgeous Girl," he acquiesced. "We'll do it your way."

"Of course we will," she giggled. "Was there any question?"

"Not if I want keep my bits," he smiled.

"And lovely bits they are, Gorgeous Guy. Now move," she commanded him, shoving him out the front door. "Mum's sure to be having kittens about now, what with having to cook Ron's breakfast."

"What does Ron have for a birthday breakfast anyway," Harry asked, taking her hand and leading her down the path to the road.

"Yes," she replied and they both broke into chuckles and giggles. The sea air that wafted over the trees filled their nostrils and invigorated them as they walked. It wasn't far to the Burrow—about a mile—and Harry and Ginny loved to make the trip on foot, weather permitting.

Molly, Hermione, and Taya were hard at work preparing a veritable feast for Ron. There were waffles, scrambled eggs, bangers, mash, rashers of bacon, hot American biscuits with butter and jam, tinned tomatoes, beans, coffee and tea and pumpkin juice. "Arthur's out in his shed, Harry," Molly said as she checked the table. "He asked me to send you out when you arrived."

"All right, Mum," Harry said, kissing her cheek. He winked at Ginny and headed out the door and down the path to his father-in-law's inner sanctum.

"Did you slip Ronnie the sleeping draught, Hermione," Ginny asked conspiratorially.

"Just a little bit," she replied with a giggle. "Circe knows he sleeps like the dead, but we needed the insurance. How many RSVPs did you get back?"

"Almost all of them," Ginny replied. "Oliver had to decline because Puddlemere's got a match today, but he sent his best and card." Ginny pulled it out of her robes and handed it to her. "I think it's tickets to a match that doesn't involve the Harpies."

"Pity," Hermione sighed. "Ron so hates Quidditch…NOT!" The two sisters-in-law giggled as they worked on the mash and the scrambled eggs while Molly fussed about with her tasks. Taya had the biscuits and waffles well under control.

All at once, a loud banging sound followed by a thud thundered from overhead. "Bloody hell," a familiar voice shouted. "Hermione!"

"There's the signal," Hermione snickered.

"What'd you do to him," Taya asked, caught up in the mirth.

"Jelly Legs Jinx," Hermione replied. "I wanted to know when Ron got up so we could be prepared. I'd better go release him before…well…you know."

"Hermione-dear, you'd better Apparate," Molly smiled. "I'm sure Ronnie needs the loo."

"I'm going to and he does," Hermione giggled again. "Tootles." With a soft pop! Hermione vanished.

"Ron is so going to get her for this," Ginny said. "I can't wait!"

Hermione reappeared in their fifth-floor bedroom to find her rather frustrated and wincing husband on the floor, leaned up against their bed. "Feeling a bit wobbly this morning, my love," she asked innocently.

"Hermione, you either lift this jinx right now, or so help me Merlin, you're going to have a mess to clean up," he snarled.

"Of course, my darling," she cooed, lifting the jinx and Apparating him to the loo. "There you go, all safe and dry." She stood on tiptoe and gave him a peck on the nose. "I'll be back with some clean clothes for you. We have company for breakfast, so once you've drained off, take a shower."

"You do realise this is war, don't you, my beauty," Ron said, turning to the toilet. "I shall have my revenge."

"Ooh, I can't wait," Hermione squealed. "Do I get a spanking?"

"Do you want one?"

"Well…"

"Out, you silly minx," Ron chuckled. "I'm about to burst."

About a half-hour later, the family had all assembled around the scrubbed oak table for Ron's birthday breakfast. On a side table that George had conjured, stood a pile of gifts that Ron was told he would not be allowed to open until the party that afternoon.

"But Mum…" Ron moaned.

"But nothing, young man," Molly scolded good-naturedly. "You're not to open a single present until the party and that's final. Now tuck in before we all starve."

"So what is this? A new Weasley tradition? Abuse the birthday-person," Ron snarked.

"Yes," they all said at once, laughing at their brother's plight. Over breakfast, talk centred mostly on the training that Jayce would inflict on Harry, Ron, and Seamus, and Bill and Charlie if they wanted to join them.

"Sounds like fun," Bill said. "I haven't done any real exercise since I left Egypt. We had to keep in top form to endure the heat…and the curse- and ward-breaking."

"Is it really that physical," Hermione asked over her tea.

"Yes and no. Mostly, it's magical exhaustion, but if a man's in top condition, he can endure the rigours almost half-again as long as one who isn't," Bill explained. "Most of the older ones weren't in very good shape and never really had been. There were a few of us who took a leaf out of the Muggles' book and kept fit."

"True, that," Charlie agreed. "Dragons aren't exactly puppies and if you can't move your arse, you could be roast dinner for one of them. We got most of our exercise just handling the ropes and chains, but we got our share of running and diving for cover, too."

"So are you in," Jayce asked them again. "Think you can keep up with us?"

George's face split into a wide grin as he reached into his jeans pocket for his ever-present wagering book. "Anybody want odds?"

"Oh, I'm so in this," Ginny giggled.

"Et moi," Fleur added.

"Oh yes," Hermione said.

"Mum?" The whole room fell silent at George's attempt to include his mother in a wager. They all expected an admonishment, if not a tirade, but it didn't come.

"I've got five Galleons that say Ronnie will out-survive the lot of you," she declared proudly.

"Done," George declared, making the note in his book. "Any takers?"

"I'm with Molly," Hermione said. "Five on Ron."

"I've got five on Beel," Fleur declared.

"Go with Ron, Love," Harry said. "He's in far-better shape than I am."

"Not a chance, lover. My money's on you," she replied. "Five on Harry!"

"Five on Bill," Charlie declared to the astonishment of the others. "Hey, I know Bill's going to outstrip me. He always has! But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try."

"I got five Galleons that say Chief Fulla Bull here's gonna bring the lot o' ya back on travois," Taya said with a prideful grin.

"Well, you know we can't close the books until the party," George declared. "There's one more principal to consider and he won't be here until then…not to mention the potential for even more profits."

"So who's going to hold the stakes," Percy asked. "Five on Ron, by the way. Dad's got our Quidditch pot."

"We need someone honest," George said thoughtfully. "So that leaves all of us out…except Mum, but she's in on the wager."

"How about Neville…or Hannah," Hermione suggested. "Neville doesn't gamble, so they're perfect."

"If they'll do it, I'm agreeable," Harry said. "What about you lot?" All around the table, heads nodded and murmured their agreement.

"Fine," Molly said, rising from the table. "You boys go out and go a few rounds of Quidditch, or whatever it is you boys do nowadays. Arthur, you too. The rest of us have work to do for the party."

"Mum, we'll need Ginny for even teams," Ron argued.

"Fine, fine. Take Ginny with you, then," she huffed. "It's your birthday, dear, and if you want to play Quidditch with your little sister, you certainly can." Ginny glared at her mother for referring to her as Ron's _little sister_. That was a moniker that she swore years ago she'd never allow to be attached to her ever again.

"Molly," Arthur began, gesturing heatedly for Harry to act quickly before Mt Ginevra erupted. "We have to put up the marquees, remember? Then there are the tables and chairs."

"Oh of course," Molly said, waving her hands at him. "You and Percy do that while the others keep Ronnie busy."

"All right, dear," Arthur laughed. "Then we'll join the match…or the slaughter, whatever it turns out to be."

"No Bludgers today," Molly shouted at her husband's and middle-son's backs. "Have to tell them every move to make."

Bill, Charlie, George, Ron, Harry, and Ginny raided the broom shed. Harry and Ginny left their racing brooms at home to keep the playing field level. Bill and Ron acted as opposing Keepers while George and Ginny acted as Chasers, with Charlie and Harry as Chaser/Seekers. Fleur took Victoire into the sitting room to feed her and then put her down for her nap while Molly, Hermione, and Taya started on preparations for the party supper. When she returned, Fleur set to mixing up the cake batter according to Molly's own recipe, but the frosting would be French butter cream, one of Fleur's specialties.

At half-three, Molly called the players in to clean up for the party. Harry quickly grabbed hold of Ron and Apparated him to his room to keep him from catching sight of the garden. "It's your party, mate. You should have the loo first."

"Oh. Right. Thanks," Ron replied. He stepped into the loo to find a pile of what looked like new clothes sitting on the toilet seat. _Thanks, 'Mione_.

By five o'clock, the entire family had cleaned up and dressed for the evening's festivities. Seamus and Fiona arrived first and added their gift to the collection that already half-filled a long table under the marquee. Taya had owled Fiona with the gift-suggestion, which she and Seamus followed to the letter. Everyone attending knew what the theme of the party was and why, except Ron, Hermione, and Molly.

Harry and Ginny ushered Ron and Hermione out of the house and into the back garden once Molly had given them the go-ahead. Ron's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw the marquees and all the people who had come to wish him a happy birthday. He noticed the pile of presents had grown to cover the one long table and that everyone appeared to be dressed in jeans and white tee-shirts, including Kingsley.

Many of the guests who attended Fiona's welcome party came to Ron's birthday party, plus a few other classmates and Hogwarts staff. Even dear old Selma Dorsett came to wish her favourite Auror all her best. "Happy birthday, dear," she said, giving him a pat on the cheek and a kiss _for good measure_.

"Come now, everyone," Arthur called, clapping his hand together. "Molly and the girls have prepared a wonderful meal for Ronnie and perhaps he'll be inclined to share it with the rest of us, eh, son?"

Ron ducked his head and shook it, all the while smiling broadly. "Yeah, sure, Dad. I might leave a crumb or two for you lot!"

"You heard him, everyone! Tuck in while you can," Arthur called again.

Kreacher appeared to shepherd the guests to their seats and help Molly, Ginny, Fleur and Taya serve, leaving Hermione to sit by her husband on his special day. The meal consisted of roast pork with potatoes, carrots and onions, corn muffins with honey butter, scalloped corn, Butterbeer, various cheeses, and a special Asian salad Sam had contributed.

To say that this party in his honour overwhelmed Red Ron Weasley would be to make a huge understatement. Never in his life had his family made such a fuss over him. He had all he could do to hold it together to talk with his guests and each time he stole a look at his wife, her face glowed with love for him. He was more than certain she had something to do with this, and if she had something to do with it, so did Harry. He never loved his two best friends—one his wife and the other his brother—more than he did at this moment.

"All right, Ron," Hermione asked, stroking his cheek.

"Never better, 'Mione," he replied with a watery smile. "This…it's all so _much_."

"But you're having a good time, right," she asked, biting her lip the way that drove him wild.

"Not as good as I will later tonight," he murmured into her hair. "Still want that spanking?"

"Maybe," she cooed, turning bright pink. "But only if you give it to me."

"Gladly," he whispered. He tilted her face up and pressed a passionate but crowd-appropriate kiss on her lips. She responded by parting her lips, granting him entrance. Around them, their guests howled and applauded, whistling and cat-calling.

"Get a room," Harry called.

"And sound-proof it, for gods' sake," Jayce added, causing the crowd to howl, laugh and applaud some more.

Hermione and Ron broke their kiss and buried their faces into one another's shoulders. "They're just jealous because I get to spank you tonight."

"I've created a monster," Hermione giggled. "A hot monster with a nice bum, but a monster all the same."

"Speaking of bums…"

"Enough, already," she laughed. "Finish your supper. The cake awaits."

Soon after, Molly dragged Ron to the cake-table to cut the cake. Kreacher stood nearby, ready to serve it to the guests. "Master Ronald must have the first bite," the old Elf croaked. "It is tradition."

"Okay, Kreacher," Ron agreed. "The proprieties must be observed, yeah?"

"Of course," the House-elf replied, handing him a fork. Ron cut the first slice from the massive yellow cake with chocolate butter cream icing and dropped it onto his plate. He took the fork from Kreacher, studied it for a moment, and then threw it over his shoulder. In the next moment, he picked up the cake with his hands and stuffed the entire thing into his mouth. The crowd exploded once again with cheers and laughter while Hermione dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

"Ever the Troglodyte, eh, Love," she smiled.

"Would you expect any less," he asked, licking his frosting-covered fingers. Hermione handed him a moistened napkin to clean the remnants of the sticky frosting from his hands. He then smacked her behind, picked her up, and tossed her over his shoulder to carry her back to their seats.

"Ronald Weasley, you put me down this instant," she cried, giggling and kicking all the way back to their table.

"Ever the Troglodyte, 'Mione," he reminded her. "Just be grateful I didn't have a club."

"Prat," she giggled as he set her down on her feet.

"Yeah, but you love me anyway," he grinned.

It was dark by the time Arthur gathered everyone around for the presents. With a wave of his, Percy's, Bill's, Charlie's and Harry's wands, lighted spheres appeared and hovered over the crowd so everyone could watch Ron open his gifts. "And now for the moment Ron's been waiting for since breakfast," Arthur called and the crowd chuckled. "Presents!"

The guests cheered and applauded as Ron and Hermione stepped forward. Arthur transfigured one of the kitchen chairs into a throne for his son, while Hermione took a seat next to him with a scroll of parchment and a quill in her hand to record each gift and the sender so Ron could thank them properly.

Ron opened the first gift. "From Seamus and Fiona," he declared and tore into the paper, which revealed a black leather hand-tooled wallet covered in a Celtic-knot design. Attached to it was a steel chain with a loop-hook on the end.

"Americans use the chain to attach their wallets to their belt-loops and then tuck 'em into the back pockets of their trousers. If someone tries ta nick it, they feel the tug," Seamus explained.

"Thanks, mate! Thanks, Onie! It's really great," Ron said, placing the wallet carefully back into the box so it could be passed around for everyone to see.

The next gift came courtesy of Charlie and a few of his mates at the Dragon reserve. Inside the box, Ron found a pair of brand-new Dragon-hide boots. "They're Hebridean Black. We had one pass a couple of months ago, so we threw in and had these made for you."

"Whoa. Real Dragon! I…I don't know what to say," the youngest Weasley brother stammered. "Thanks, Charlie!"

"Open ours next, Ron," Fleur insisted.

Molly fished about until she found the box from Bill and Fleur. Ron removed the shiny paper and opened the box to find a matching Dragon-hide vest. "Whoa! This is great!" He lifted it out of the box and slipped it on. "It fits!"

"That's from the same Dragon, Ronnie," Bill called.

"Thanks, Bill! Thanks, Fleur," Ron said, taking it off and putting back into its box to begin its own journey around the room.

"Ours next," George called, his arm wrapped around Angelina's waist.

Molly handed George's present over with a slight bit of trepidation, eyeing her remaining twin son with not a small amount of suspicion.

"Honestly, Molly," Angelina called. "It's not pranked. I made sure of it."

Ron opened George's present and found something rather odd. "What are these," Ron asked, holding them up.

"Chaps," George replied. "Another bit from that Hebridean Black."

"What are they for," Ron asked him. "I mean, aren't they for riding horses or something?"

"In a way, yeah, but just wait. You'll see," George said slyly.

The next gift was from Hermione's parents, Richard and Helen Granger, complete with a card and a little note:

_Dear Ron:_

_Happy birthday, son, and many happy returns. We're very sorry we couldn't be with you today, as we had a dental conference in Cambridge we had to attend. We hope you enjoy your party and that you'll save a piece of cake for us._

_Love,_

_Mum and Dad Granger_

Ron opened the box and found three pairs of brand-new Levis, three black tee-shirts with Harley-Davidson® logos and designs, and a black-leather belt with an elaborate oval-shaped eagle buckle. "Wow," he gasped. "I've never seen so much black leather in my life! This is fantastic! Thanks, Richard and Helen," he called into the night air.

As Ron opened gift after gift, each became more of a puzzlement than the last. "All right, you lot. What's going on?"

Harry and Ginny walked up to the front of the room and stood beside Arthur and Molly. "Ron, there _is_ something going on, but we'll all have to make our way down to the pond to show you what it is. Our present, Mum and Dad's present, Hagrid's present, Jayce and Taya's present and Percy's present is down there waiting for you."

"Arthur, what is Harry talking about," Molly asked. "Why is Ronnie's new pocket watch down by the pond?"

"You'll see, my beauty," Arthur assured her. "You'll see."

"Follow us," Harry called as the guests all rose from their seats, not quite sure what to expect. Were they planning to toss Ron in or something?

"'Mione, what's Harry up to," Ron asked, his suspicions growing by the minute.

"I honestly haven't any idea, Ron," she replied. "This is the first I've heard of this." She took her husband's hand and joined the crowd heading down to the pond, accompanied by the sphere-lights. Once everyone arrived, Ginny took Ron's other hand and led him and Hermione forward where a massive black box decorated with an orange ribbon stood. A few other boxes sat around it on the ground.

"Okay, Ron," Harry began. "These are the rest of your presents. Open the smallest one first. Percy, hold yours back until second-to-last."

"Right you are, Harry," Percy said, sliding his gift a little way away from the others.

"This is from your mother and me," Arthur said, handing Ron the smallest box. Ron opened it to find an exquisite hand-engraved gold and silver pocket watch. "Your old one took quite a beating during the war, so we bought you a replacement. It matches your Deluminator."

Ron opened it and his eyes grew wide. Not only did the watch tell the time, but it also had two other tiny little hands, one engraved with an 'H' and the other with an 'R.' Around the outside of the Roman numerals, the words _Home_, _Work_, _Travelling_, _School_, _Session_ and _Mortal Peril_ decorated the face. "Thanks, Dad," Ron said softly, pulling his father into a manly-hug. "Thanks, Mum," he said, hugging her and kissing her cheek.

"You're very welcome, dear," Molly replied, wiping tears from her eyes with her apron.

"This one's from Jayce and Taya," Harry declared, handing Ron a rather heavy box for its size.

Ron opened it and found something truly magnificent. "Try it on fer size, Ronnie," Taya called.

He reverently lifted it from the box and with a quick prayer to whichever gods were listening, he slipped his muscular arms into the sleeves of his brand-new black leather jacket with zippers strategically placed so that when opened, they revealed vents to keep him cool. With another prayer, he zipped it up. It fit perfectly. "Great Merlin's pants," Ron gasped. "It's perfect!"

"Straight from the States, my man," Jayce said. "I ordered it from a dealer in Sturgis. He's got a buddy who makes 'em."

"You mean this was made just for me," Ron asked, completely overwhelmed.

"Yep. We kyped one of your uniforms from the dirty-clothes hamper and sent the numbers to the guy. He was able to make a pattern based on your shirt and waist size and your height and weight," Jayce explained. "And a picture."

"That's amazing," Hannah said. "I mean, sewing is one thing, but being able to make a pattern based on that little bit of information is true craftsmanship."

"Oh yeah," Taya said. "Folks like that are good at what they do or they wouldn't be doin' it. Most of 'em apprentice for years before they hang their shingle."

"Thanks, Jayce," Ron said, shaking the Lakota's hand. "Thanks, Taya." He gave her a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug.

"Okay, now this is from Hagrid," Harry called. "It's really heavy, so you might want to just open it on the ground."

"When yer open it, I'll 'elp yer wi' it when the time comes," Hagrid's gruff voice called from the rear of the crowd.

"Okay," Ron said, tearing into the paper. Inside he found a matching pair of…something he couldn't identify. "What are they?"

"You'll see," Harry said, thoroughly enjoying Ron's confusion. "Okay, Perce. You're on, mate!"

"Ronnie, this is very important," the middle Weasley son began. "It's for your own safety, so I encourage you to use them faithfully, all right?"

"Uh…sure, Perce," Ron replied, now completely confused.

"Good," Percy replied. "But I won't hold you to it because you're bigger than me and would probably kick my skinny arse if I tried."

"I wouldn't kick your skinny arse, Percy," Ron laughed. "I'd run it up the Ministry flagpole!" He and his older brother shared a hug and a laugh before Percy pushed Ron to his present. When he opened it, he found two magnificent full-face…helmets? Dawn began to break over Ron's horizon as he shifted his gaze from the helmets to the huge black box he had yet to open.

"Go ahead, mate," Harry said softly, resting his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Just tap the box three times with your wand and say _Revelio_. It's from Ginny and me."

The crowd fell silent as Ron swallowed deeply, squeezing tears from his eyes before they could fall. He drew his wand, tapped the box three times, and uttered the incantation. The box vanished, revealing a shiny blue-black Harley-Davidson Shovelhead chopper with airbrushed Celtic knot work over the fuel tank and the front and rear fenders. The fork and other such tubing was all chrome and the wheels were classic spokes. The ape-hanger handlebars rose into the air so high, only a man of Ron's build could hold them comfortably.

"Harry…I…how…" Ron fell to his knees and began to cry great, heaving sobs into his hands. "It's…oh gods! I…I can't believe this!" Harry dropped to his knees next to his best friend and brother, drawing him into a fierce hug, tears streaming down his own face. "It…it's really all mine," Ron asked, still not understanding.

"Every last wire, bolt, and spark plug," Harry told him. "Dad, Bill, Jayce, and I rebuilt just for you. It does everything the Bonny does."

Hermione stood with Ginny and sobbed into her embrace. "Have you any…idea…what this…means to…h-him?"

"Go to him," Ginny said, giving Hermione a final squeeze.

Hermione ran to her husband and leapt into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. Both of them burst into a new round of sobs, neither caring that their entire family and most of their friends looked on, wiping tears from their own eyes.

"Harry rebuilt this just for me, 'Mione," Ron sobbed into her neck. "For us!"

"I know, baby. I know," she replied, stroking his thick red locks. "Shall we…take it for a spin?"

"Um…right now," Ron asked. "We have guests."

"Would anyone be sorely offended if the birthday boy took his wife for a ride," Ginny called to the crowd.

"No," they all replied as one.

"Wait," Jayce called, striding forward with a bundle of something in his hand. "We can't let the little lady on the back of a bike without this!" Hermione gasped as Jayce presented her with her own leather jacket, decorated with fringe across the back and down each sleeve. She slipped it on and zipped it up. "Hot damn! Another perfect fit!"

Hermione swung her right leg over and settled onto the seat behind her husband. One of her fondest fantasies was about to become a reality as the Harley vibrated underneath her. She wrapped her arms firmly around Ron's muscled chest, resting her face against his strong back. With a mighty growl and a cry of triumph, Ron let the clutch go and the bike flew off toward the road beyond the Burrow, carrying him and his beloved Hermione into the night.


	45. Chapter 45 Disturbances and Developments

**Chapter 45 – Disturbances and Developments**

Cho woke up in her room at her childhood home that Monday morning. There really wasn't much reason to move out, really. Besides, Chinese wizarding tradition dictated that a woman should stay with her parents until she married. While that was a rather archaic practice, it really wasn't the motivating factor. The truth was that she didn't want to live in some lonely flat…and she loved her parents dearly.

After a quick shower, she donned her beloved Auror-issue black fatigues and boots, which she shined meticulously every night whether they needed it or not. One might call her obsessive, but she took her job very seriously and since she would eventually take command of an important unit, she wanted to set an example for her subordinates. Besides—it looked good.

She strapped her wrist holsters onto each arm and made sure her wands clicked securely into place. She had bought a second wand after Mafalda put her in a bed at St Mungo's. Since then, she always carried a spare wand on her left arm—just in case. As she did before she left her room for the day, she surveyed the pictures on her bedside table. Among them was a rather official-looking photo of the entire Auror Office from last year, taken during the DA class training at Hogwarts. Gawain Robards and Auror Williamson, killed in action within weeks of one another, smiled confidently with the others.

Another picture showed Ron's winning duelling team holding up the Alastor Moody's cup in triumph. Cho smiled at the memory of the victory over Harry's team, but was saddened that the attack on Draco Malfoy ruined the awards ceremony at the closing exercises. Still, they'd won the trophy and _The Daily Prophet_ worked up a nice spread about it in a special edition.

Next to it stood a cherished picture of Cho with Cedric at the Yule Ball, resplendent in their dress robes. Cho's vibrant smile lit up the frame while Cedric's shy grin complimented it. It was more than obvious that the two people in that picture had fallen in love. She sighed and touched a finger to Cedric's face. Although her relationship with him lay in her past now, she chose to remember the good times rather than his cruel and untimely end that had plagued her for four years.

She was finally able to put that behind her when Harry showed her his Pensieve memory of the night Cedric was murdered in cold blood by a cowardly Death Eater by the name of Peter Pettigrew—the same miscreant who betrayed Harry's parents to his master. But she wouldn't dwell on that because Voldemort's evil may have taken Cedric from her, but he couldn't take her precious memories of their times together.

The last picture on the bedside table was of Cho, Susan and Lav during their training at Hogwarts. She hadn't known them well while they were mainstream students from different Houses, but once they'd begun Auror training, they formed a close friendship. With another nostalgic smile, she picked up her maroon Auror's robes and left the room, casting an over-the-shoulder charm on her bed to make itself.

"My Lotus flower," Cho's father greeted her as she appeared in the kitchen. He and his wife were immensely proud of their daughter. She'd always been bright, which got her sorted into Ravenclaw. Good looks, and her skill on a broom that earned her a place on the Ravenclaw House Quidditch team, had made her a popular student, but they also knew that her self-image had been dominated by insecurity hampered by strong emotions, often bringing forth tears in her younger years. Cedric's death had devastated her and her crush and brief relationship with Harry had confused her. But she finally faced her demons and fought valiantly at the Battle of Hogwarts.

When Cho first took on Auror training, her parents doubted she'd make it. But something about that training produced a confident and strong young witch in their daughter. With her emotions under control and her Seeker reflexes honed, she'd become a top-notch Auror, knocked out of the individual Duelling Tournament by Harry Potter and finished among the final eight. Had she drawn Draco Malfoy, she would surely have made the final four. Her parents were sure of that.

"Good morning Dad. Mum," Cho replied brightly. "I only have time for a quick breakfast. I have to report for duty in twenty minutes."

"Will you be back this evening," her mum asked.

"Dunno yet. I might kip at Lav's," Cho said ."I'll send my swan to let you know."

Cho's parents couldn't help but smile a bit at Cho's comment, _send my swan_, like it was the most mundane thing for her to do. Few wizards and witches could actually produce a corporeal Patronus, and few of them ever learned Albus Dumbledore's method to carry messages.

Auror Cho Chang finished her breakfast while they talked about the main stories in _The Daily Prophet_. Cho knew her task to train and command a Broomborne unit would be announced soon, with the last detail set with the Hogwarts staff late that Friday. "All right, I'd better be off then," Cho said after finishing her tea and summoned her maroon Auror's robe from the chair across the room.

"Stay safe, my daughter," her mum said, kissing Cho's cheek before the fireplace.

"I will," Cho replied, vanishing in a burst of green flames.

Cho quickly found her way through the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic to the stairs, which she and the Aurors preferred over the lift, and took them at double-quick time to Level Two. She opened the door to the Auror Office—Merlin knew how many memos Harry would have to send to rename their force Auror _Corps_—only two minutes before her shift started.

"Lotus, the Chief's asked forr ye to rreport immediately tae the Den," Jock told her with a carefully-masqued grin. _The Den_ was the informal term for the Auror training facilities for which Jock had been assigned unofficial caretaker. Cho jogged down the corridor with Jock two steps behind her. For an older man, Andrew _Jock_ Thompson kept amazingly fit and could hold his own against the youngsters who had taken over the force. Stepping into the room, she stopped short when she found every Auror on the force, along with Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, DMLE Head Arthur Weasley, and the American Liaison, Marshall Jayce Silvercloud.

"Attention," Irish barked. The Aurors quickly snapped to in two ranks with their wands raised in ceremonial salute. Opposite Cho stood Kingsley, Arthur and Harry, who wore a mischievous grin on his face. He'd planned this little surprise for her and signalled her forward as crisply as his mischievous self would allow. Uncertain what to expect, Cho stepped smartly along the lines of Aurors, each dropping their wands in a precise movement as she passed.

_This seems to be some kind of ceremony. But what for?_ Cho stopped in front of the distinguished trio and stood at attention, back straight, chest out, and head held high.

"Auror Cho Chang," Harry began officiously. "The Minister will dispatch an owl this morning with a press release about the Auror Training Program. There is, however, one piece of information that is in need of correction. Minister, if you please, sir."

Cho's eyes shifted to the Minister for Magic, still not understanding what this fuss over a press-release could have to do with her.

"The part in need of correction reads: _The Auror Training Program will include a new branch of Aurors, a Broomborne unit. This is unheard of in Wizarding law-enforcement history and the responsibility for commanding and training this unit is Auror Lieutenant Cho Chang._" Kingsley stopped reading and let his words sink in. A moment later, Cho gasped as she realised she had just received a promotion.

Arthur Weasley stepped forward. "Auror Cho Chang, it is my great pleasure, based on your excellent display of field command and on the recommendation of Head Auror Harry Potter and Assistant Head Ronald Weasley, to promote you the office of Auror Lieutenant. Congratulations, Lieutenant Chang."

As Arthur finished, Harry stepped forward. "Your primary duty as Auror Lieutenant will be to train and command the Broomborne unit." Harry declared with authority. "Your fliers will provide air cover for ground forces should we ever find ourselves engaged in war." As he spoke, he hooked another badge over her Auror's one. It was the Broomborne insignia, depicting a broomstick crossed with a wand. Harry had asked Dean Thomas to design it, which he'd been more than happy to do.

Harry gave Cho a smirk and a wink as he decided there'd been enough formality for one morning. "Well done, Cho, and congratulations," Harry said and gave her a hug before he faced the rest of the Aurors. "All right, you tossers! Let the hugging and kissing commence!" Harry didn't need to make that an order or say it twice. The Aurors gathered around Cho to congratulate her.

Finally they collected themselves and waited for Cho to say something. "I-I'm overwhelmed and totally surprised. I didn't expect a promotion, and this ceremony... it was brilliant. Thank you, everyone!"

"The promotion was the Chief's and Red's idea," Seamus said. "And the Minister and Mr Weasley approved it straightaway. As for the ceremony, a lot o' credit goes ta Yank over there."

Jayce grinned. The Aurors had called him _Yank_ ever since Terry Boot had come up with it during his introduction to the Auror Office. At least he'd retaliated by giving Terry his nickname, _Limey_.

"I'll do my best with the Broombournes. But first of all, this qualifies as an excuse to celebrate. The Leaky, eight o'clock this evening, the first round is on me!"

"I'm glad you have your priorities worked out Lieutenant Lotus," Tony grinned.

Once normal operations resumed, Cho sent her swan to her parents. "I suggest you pick up a copy of _The Evening Prophet_. There'll be an article about Auror Lieutenant Chang and her new duties. I'll tell you more later, but needless to say, there'll be a wee bit of celebrating this evening. I will definitely kip at Lav's tonight."

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The following morning, Harry and Ron opened their shared office, each wondering if the celebration of Cho's promotion had caused anyone to oversleep. Inside the doors, they could hear Cho, Susan and Lavender giggling.

"... you can at least admit you'll see him again, can't you," Susan said.

Cho huffed loudly.

"Ladies," Harry greeted them. "Had an interesting night, did we?"

Lavender and Susan seemed all too eager to enlighten Harry and Ron. "Well, once the three of us left Leaky yesterday, we felt like celebrating a bit more. So we decided to head into Muggle London and…see the sights," Susan reported.

"It's always nice to blend into the crowd a way we can't in a Wizarding setting," Lavender added.

Harry and Ron nodded in agreement, well aware of the attention their presence garnered. Susan and Lavender were now easily recognisable since their performance in the tournament and Cho still held second place on the Most-Beautiful-Witch list.

"And in Muggle London you met someone Cho should see again," Ron asked slyly.

"That's what we're trying to coax out of her," Lavender said, breaking into another round of giggles.

"Anyway, we ended up in a night club and met two perfectly charming blokes," Susan said.

"I let Lotus and Bonesy have a go at them, because I'm not ready to flirt and date just yet," Lavender explained. She referred to her failed relationship with Seamus. They had both moved on and were on speaking terms again, but Lavender still wasn't ready to take an interest in men.

"And…" Ron pressed.

"Like I said—they were perfectly charming, but the one I was talking to paled when I said I was in _special forces_, same as my friends," Susan said. "But he hung around because his friend and Cho appeared to hit it off."

"About ruddy time, I'd say. Who did you last date, Chang," Lavender asked. "It was Michael Corner, right?"

"C'mon, I only dated him in a ridiculous attempt to make Harry jealous. It was ages ago. And Harry's and my date can hardly qualify as a date, really. In fact, it was a disaster."

"What _she_ said," Harry agreed.

"So you haven't dated properly in five years," Susan concluded. "Like Miss Brown pointed out: it's about ruddy time. So…when do you see him again?"

"All right, all right. He's taking me to dinner tonight," Cho grunted. "But I had to decide something face-to-face at the night club. He's a Muggle, for crying out loud, and can't contact me on the Muggle version of the Floo."

"So who is this poor sod anyway," Ron asked and then grunted as Harry elbowed him in the ribs.

"... unsuspecting victim?" Harry elbowed him again. "... lucky bloke?"

"He's none of your business, that's what, you smarmy git," Cho declared. "And if any of you lot think it might be funny to hone your skills at tracking and concealment by following me around after work today, I'll hone my understanding of curses by trying a few of them out on you."

"C'mon, let Cho have her date in peace and we'll just get a betting pool going," Harry grinned.

"I don't know if I should thank you, Harry, or try out a few of those curses right now," Cho hissed.

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George Weasley left The Leaky Cauldron and turned south on Charing Cross Road. He walked to Trafalgar Square where his eyes fell not on Nelson's column, but on the stunning beauty waiting for him at the base of the London landmark. "Angie," George shouted, waving his hand over his head. He picked up his stride to take her into a loving embrace.

They joined hands and walked casually toward the Thames. Angie led her boyfriend into Embankment Tube Station to travel eastbound on the District Line to Upton Park. "Tell me again, why aren't we just Apparating," George asked as Angelina guided him to the platform.

"There's a match on Boleyn Ground today and there'll be Muggles all over. C'mon, George."

Angelina and George boarded the train and found seats next to one another. George took his girlfriend's hand in his and held it firmly. _What's with him today?_ "Nervous?"

"Uh…these things are safe, right," he asked.

Angelina giggled and George sighed in relief about blaming his nervousness on the Tube. Actually, they were on their way to visit Angelina's parents. George had met them several times, and Angelina's father commanded respect. Decatur Johnson stood well over two metres tall—taller than Ron—and could, in many ways, be compared to Hagrid in size, although the Half-giant was much bigger. Decatur's voice registered very low and had really frightened George the first time he'd been introduced, Caribbean accent notwithstanding.

"_So, you ah de mon snoggin' mah Angel," Decatur asked dangerously._

_George paled as beads of sweat formed on his brow. "Erm…"_

_At that moment, Decatur Johnson burst into laughter. Angelina's father had successfully taken the Mickey out of George, all too aware of his imposing character. In truth, Decatur—or _Rasta_, as Angelina called him—turned out to be a very gentle man. George hardly believed that such a man worked as a Kindergarten teacher in the East End. _Looks like the big brother of Charlie's mates from Romania.

_Next to him, Angie and her mum, Roxanne, laughed at his expense, too. Roxanne was a witch about Ginny's size and George had asked himself how, in the name of Merlin's overgrown greenhouse, the couple had managed to conceive Angelina. _Did she magically reduce him in size—or expand herself?

George's mind returned to the present. He smiled confidently Angelina, happy he'd hit it off with her that New Year's Eve at Harry's and Ginny's party. George grabbed an issue of _The London Evening Standard_ left by someone on the seat next to him. The Muggle news made little sense to him and the static images that didn't move seemed so outlandish. "Angie, do you follow the Muggle news?"

"Not really. Once I got to Hogwarts, I began my life in our world. My mum keeps track of Muggle events, of course, since she's married to one, and they chose to live in a Muggle neighbourhood. Have you suddenly taken an interest in the Muggle world?"

"No, I leave that for Dad and Ronnie. I just wondered because of this paper."

Angelina looked at him, cocking her head to the left. "George, love—I've been meaning to ask you how it's working out with Verity in the lab."

George grinned wickedly. "You know, there's a reason she applied for a job in a joke shop," he began. "She's really brilliant with anything potions-related and she's amazing at charms. But there's quite a prankster about to be hatched, thanks to you, Onie and Verity talking me into this. We'll be able to develop a whole new range of witch pranks a bloke wouldn't think of."

"So she stays in the lab," Angelina smiled.

"Ruddy hell she does," George confirmed. "And she's impressed the pants off Professor Slughorn. He's thrilled with her work and all but told her Snape was an idiot not to take her on."

"Well…we knew that," Angelina smirked. "So what exactly has she come up with?"

George blushed crimson. "She has a few ideas for prank cosmetics—Freaky Foundation, Lip-locking Lipstick, Marauding Mascara..."

"Marauding mascara," Angelina asked with a giggle. "Should I be afraid?"

"I dunno, but Verity claims she imbued it with a minor glamour charm, giving you big, irresistible puppy eyes like Daisy Duck. Can't say I know Daisy, but when I tried it..."

"_You_ tried it," Angelina interrupted. "George!"

"I always try every product." George said. "It's been a WWW policy since Fred and I started the business back before sixth year."

"Even Marauding Mascara?"

"Especially that, since it's stuff that'll be sold under the Weasley name, but nothing I'd have ever been able to come up with on my own," George reasoned. "There'll be a special shelf with Verity's name and everything, but it's still a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes product."

"And Freaky Foundation?"

"Gives the victim blisters."

"And Lip-locking Lipstick?"

"That's Verity's shiniest gem so far. The unknowing victim applies it, and when she kisses her date, their lips lock together. A simple _Finite_ or a couple of minutes' wait..."

"And how in hell would you know about that? You certainly didn't try that out with me," Angelina huffed.

"No, Verity and I..." George said without realising how that came out.

"You _kissed_ Verity?"

George looked flabbergasted at his girlfriend. "Are you daft? Of course I didn't. We applied it to our fingers and got them locked together, and then Verity tested it with her boyfriend to see that there were no hiccups."

Angelina blushed. "Sorry, George. I just never dreamed you'd kiss Verity…and it scared me a little."

"You're the only one for me, Angie, you know that," George assured her gently, caressing her cheek.

"Oh, George," Angelina cooed and kissed him. "But Verity has a boyfriend? I didn't know that."

"Well, it's still not really official, but you know the young bloke at Eeylop's," he asked and Angelina nodded. "But don't tell anyone, all right? She only told me because I said I'd try the lipstick with you, but she wanted to do it first since it's her invention."

"So a feminine touch to WWW isn't all that bad then," Angelina asked with a grin.

"It's brilliant. Verity has tons of ideas," George said.

Soon enough the stopped at Upton Park Tube Station and they got off the train. There were a lot of people heading up, and once outside the station, George could see that Angelina had been right. There were Muggles everywhere heading for the match. Any attempt to Apparate would've risked exposure to the Muggles.

"So, who are playing," George asked Angelina, knowing next to nothing about Muggle football.

"West Ham for sure, since it's their stadium, but against whom I don't know. I'm a Quidditch fan, you know."

"West Ham. That's the lot Dean in Ron's and Harry's year supports, isn't it?"

"Dean Thomas," Angelina asked and George nodded. "Sure, his family lives not far from my parents. Mum even had him in her Arts Class before he started Hogwarts."

Roxanne Johnson taught Arts in the public schools and had often said Dean Thomas was a very talented young student of hers until he disappeared to a private boarding school in Scotland at age eleven. It wasn't until several years later that Roxanne had learned that Dean was a wizard and he, in turn, learned that Mrs Johnson was Angelina's mum, and that she was a witch. George hadn't asked why Angelina's mum had a Muggle job, but he knew Mrs Johnson to be a wicked good housekeeper and really good at Muggle-repelling charms and other handy spells to keep their world secret, since they often entertained Muggle guests in their home.

Angelina and George got off the train and were virtually the only ones not heading to the football match. Instead, they turned into a street with identical brick houses, not unlike Privet Drive, and knocked on the door at Number Seven.

Decatur opened the door and burst into a smile as big as the man himself. "Angel," he boomed and gave his daughter a hug. "Gawge, she's treatin' you all right, mon?"

"She keeps me in line," George replied with a grin, shaking Decatur's hand.

"Come in, den. Come in. Roxy's fixin' dinnah for us and I'm helpin' by stayin' out of de way," he chuckled.

True enough. When a house witch fixed dinner, things tended to fly about. With a rather cramped kitchen and a very big husband, he had better stay away. Soon enough they were seated in the living room with the telly tuned to the match, which was about to begin. Roxanne stepped in briefly to welcome her daughter and her boyfriend before returning to her cooking.

"Angel can conjure some tea if you'd like," Decatur said.

"Sure, Rasta. Tea for three?"

The two men nodded and Angelina flicked her wand, conjuring a pot of tea, three cups and milk from the kitchen. Sipping their cuppa, George updated Decatur on the new line of female products Verity developed.

"Wid all dat datin' goin' on in Hogsmeade, you'll sure sell loads of dat stuff up dere, right," Decatur assumed.

"We hope so, and if they use it in the village, Filch can put the products on his ruddy Banned List all he wants," Angelina giggled. "In fact, why don't we send the old Squib a sample box to help him out?"

"Uh-uh," George disagreed. "We've got us a tidy band of hellions to do that job for us."

"So we do," Angelina replied conspiratorially. "So we do."

Soon enough, the two men were caught up in the football match. George found it fascinating, although Quidditch, in his opinion, was far better.

"I'll just go and help Mum, shall I," Angelina said, banishing the teapot and the cups to the kitchen.

Once she left, George took a deep breath and turned to Decatur. "Sir, you know I've been together with Angelina for over a year now," he began.

Something in George's voice and the title, _sir_, sounded rather serious. "Yes," he replied guardedly, eyeing his daughter's boyfriend suspiciously.

"Right. Well, lately I've been thinking that we're rather committed to each other."

"George, you're sweating," Decatur observed, suppressing his Jamaican accent. "What is it you're trying to say?"

"That she's_ the girl_, and that I'd like…to marry her," George confessed with a tremble in his voice. "Sir, I'm asking for your permission to propose to her."

Decatur considered George carefully and donned the masque of the protective father. "I take it you're shagging my daughter, then," he said coldly, his voice dropping lower than usual.

George felt a rare Weasley blush rise in his face, which was a rarity for him. "Well," George coughed, not intending to lie, but not revealing his and Angelina's private life either. "She's not… in the family way, sir. I love her—that's why I want to marry her."

Decatur glared at him for a few moments. Then he broke into laughter. "Ah had you dere, didn't I," Decatur boomed joyfully, happy to prank the prankster. "Listen heah, son. If you, for one minute, tink my puhmission is needed, by all means you have it. But don' let dem, Roxy an' Angie dat is, know you ahsked me or dey'll turn into doze Hahpy tings dey tell me about."

George sighed in relief. "Thank you, sir."

"If you don't stop callin' me _sah_, I'll tek dat blessin' bahk," the big man grinned. "Decatah is all right. Doc or Rasta is fine too. When ah you plannin' on poppin' de question?"

"I haven't quite decided, but it'll be soon," George promised his future father-in-law. _Very soon_.

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"Dennis, what is it," Jessica asked her boyfriend. After supper, they set off on a walk around the lake and found themselves cuddled together under the birch tree Harry and Ginny had commandeered a few years ago as sixth- and fifth-year Hogwarts students.

Dennis Creevey, son of a Muggle milkman and younger brother of a dead war-hero, didn't reply. In fact, he hadn't even heard Jessica's question. His mind reeled with the possibilities following the Aurors' presentation a few weeks before.

"Dennis? Dennis," Jessica shouted, causing the brown-haired boy to jump in alarm.

"What? What's wrong," he asked, looking around cautiously, wand drawn.

"Take it easy, Love," Jessica said quietly, placing her hand on his wand-arm. "You sort of zoned out there for a bit. I asked you a question."

"Merlin, Jess. I'm sorry. I was just thinking," Dennis replied apologetically. "What was your question?"

Jessica gazed into Dennis' clear brown eyes. "I asked you what's going on. You've been so distant lately—like there's something on your mind. Evidently, there is. What is it?"

"I…I was just thinking about what Ron told us," he explained. "About the Auror Training Program—namely, the Broombourne unit."

"You want to take the entrance exam, don't you," Jessica surmised.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. I think I can get in," he said. "I want this, Jess. I want to be somebody in this world. My family's Muggle, but Colin and I—we're…I'm—"

"You _are_ a wizard, Dennis; Colin _was_ a wizard," Jessica finished. "You've chosen to live in our world, then?"

"I think so," Dennis said. "I mean, I love my parents, but their world isn't mine. Jess, Colin and I never fit in when we were little. I know Colin was a bit…excitable…"

"And camera-happy," Jessica added with a nostalgic smile.

Dennis couldn't help but let go a chuckle. "And camera-happy. But there was more to it than that. We couldn't relate to the other kids, you know? Their games weren't _our_ games. Then when Colin got his Hogwarts letter…everything sort of fell into place."

Jessica considered her boyfriend's words. As a Pureblood witch, there was never any doubt as to where her life would go or how she would get there. She couldn't imagine the plight of the Muggleborns who had to make a choice like that. For Dennis to have chosen the Wizarding world as his world meant leaving his family behind, in a way. They could never understand the exhilaration that came from soaring through the air on a broom or the thrill of successfully brewing a difficult potion that could save a life, or the rush of a magical duel. It made perfect sense—Colin and Dennis couldn't relate.

"How did you feel when your Hogwarts letter came," she asked.

"Excited….relived," he replied with a wan smile. "Scared out of my wits."

"Dennis, even I was scared out of my wits," Jessica laughed. "All of us were—even the Golden Trio…and Ginny."

"But it's different for us Muggleborns, Jess," Dennis argued. "You grew up hearing about Hogwarts from Alicia and your parents, but we knew _nothing_ until our letters came. My parents thought it was a joke until Professor McGonagall showed up on our doorstep to talk to them about Colin."

"It must've been scary for you," she acquiesced.

"At first, yeah," Dennis replied. "But…once we got here, it felt like—home."

"You mean to tell me that being picked out of the Black Lake by the Giant Squid didn't scare you," she asked. "I mean, come on, Dennis!"

Dennis burst into laughter. "No, actually. I was more scared of the water than the Squid! I'm not exactly the strongest of swimmers, you know. But I think it was more the excitement of coming here and learning magic with my brother that drove me. And then second year, when Harry started the DA—it was everything I dreamed magic could be!"

"The DA. Yeah, I wish I'd joined, but Alicia thought I was too little," Jessica said. "Maybe if I had, I could've fought…"

"Jess," Dennis said, placing his left index and middle fingers over her lips. "Jess, don't beat yourself up about that. There were seven boys on one girl. You didn't have a chance." Dennis' face morphed from gentleness to fierce anger in the blink of an eye.

"Dennis, please—calm down. Don't get all worked up over that. It's over," she said softly, hoping to assuage the boy's wrath. "You and the others found me in time and I'm here—safe and whole."

"Jess, I think we need to start up the DA again," Dennis said decidedly. "I know I'm not the only one thinking about taking the ATP entrance exam. If we want to pass it, we need to be in top condition, magically and physically."

"It's more than that, though, isn't it," Jessica guessed, judging by the change in his comportment. His eyes held a steely glare and his jaw set with determined purpose.

"No, it's not," he confessed. "There's something in the air and it feels like it did in '95 just before the war really escalated. Remember how tense we all were when the Prophet reported all that dodgy stuff about Harry and Professor Dumbledore and how people started disappearing when the truth came out? It's like that."

"But Dennis, Vol—he's gone and so are his Death Eaters. How can that happen again?" Jessica wasn't sure where Dennis was headed with this line of thought, but she wanted to find out.

"No, not Voldemort," Dennis corrected her. "But the feeling is the same. I'm talking about that ELF-thing that Senior Undersecretary Gumboil started. Stiles and his gang are all Muggleborn sons of ELF-members."

"Then that attack against Malfoy at the tournament and the article in _Witch Weekly_," Jessica said, catching on. "Dennis, do you think there's going to be another war?"

"Not a war like we just had, but a sort of war," he said. "I mean, we've had a riot at a House Quidditch match, the attack on you at Halloween, and a zillion fights in the corridors since. Even Miss Onie and Professor Watson had a fight."

"When did this happen," Jessica enquired. "I didn't hear anything about a fight between staffers."

Dennis grinned like a shark. "Seamus told us one night," he said just under a whisper. "He had just come back to Hogwarts for his shift here when he came upon Watson and Onie having it out about the way he treated the situation with you and the match riot. Seamus said that Professor Watson didn't take any of it seriously, which really hacked Onie off, since she had to put injured students back together. I guess that Slytherin bloke, Felton, nearly died at St Mungo's because he threw himself in front of a load of firsties and took a nasty curse for them."

"I remember that! There were like three older students who had to be taken to hospital," Jessica realised.

"Yes, and then there was you," Dennis added darkly. "Seamus said that Watson didn't think there was any harm done because they never got to…to…you know. Seamus said Onie called Watson a polecat or something."

"So that's what she was crying about one night," Jessica guessed. "I was still recovering when she came in madder than a Hippogriff with a toothache, sniffing and wiping her eyes. I pretended to be asleep."

"That was probably it," Dennis said. "But the point is that we need to start up the DA again so we can learn to defend ourselves in case something terrible happens. We've got a couple of brilliant Pureblood twins in Gryffindor House who've been harassed by a few 'Puffs. Pointer's been given a hard time about his relationship with one of them as well."

"The Snakes have taken to moving in at least pairs, if not threes and fours, and there's almost always an older student with the younger ones," Jessica said. "I've seen Felton and a couple of others escorting them to class and to the Great Hall for meals."

"So what do you think," Dennis asked her. "Should we see about resurrecting the DA?"

"Yeah. You owl Harry and Ron about permission, since it was their club in the beginning and I'll ask McGonagall if the school will sanction it as an official student organisation like the Gobstones Club or the First Aid Club," Jessica suggested. "But we shouldn't call it Dumbledore's Army anymore."

"Why?"

"Because it's not about that anymore," Jessica explained. "Dumbledore's gone and things are different than they were then. The old DA was about rebelling against Umbridge, right?"

"Well…yeah, sort of. But the fifth- and seventh-years wouldn't have passed their OWLs and NEWTs without it. They weren't learning anything in DADA under that old toad," Dennis explained.

"Exactly. But that's not an issue anymore. The Ministry isn't interfering and we have a really good DADA professor, even if he is a bit of a berk. We're doing this so those of us wishing to take the ATP entrance exam are ready for it, but mostly because we need to defend ourselves. Stiles' lot is proof of that."

"Those of us," Dennis asked with a slight grin. "Are you—"

"Of course, you silly prat," Jessica said, slapping his arm. "Do you seriously think I would let you join a squadron of flying Aurors without _me?_"

Dennis stared at her in stunned disbelief. After all she'd been through, she wanted to pit herself against the best and strongest Hogwarts had to offer to train for such a dangerous career. "You mean it?"

"Yes, Dennis. I do. Do you have a problem with that," she snapped.

"Jessica," Dennis began.

"What," she replied huffily.

"Will you marry me?"

"Prat."

The two sixth-years fell upon one another laughing and snuggling under the birch tree near the lake. "I'm serious," Dennis said.

"I know," Jessica replied. "Ask me again this time next year. I'll say _yes_ then."

"Promise?"

"Mm-hmm. Now shut up and kiss me," she giggled.

Dennis lifted her chin with his left thumb and index finger so that he could gaze into her dark brown eyes. "I love you, Jessica Spinnet, and I do want you to marry me. I mean it." He lowered his face and captured her honey-flavoured lips with his, moving his mouth over hers while he pulled her into his lap.

Jessica melted into Dennis' embrace and moaned her pleasure as he kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her lips to admit his seeking tongue. In the Muggle world, their love would be near-taboo in many instances. In fact, she wasn't sure how Dennis' Muggle family would take it. But it didn't matter. Dennis Creevey and Jessica Spinnet were in love and nothing would drive them apart—not blood-status, not race, not even war. "I love you too, Dennis Creevey."

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Ron and Hermione broke apart from a long and deep kiss. "Be careful, all right?" Ron said. "If anything happens, don't be reckless."

"I'm never reckless," Hermione assured him. "You know that."

"You married me," Ron countered with a smirk.

"Well, every rule has an exception," Hermione said, planting another kiss on Ron's lips.

"It's just that I don't trust Dumbponce," Ron grumbled.

"_Dumbponce?_ That's a new one," Hermione giggled. "I don't trust that git for one second either, and neither do Seamus and Dean. But this is a meeting for _all_ members of ELF. We're going to debate the latest developments, and since my proposal won the majority of the Wizengamot I have to be there. I might have to defend the secrecy surrounding our Horcrux hunt."

"I know 'Mione. I'm just worried," Ron confessed. "He's gone barmier and barmier with each passing day."

"I shall take that as a token of your affection, and for that, you shall be rewarded tonight, Mr Weasley," Hermione giggled.

"Promise," Ron intimated slyly.

"Like I could keep my hands off you, you great lummox," Hermione replied and kissed him again. "Now, I really must go." She left her husband standing in their bedroom, fighting the temptation to borrow Harry's cloak and follow her. The only thing stopping him was the fact that if she caught him out, there'd be a row rather than a romance. No, he'd have to trust Seamus and Dean to look after her and keep her safe.

Hermione Apparated to a point on the outskirts of the Forest of Dean, where she found Seamus and Dean waiting for her. The two friends took their places on either side of her and together, they walked into the woods. "Gumboil put up a tent in a massive clearin' not far from here," Seamus said. "There was a strange storm here last autumn that created it, but it's a great meetin' place."

Hermione tried not to blush, since she knew exactly how that clearing had been created. Harry and Ginny lost control over their bond temporarily and levelled the trees for a 10-metre radius. Soon enough, they entered the clearing where an inconspicuous-looking tent stood, lights glowing through the canvas. Just outside the entrance sat a man in Muggle clothing, working a rather thick stick with a small knife. He spoke not a word, but paused long enough to nod them inside and then returned to his work.

Hermione, Seamus and Dean stepped inside the tent and were amazed to find a meeting hall as big as the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and it was three-quarters full and buzzing with all manner of voices—male and female, young and old. ELF had certainly grown in popularity. The attack on Malfoy had made it more than clear that the issues with the Death Eater families had not been resolved satisfactorily with the end of the war, and the debate in the Wizengamot showed that there was significant support for the abolition of inherited seats on that governing body. Hermione, Seamus and Dean found seats at the rear of the hall and waited for the meeting to begin.

Fifteen minutes later, Alastor Gumboil rose and turned to face the gathered crowd. He smiled and raised his hands, calling them to attention. "Welcome, friends, to this meeting of the Equality and Liberation Federation. We're here tonight to discuss the best ways to keep working for true justice in our community. As you all know, the Wizengamot has decided to form a committee tasked with the review our laws and determine what changes we must make to modernize Wizarding Britain. I intend to be on that committee. I'd be most eager to hear Madame _baroness_ Black's thoughts on this committee, since it was her suggestion. Madame Black?"

Hermione's heart nearly leapt from her chest. She hadn't prepared a speech and wasn't prepared for the verbal attack Gumboil had made, however slight. She also noticed he'd used her Pureblood title, which wasn't a welcome thing in this setting. She had no doubt he'd still be a bit grumpy about losing the vote, but Hermione hadn't seen this coming. Everyone turned their attention to her, most displaying expressions of abject distrust.

"C'mon Hermione. Show that git you're a Gryffindor and the brightest witch alive." Dean whispered.

Hermione felt strengthened by Dean's support, which meant a lot to her since they weren't that close. She stood up and walked confidently to the front of the hall. She shot a glare at a snidely grinning Gumboil before she turned to face the collective ELF body. _She's upset, and that makes her all the more desirable._

"I suppose most of you heard the debate in the Wizengamot on the wireless," Hermione began, receiving a positive response in the form of nods and an approving buzz. "I stand for what I said then. I want change as much as you do, but we can't bring it on too fast. It's necessary for outdated laws to be changed, yes, but it'll take careful consideration to ensure that the new laws are just and fair for everyone."

One man in the crowd shouted from the back of the hall. "Shut up, you Pureblood pawn. You've married into their lot and even taken on their posh titles!"

_Oh yes. Very good. I couldn't have phrased that better myself. _Despite Gumboil's infatuation with Hermione, her eloquence in outclassing him before the Wizengamot still annoyed him. _I'll bloody show her..._

"Look I think we should be very happy about the support we had from the House of Greengrass. If we can bridge the gap the wars have created between us Muggleborns and the Pureblood elite, we can lay a good foundation on which to build a lasting peace. I for one would rather see that peace built over the course of a few of years, rather than slapped together with ill-conceived and rashly-implemented notions that threaten to tear us further apart," Hermione declared with a confident voice.

Some members of ELF seemed to agree with her, but much to Gumboil's pleasure, the next question was the obvious one. People were so predictable. "But you're a part of Potter's plan to gain power, Mrs Weasley," someone else called from the middle of the crowd. "Gumboil's got the right ideas. Change now, not later!"

Hermione sighed. She had no intention of telling these people that she'd been adopted into the House of Black and placed in her seat in order to keep the Wizengamot seat out of the hands of Pureblood supremacists. "I don't represent ELF in the Wizengamot. And yes, it's a fact I'm in an inherited seat because my brother, Harry Potter, asked me to sit it." Hermione paused and let the mention of Harry's name sink in. It had a most-positive effect. "I won't even bother to comment on the rot published by _Witch Weekly_. If any of you here wish to believe that Harry is seeking power, let me remind you that he declined the position of Chief Warlock, which was something Mr Gumboil himself proposed. Wouldn't that make him a part of Potter's plot too?"

_Damn, she's good. And amazingly beautiful. What's a Veela compared to her? _All eyes turned to Gumboil. "Thank you, Hermione, for that clarification," Gumboil said. He didn't register Hermione's displeasure at his use of her first name, since his eyes were fixed on her chest rather than her face. "I believe Mr Potter would have served us well as Chief Warlock, but I can't help but ask myself what he, Mr Weasley and then-Miss Granger are hiding. After all, their secrets hold the power to defeat the worst dark wizard in history, and who knows what that power can be used for now, with the threat of Voldemort gone?"

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. Gumboil's ability to praise Harry and criticize him at the same time amazed her, but disconcerted her at the same time. "That power was nothing but love," she huffed. "Lily Potter's love for her son spared Harry's, life and his love for us protected us after he survived the killing curse…again. It's not some mysterious power that can be wielded to gain power in the Wizengamot or at the Ministry or in any other political arena." Hermione had considered her words to reveal nothing that hadn't already been mentioned in _The Daily Prophet_.

"You've heard it yourselves from a member of our own esteemed organisation, the sister of Harry Potter," Gumboil declared. "We have nothing to fear from our Head Auror. The article printed in _Witch Weekly_ is rubbish." Somehow his tone made the statement sound the exact opposite to what he actually said. Hermione returned to her seat.

"What's he on about," Seamus asked suspiciously.

"I think he wants the members to think that Gumboil's the only one they can trust. Purebloods are dirt, Potter's power hungry and anyone close to him can't be trusted. I bet he's about to tell us what to do," Hermione said confidently. If there was anything Hermione was good at, it was reading people and using that ability to suss out their true motives. At the beginning of fifth year, she knew instantly that the Ministry sought to interfere at Hogwarts the moment Dolores Umbridge opened her mouth at the Welcoming Feast. She had been right and their fifth year was a living Hell.

Gumboil thought the time was right to issue his objective. "I want to urge you to write to Madame Bones and tell her which representatives you'd like to see on the committee. If I'm selected, I will keep working for the abolition of inherited seats on the Wizengamot, and I shall also propose an investigation into Potter's dodgy business. I say: Justice will be served, _truth will be told!_" The last part he said with force and authority.

"Justice will be served, truth will be told," the crowd cried in response.

"Justice will be served, truth will be told," Gumboil said and encouraged the crowd to chant the phrase again and again until the sound of the united voices became a deafening roar. _"Justice will be served, truth will be told!" _

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Later that evening Hermione sat cuddled up with Ron in the sitting room of the Burrow. Harry sat with Ginny close to him, while Dean and Seamus sat in armchairs. "I tell you, it was creepy. When they started yelling _Justice will be served, truth will be told!_ I couldn't help thinking about the Nazi tag lines," Hermione said. "They had very catchy slogans like, _Sieg heil, _or_ Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Führer_. The bloody git had a hard-on from listening to people worship his speech."

"Blimey, Hermione! I didn't think you talked like that," Dean said in surprise. "But I agree. It was scary. He told everyone to support him exclusively, without actually coming out and saying it."

"And his way o' speakin' both highly and derogatorily of you Harry is, sorry ta say, brilliant," Seamus added.

Hermione nodded. "He must be considered appreciative of you defeating Voldy, but at the same time he needs to imply that the article in _Witch Weekly_ is based in fact."

Ginny had merely contented herself to listen thus far, hoping to understand what the three ELF plants had reported. Ginny wasn't the one to be the most vocal person about politics, but when she had something to say it was often brilliant. As soon as she spoke, the others immediately listened.

"He obviously planned this meeting in detail, right down to the snide commentary about Harry and how you three beat Voldemort. He manipulated you into addressing the crowd, anticipated what you would say—apparently correctly—and then twisted your words to bring ELF to worship him as the sole voice of reason and hope for justice."

They sat in silence contemplating Ginny's conclusion. "Yeah, that about sums it up," Seamus agreed.

"And a load of people who were there will tell their friends how amazing Gumboil is and what a worthy organisation ELF is," Dean added.

Seamus nodded. "And that's the best way to gain more support. I'd take the word of a mate over the word of a slimy politician any day of the week."

"And that'll put further pressure on the Wizengamot to vote according to his will," Ron said. "He's not a bad tactician."

"So what do we do," Hermione asked.

Harry huffed loudly. "Isn't it obvious? I influence my pawn, Kingsley, to declare Martial Law and I use my brainwashed and loyal Aurors to crush any resistance," he snarled. "That translates to: _No ruddy idea. Please tell me, Hermione._"

They all looked at Hermione who tried her best to feign ignorance of all attention focusing on her and her ability to hatch brilliant ideas on the spot. "Well…we could talk to Peasegood and see what he thinks. He's all for justice, but he's definitely not a great fan of Gumboil's lately. And Harry, speak to Dung and see if he's heard anything on the street."

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Not long after the attack on Draco Malfoy, Harry, Ron and Seamus determined that they needed to train Ginny, Hermione and Fiona to defend themselves. While Hermione might not have been considered a real target for the anti-Pureblood movement, she was married to one; Ginny and Fiona were Purebloods, with Ginny a very high-profile one to boot. With all the violence breaking out in public and at Hogwarts, one could never be too careful.

Already almost Auror-class duellers, Ginny and Hermione needed more discipline in their focus; Fiona had almost no combat training of any kind, since she'd been brought up to heal. Ginny's Whomping Willow wand increased her already considerable power, but she needed to learn to harness that power, as it had already proven how destructive it could be that awful night in the Forest of Dean. Hermione, while not near as powerful as Ginny, had raw talent that needed maturing. She could definitely hold her own in a fight, as she'd proven during the war and in front of their seventh-year Defence class, but she lacked the physical stamina Ginny had as an athlete. While Harry worked with Ginny on control, Ron worked with Hermione on physical conditioning with regard to duelling.

Fiona's magical prowess was considerable, but she had no training to back it up. Granny Tyree had trained her well in the magical- and folk-healing arts while her mother meticulously taught her the sciences of Herbology and Potions-making, but for all of that, her general spell-work lacked terribly. She had been taught a few simple defence spells, such as _Expelliarmus_, _Protego_, _Impedimenta_, _Stupefy_, and a few others, but the men in her life doubted she could hold on in a real fight if she had to. Seamus would train her as Harry trained the DA—one spell at a time.

They'd started out with the simple spells she already knew, honing them sharply. Seamus taught her how to focus her magic on even the simplest of them, _Expelliarmus_, to achieve maximum results. It took a few hours, but finally, she blew the Irishman off his feet and into a wall, capturing his wand in her left hand. After that, they went to work on her shields and on to the others. With practise and focus, Fiona mastered the basic spells that would allow her a better chance at escape, but never a chance in a fight. Today, that had to change with the blasting hex, _Bombarda_.

"Onie, darlin'" Seamus sighed, stopping their duel. "Ye've got ta get over this fear o' hurtin' me!"

"I know," she moaned. "But I'm a Healer—I cain't seem ta bring myself ta throw them ugly ones!"

"Fiona, ya might find yerself in a situation where ya won't have much of a choice. There's stuff goin' on right here at Hogwarts that puts you and a load o' students at risk," he argued. "Besides, I can block yer worst."

"Just like ya blocked that nasty cuttin' curse," Fiona snapped. "Seamus, if I threw somethin' like that at a body, 'specially a student, I don't think I could live with myself."

"_Bombarda_ isn't so ugly," Seamus assured her. "And _Sectumsempra's_ advanced dark magic you're not ready for yet."

"Yer gonna make me learn _that_," Fiona gasped. "No! I cain't."

"Fiona Francine Prewett, yer gonna learn every spell in the book—light, dark, or otherwise," Seamus told her flatly.

"But—"

"But nothin'," Seamus stormed. "Darlin', listen ta me. Ya gotta know 'em if yer gonna heal after 'em!"

Fiona sighed. Deep down, she knew he was right. Growing up in Rook Holler, she learned that principle as it applied to other things, such as fire. On Halloween every year, the village held a bonfire celebration that went back many centuries to the courts of Tara in ancient Ireland. Samhain, loosely translated to mean _summer's end_, was celebrated with the lighting of bonfires, the first ritual fire flaring to life on the Hill of Tiachtga. The official fire would follow on the Hill of Tara, which served as a beacon for all of the other villages to light their fires.

"Kind of like back home the end of October," Fiona said, dropping to the mats the Room of Requirement had provided for their session. "Mr Dennis and a couple other village elders lit the bonfire."

"You celebrated Samhain, then," Seamus asked, finding yet another connection to this amazing Appalachian-American witch.

"Yeah, sorta," Fiona said. "We just didn't run on for three days. It was just Halloween night. He thatcha hafta know how ta build 'em and start 'em proper before ya c'n control 'em and put 'em out right. Nobody could come near 'em when they was buildin' it 'cept the boys they was trainin' to take up the job. They hadda be sixteen first, though."

"Then ya know what I'm sayin'," Seamus said. "Me mam told me da on many an occasion that ya gotta make a mess ta clean one up. Same thing, yeah?"

"I guess so," Fiona agreed reluctantly. "So…_Bombarda_ then?"

"Up ya get, Love," Seamus chuckled. "Just think o' this trainin' as purely academic and ye'll be mighty at it, as me old granddad used ta say."

"Okay," she agreed. "Academic. Make a mess to clean one up. Here goes. _BOMBARDA!_"

A loud blast echoed through the Room of Requirement as Fiona's blasting hex shot over Seamus' head and struck the stone wall behind him. The force of the blow blew chunks of stone and mortar outward, knocking the Auror to the floor.

"Seamus! Lordy mercy, Seamus! Are ya all right," Fiona cried, racing to his side. She dropped to her knees and ran her wand over his body, removing dust and gravel and checking for injuries. Finding none, she helped him roll over onto his back. "I'm sorry, darlin'! I didn't mean…"

"I think ya got it, Love," Seamus chuckled, coughing and spitting the detritus of her spell out of his mouth. "That was some hex!"

"Well, once ya told me whatcha wanted 'n' why, it wasn't so hard," she giggled. "So what's next?" Fiona had to admit that while she still held some trepidation and dubiousness about learning to fight, she had to admit success was exhilarating.

"What's next," Seamus asked, his blue eyes sparkling. "This!" He pulled her down onto himself and crushed his lips against hers. He held her firmly as he kissed her, coaxing her mouth open so he could slip his tongue inside. She moaned sexily in his embrace, running her hands through his mussed sandy locks. The thong that held his ponytail in place had been loosened in the blast and fell away in her hand. She tossed it aside and proceeded to devour him in just about any way she could while still clothed.

They hadn't done anything beyond snogging yet and didn't seem to be terribly inclined to at this point. They were usually content to hold one another and talk, mostly about Ireland and North Carolina, their families, and horses. Seamus, it turned out, was quite the horseman. He often regaled her with stories about steeplechase races and the horse-trading at the Fair of Muff in County Cavan near Belfast.

"_Ooh, that sound like fun," Fiona enthused. "When is it?"_

"_Mid-August," Seamus replied. "Would ya wanna go?"_

"_I'd love ta go," Fiona cried. "Can we ride, too?"_

"_I'm sure that can be arranged," he grinned. "You like ridin'?"_

"_Yeah, but I think my kind o' ridin' and yer kind are nothin' alike," she said with a sly smile. "We don't go for them fancy saddles and ridin' britches like y'all do here."_

"_Ah, what they call western, as opposed t'English," Seamus surmised. "I'm sure we can find ya the right saddle 'n' mount. There are a few farms that breed more'n just thoroughbred racin' animals."_

"_I haven't been on a horse in ages," she moaned. "We either had ta hike or ride up into the hills ta get ta the more backward families. They didn't much like traipsin' down ta us when they needed help."_

"Think we'd better get back ta work, but first," Seamus began. "Ye've made a mess ye'll hafta clear away. I'm sure ya know the charm."

"_Reparo_," Fiona called, and flicked her wand at the mess. In a trice, the dust and broken stone flew back into the wall as if nothing ever happened.

"Good on ya, Love," Seamus congratulated her, applauding her spell work.

"Now, I want you to work on _Bombarda_ to bring it under control," Seamus instructed. "I'll ask Hagrid to bring down a few boulders from the woods on the other side of the lake for ya ta practice on. Ye've got a mighty wand, Love, but ya gotta keep your castin' level. And now for yer shields."

"Aw, man," Fiona whinged. "Protego about wore me out."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, Love," Seamus promised. "We're gonna take it a step further. Now watch." Seamus stepped a few metres away and drew his wand. "Protego Maxima!" A golden shield sprung into existence in front of him, shining like the sun.

"Wow!"

"Now—throw your blaster at me just like you did a few minutes ago," he instructed her.

"Are ya sure?"

"Do it," he demanded. "I promise I'll be fine."

"Okay. It's yer funeral," she said with a sigh. She drew he wand and pointed it right at him. With a deep breath and a quick prayer to whoever happened to be listening, she drew herself up and cast the blasting hex once again. "_BOMBARDA!_"

Fiona's spell sped right at Seamus rather than over his head as it had before. Horrified, she watched as her love stood there like a stone wall and let it come at him. CLANG! Her spell struck his shield and blew apart, leaving him completely unharmed and grinning from ear to ear, his shield still shining before him. "Bloody hell!"

Seamus dropped the shield and laughed as she stood there with wide eyes and trembling hands. "That, my love, is called _Protego Maxima_, and can stop almost anything. I say almost because no shield can stop everything. Now…this is how it's done." He proceeded to help her with the proper wand movements to achieve the desired shield. Producing it wasn't so much an issue as holding it. The standard shield was hard enough to maintain, but this one took the utmost concentration and physical stamina to hold for more than a second or two.

"Seamus," Fiona panted. "This thing's the devil! I cain't make it stay up!"

"It takes practise, Love. Ya gotta be patient," he soothed. "Ye've just started on yer mornin' jogs and all. Keep it up and ye'll be able to hold it. Now try again."

Fiona took a couple of cleansing breaths and focused her magic on the task at hand. With a wan smile at the man she loved, she raised her wand and made a quick clockwise circle and jabbed. "PROTEGO MAXIMA!" A shining gold shield flickered to life and then vanished once again. "Oh I'll never get this'n right!"

"Of course ya will, Love. Maybe ye've just had enough for one day, yeah," Seamus suggested. "Let's sit down and have a drink." The Room of Requirement suddenly changed from a training room with mats on the floor to a room akin to the Gryffindor common room. They got seated by small table in front of them, and Seamus summoned a pitcher of pumpkin juice and two goblets.

"I'll never get used ta this," Fiona laughed, accepting the drink from Seamus' hands. "All ya gotta do is think somethin' and there it is!"

"Yeah, but I don't have near the connection ta this room that Neville's got," Seamus agreed, taking a sip of juice. "He really gets it, ya know? Durin' the war, he could make this room give us anything we needed—and even a few things we didn't."

"Whattaya mean," she asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Well…when it got really bad, we all had ta go inta hidin'," Seamus explained. "Luna'd been kidnapped right off the train at Christmas and the Weasleys pulled Ginny out of school at Easter and went inta hidin'. Neville was our leader then. The Carrows put a price on his head and he had ta go inta hidin' himself, but he wouldn't leave us, so he hid in here. As the weeks went by, more and more of us had to hide, but we didn't want to leave because we needed ta look after the younger kids. So we moved in here—Gryffs, 'Claws, and 'Puffs. At that time, the Snakes were the enemy."

"So what happened," she asked, thoroughly entranced.

"Well…as more and more of us moved in, the room resized ta fit us all. It even created a little hospital wing for us and produced medical supplies we couldn't nick from Poppy. Ya see, we weren't allowed ta go ta her and she wasn't allowed ta come ta us, but once in a while, one of us would get busted up pretty bad in detention, so this room created a special Floo connection to Poppy's quarters so she could get here undetected. By the time Harry, Ron and Hermione showed up, this room was a dormitory, a hospital, a game room, and a kitchen."

"Damn," Fiona breathed. "Seamus, I was wonderin' somethin' while we was practising a bit ago."

"What, Love?"

"Well…when y'all was fightin' in the tournament, it wasn't a buncha back-n-forth stuff like we're doin'. It was fast and furious—like y'all was dancin' kind of."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Seamus replied. "But that kind of duelling takes loads and loads of practise and control over yer castin'."

"Why aintcha teachin' me that way, then," she asked, leaning into his shoulder.

Seamus chuckled and wrapped his left arm around her. "One thing at a time, Love. First ya must learn how ta properly cast the spells—and most wizards and witches can learn that. But that doesn't make 'em a good fighters. Ya must know these spells so well that ya can cast 'em without thinkin', because yer mind must be on the fight. Winning a duel is about castin' the right spell at the right time. That's how Harry won against Voldemort with a simple, but powerful, _Expelliarmus_. So, first ya learn the spells, then ya learn how to fight with 'em. After that, it's possible to learn combinations of spells, speed and stamina, tumbling exercises and things like that to increase yer chances o' winnin'."

"So all that floppin' around y'all was doin' was part o' the fight?" Fiona had originally thought that the falls and rolls were the result of having been jinxed.

"Most of it, yeah. Susan discovered tumblin' while we were still in trainin'. Harry made us learn it all and it paid off," he told her. "We've been in a few scrapes where that _floppin' around_, as you call it, saved our arses."

"Except when ya drop yerself into a hole," Fiona laughed. "I thought you was done for."

"Hey, now wait just a minute, lass," Seamus scowled. "There wasn't any hole there when I jumped over Red. He blasted it there just as I landed, I'll have ya know."

"I was still worried," she pouted. "I thought Ronnie was gonna make stew outta ya."

"If I'm honest, so did I," he laughed. "But ye'll notice he hesitated for a split-second, which gave me the out I needed to hang his freckled arse out ta dry. _Levicorpus_ was a favourite of Harry's da's."

"Will ya teach me that one," Fiona asked hopefully. If a student tried to attack her, she figured she could just hang the little snot up and disarm him rather than actually put a world of hurt on him.

"I told ya ye'd be learnin' every spell in the book, so yeah. I'll be teachin' that one to ya," Seamus assured her.

"Good," she cooed. "Seamus?"

"Hm?"

"Is tú mo ghrá."

"Me too," he murmured, drawing her face to his. He couldn't believe how much he loved Fiona Prewett. Since fourth year, he'd carried a reputation as a ladies' man and a bit of a cad—mostly due to his own embellished stories of conquest—but he could never tell such tales about the witch in his arms. He truly adored her and would do everything in his power to defend her honour. He cared about Lavender and maybe even loved her a little in his own way, but he knew the moment he met Fiona that he'd fallen in love. For that reason, he broke off his relationship with Lavender and moved out of their flat.

Seamus and Fiona clung to one another as they shared kiss after steamy kiss. With a groan, he laid her down on the sofa and hovered over her. He so wanted to take her, but he knew it wasn't right. Their relationship was still too new, too fragile to sully on a whim. Privately, he suspected by Harry's admonitions against hurting Fiona that she was a virgin. He would make love to her when the time was right and not a moment before.

"Ye're drivin' me mad," he groaned, raising himself off of her. "Ye're so beautiful—I can't get over it. I'm dyin' fer want of ya, but I can't."

"It's all right, darlin'. We're not ready for that yet, but if it helps, I want you too—just not yet," she replied breathlessly, her hair a mess and her face flushed. "But what we have now is beautiful. I feel so at home in your arms—like I belong here."

"Ya do belong here, Fiona, and one day—well, when that day comes, we'll both know," he said, kissing her temple. "But right now, I think we'd better go before we do somethin' we'll both regret."

"Shall we visit the House-elves," she asked, rising from the sofa. "I'm sure they got some leftovers they're just dyin' ta feed us."

"Lead on, my strawberry angel," Seamus chuckled. Sensing their departure, the Room of Requirement cancelled all its trappings and became an empty chamber once again.


	46. Chapter 46 Night Terrors

**Chapter 46 – Night Terrors**

_A thousand pardons, dear readers! Writers' Block and the cold from Hell kept me from duty. JAM did his job in ample time, but I couldn't type a word that made a lick of sense. But finally, the block is broken and the show now goes on! Enjoy! –SD/GC_

Ron looked up from his reports when the door to his and Harry's office opened by itself and closed soon after. "Harry, is that you," Ron asked the air in front of him. Immediately, there was a swish of air as Harry fought to remove his Invisibility Cloak.

Harry wobbled a little as he wrestled the cloak into an untidy bundle and stuffed it under his arm. Blinking at Ron with a disoriented gaze and a stupid grin, he half-walked and half-tripped across the room toward his desk. "Oi," he shouted. "Ickle, tickle, bonny Ronnie!"

Ron looked sternly on his friend. "What," he asked dubiously.

"It _rhymes_," Harry declared proudly as if he'd taken the next step in the evolution of innovation, rivalling the remote control and bags of flavoured crisps. He executed a rather unsteady fool's bow and nearly fell flat on his face.

From Harry's direction, Ron detected typical scent associated with Firewhiskey. "Harry? Are you drunk?" _The great Harry Potter drunk on duty?_

Harry took a few staggering steps forward and leaned closer to Ron, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear, despite the fact that they were alone in an office that wasn't only closed, but also enclosed by walls imbued with silencing charms. "Ronald, I'm very, very, sloshed," he whispered. "But no one saw me coming here. I was inwishable."

"_Invisible_," Ron corrected. "But your breath could set off the fire detecting spells." Harry grinned and breathed in Ron's face. "Really Harry, you'll get me pissed too with that breath. Now, how come you're in this state?"

Harry sat on Ron's desk. "Dung."

Ron realized that Harry had been on his meeting with Dung today, and of course that would have involved a wee bit of drinking. Okay—a lot of drinking. "How much did you have?"

"A bottle," Harry said and Ron shook his head, because it was quite a lot. "Each."

Ron's jaw dropped. "How in Merlin's moleskin lederhosen were you able to drag your besotted arse all the way here after that?"

"Because I," Harry stood up and bowed again, "Am not stupid enough to enter a drinking session with good ol' Fungus Metchler without potions."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "You drank a potion that dampened the effect of alcohol before the meeting," the ginger Auror assumed.

Harry nodded with a mischievous grin. "And I feel the sobering potion starting to kick in. I'll be right as rain before I get home," Harry said. "If I came home in this condition, Ginny would skin me alive and then tell Mum. And you know what would happen then."

Ron winced, knowing exactly what would happen. Charlie's ears rang for more than a week after he came home pissed after his graduation from Hogwarts. "Well, was it worth it," he asked.

"Oh yeah. Dung'll have a whole box of Ogden's, less two bottles, when he wakes up. He told me about the word on the street and other places best left unspecified."

Ron chuckled. "Auror work at its best." he sighed "How will you explain a box of Firewhiskey paid for with Auror funds?"

"Dad'll agree that we can register it as an expense for Auror Operations," Harry said.

Ron considered Harry's ruse and decided that if anyone could bullshit the Ministry, Harry could. "Look, you sit here and I'll get you a cup of coffee. Then we'll need to do something about that breath of yours. Ginny'll banish your silly arse to the sofa if you come to her bed smelling like that."

"Too right," Harry agreed, the sobering potion taking real effect. He watched his partner and best mate jog to the break room just as a headache mildly reminiscent of his scar episodes began to blossom between his eyes.

Ron returned with a cup of very strong coffee and a headache draught nicked from the First Aid Kit. Harry accepted it thankfully and took a few sips of the coffee and then downed the potion. "Thanks, mate. You read my mind."

"No problem. So, was it worth getting pissed," Ron asked.

Harry looked at his friend and nodded, rubbing his forehead. "Dung knows at least something about everything dodgy. Did you know you can place a bet on which Pureblood will die first?"

Ron gave Harry a sceptical glance. "Really? That's barking. People bet on who'll get killed?"

Harry nodded, taking another sip of coffee. "There are odds on several of us Aurors too, since we might snuff it in fight with those terrorists."

"Bloody hell! I don't think I want to know my odds," Ron huffed.

"Don't worry, mate. Dung said no one bets on you or me. Apparently_ it's not a good investment_, as he put it," Harry assured him. "But he thinks there'll be more attacks. The problem is no one seems to know any specifics, so it's hard to tell what's fact—or based in fact—and what's pure speculation."

Ron thought about what Harry told him for a few moments. It was hardly surprising, but it was certainly troubling. "So is there any talk about Gumboil or ELF being involved," Ron asked, now holding the point of a biro over a Muggle notebook. Harry constantly complained about the waste of expensive parchment and ink with all the damnable memos that floated around—most of which contained trivial information that could be posted on a bulletin board rather than sent off by entire flying armadas. For field work, Jayce suggested that DMLE use simple Muggle notebooks and ball-point pens, as they cost far less than parchment, quills, and ink. While they could never use pen and paper for official Ministry documentation, they could be used otherwise. The cases of notebooks and pens would arrive within the week, via Flourish and Blott's, which had connections to a Muggle stationer's run by a Squib-cousin of one of the proprietors.

Hermione had a phenomenal influence on Ron since the war, and even more so since their engagement and marriage. She had always taken copious notes for all their classes at Hogwarts, which had a lot to do with her academic success, and by extension, his and Harry's. She had initially been helping him become accustomed to a ball-point pen and paper just for fun, but as soon as Harry announced the change, Ron really began to take the practise seriously.

At first, he found himself trying to dip the pen into his tea, much to the amusement of his wife, who tried very hard not to laugh at him. Finally, though, he got the hang of the idea and found ball-point pens much easier to work with as they didn't run out of ink after a few words. Needless to say, his father was fascinated and took to practising with them as well. Molly, however dubious about Muggle things, had to admit that the cost of a roll of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink matched the cost of a couple dozen spiral-bound Muggle notebooks and the disposable ball-point pens to go with them.

In addition to the introduction of the pen-and-paper regimen to the Auror Corps, as they now deigned to call themselves, Harry had requisitioned two large framed blackboards on wheels and two equally-large bulletin boards. One of each would grace the break room and the others conference area in Harry's and Ron's shared office, which would arrive around the same time as the notebooks and pens.

Ron had been more than intrigued when Jayce told them how Mundane detectives place certain types of evidence such as photos or newspaper clippings on huge bulletin boards to refer to quickly rather than have to waste time and effort sifting through piles of documents. He explained how they use blackboards to list what they already know or suspect in order to make connections as more information presents itself. All the detectives can peruse the information on the bulletin boards and the blackboards, and they could all add their notes and ideas for everyone to see and work out together.

"Well, ELF-supporters and members seem to be quite vocal in the pubs and on the street, but they don't express any support for violence or these attacks, but they don't appear to disapprove either," Harry told him.

"Damn, I just know Gumboil's involved in this to some extent, but we've got nothing on him," Ron sighed.

"He's an experienced law-enforcement agent, mate. He's chased and taken down dozens of Death Eaters and other vermin for years. He knows all the ins and outs and he's not likely to make mistakes himself," Harry added. "But there was one thing Dung _had_ noticed."

"Something other than the next thing he intends to _borrow_," Ron asked, making quote-fingers—another thing he picked up from Hermione.

Harry chuckled at his friend's good-natured sarcasm. "Something like that," the Head Auror replied. "He's noticed several blokes showing up one time in Knockturn Alley and other dodgy places. He thought it was fishy, so he ducked into the shadows and watched. Sure enough, he picked up a pattern. The bloke shows up, moves around, talks to people, enters shops and after three quarters of an hour, he heads into Muggle London and disappears."

"And this pattern is repeated on several occasions, by people visiting Knockturn Alley only once," Ron asked, scribbling it all down in his spiral-bound notebook.

Harry nodded. "Dung thought it had to be the same person with a different appearance every time."

"Polyjuice potion," Ron concluded. "It has to be, given the timeframe."

Harry summoned some more coffee before he continued. "That was my thought too, so I headed into some of the shops that sell potion ingredients and in one of them, I learned that some Broomslang skin had been stolen, and the Apothecary in Diagon Alley had seen an increase in Knotgrass sales. What puzzles me, though, is why we haven't had a complaint from the shop-owner about the missing Boomslang skin. It's expensive and hard to come by."

"You're right. That is odd. Imperius," Ron suggested.

"Could be. The thief might've imperiused, or confunded, the shop-owner into not reporting the theft outright," Harry suggested. "He only reported it now because I asked questions about Polyjuice potion ingredients."

"Or the effects have since worn off," Ron added. "And since Knotgrass is used in Mead as well as many standard potions, there's no cause for Slug and Jiggers to be suspicious."

Harry and Ron sat in silence for a few minutes thinking about what they'd learned. "So, Gumboil is Polyjuicing into some random Muggle on the street, ducking into Knockturn Alley and the lovely surrounding area…" Harry concluded.

"And he's probably trying to promote his anti-Pureblood ideals," Ron continued. "The ruddy prat has a legal front in ELF and everything illegal he does in secret disguised as any of approximately six million people."

"And we don't have _jack_ to prove any of this," Harry spat. He knew he'd been hanging around Jayce Silvercloud too much. Harry found himself using some American slang on the job, not to mention the little bit he'd learned growing up. Even from his cupboard, he could hear the telly when Uncle Vernon watched the American cop shows he loved so much.

"Damn, this is frustrating," Ron huffed. "But if we're right, we know how Gumboil operates, and 'Mione's got to have an idea how we should use this information."

Harry broke into a howling laughter. "We're running the Auror Office, but any time we're stuck, we depend on Hermione to solve our mysteries!"

"Let's face it, mate: Magical Law Enforcement depends on her exquisite brain," he agreed, not without pride in his voice.

"And on Dung," Harry added.

"Bloody hell, you're right. We owe him one," Ron said.

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Hermione removed her cloak from the rack and bade Selma a good lunch. She had made an appointment with two people she thought she could trust concerning the last ELF meeting and she really needed to know if she was or was not the only one slightly disturbed, if not appalled at the way Alastor Gumboil treated her that night.

"I'm taking an extended lunch, Sel," she said. "Diggory knows."

"So you'll be working late this evening," Selma replied knowingly. Nobody in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures ever got a break that way…including the boss. But then again, all they knew of Amos Diggory these days was that he sat in his shrine of an office, sipping tea all day, poking his head out only long enough to shout at the interns, pick a snit with Hermione, or go to lunch himself.

"Of course. I expect I'll be here past six," the younger witch replied with a sigh. "Ron's on the swing shift tonight, so I won't be sitting here alone , vulnerable." Hermione's eyes sparkled as she giggled at the thought of her rather intimidating husband standing outside the RCMC offices like Sir Lancelot guarding Queen Guinivere's chambers, battle-axe at the ready.

"Oh I've no doubt your young man will be here with you every minute," Selma giggled in return. "And then he'll escort you to the Floo or the Apparition area and watch you leave."

Hermione had no doubt in her mind that her friend was right in her assumption, even though Selma was probably joking. The night of the tent meeting, she related her personal feelings about the way Gumboil had treated her and how she didn't feel as though she could take much more of it.

"_You're done, Hermione," her husband said point-blank. He never used her proper name unless he wanted to assert his adamancy about something related directly to her. "It's getting too dangerous, even with Irish and Dean with you."_

"_But Ron, if I pull out, won't that just play into Gumboil's hands," she argued weakly. She truly hoped her husband would order her out of the organisation._

"_I honestly don't give a damn," Ron growled, pulling her closer to his chest. "For all his blathering about how great you are, the moment you become a member of an Ancient and Noble House, you're fodder for his propaganda machine. You and ELF are finished."_

"_You're worried," she said, biting her lip in that endearing way that melted his heart. "Do you really think I might be in danger?"_

"'_Mione, you've been in danger since this whole thing began," Ron replied, tracing his fingers over her arms, raising goose pimples on her soft skin. "You're in even more danger now that you're a baroness to a Pureblood legacy, and a previously-bigoted and dark one at that. Now, I know Harry's image is doing loads of good to turn that around, but wizards with agendas like Gumboil's conveniently ignore that. Hermione, I heard how he treated you in session and you just told me how he treated you in the meeting. I can't let you continue and I'm more than willing to get Harry to confirm it as your Head of House."_

_Hermione pondered her husband's argument. He was right, she knew, and again, she was hoping he'd feel that way. Gumboil's attitude toward her changed remarkably once she became Harry's Blood-sister and attained that Pureblood title. Add to that the times she'd managed to preempt him with her treatise and then again before the Wizengamot, and now Sigrid Reitter's scathing article questioning Harry's and Kingsley's integrity and that of Ron's family, it only strengthened her resolve to act as her gut instinct compelled her to do._

"_Ron, do you think Harry would back us up in an official capacity as my Head of House," she asked. "I mean I would comply with your directive as my husband anyway, but if Harry were to back us as Lord-Baron Potter-Black, it might deal a blow to Gumboil, personally."_

"_Are you saying we should denounce Gumboil and ELF publicly," Ron asked her for clarification._

"_No, no," she corrected. "Just to give me an out if I need one. Ron, we all know he's behind the attack on Malfoy and a lot of the other disturbances lately. It's only a matter of time before…before…" A tear began to trickle down her face as she bit back a sob._

"_Before what, Love," Ron asked with alarm. "Do…do you know something?"_

"_I don't know anything exactly, but…but based on his track record and the way he's been treating me in front of his cronies, I'm afraid he's going to come after…after you and the rest of our family," she told him shakily, her bottom lip trembling._

_There it was—the trembling lip. Gumboil caused that and he would pay for it. Once again, Ron swore to himself that anyone who did anything to make that lip tremble like that would regret it, up to and including their family. "So how do you want to do this, then?"_

"_Well, I have a suspicion that at least two of the ELF board—and possibly a third—are having their own doubts and misgivings about the way the organisation's moving," she said, wiping her tears away. "The two I'm sure of appeared as surprised and sickened by Gumboil's showing the other night at the tent meeting, but the third appeared more uncomfortable than anything else."_

"_I think I might know who you're talking about," Ron said. Hermione went to protest, but he held his hand up. "No, 'Mione. I don't want to know for sure—at least not yet. I take it you want to meet with the first two?"_

"_Yes."_

"Have a good lunch, dear," Selma said as Hermione stepped through the door into the corridor of Level Four.

She made sure her husband and brother knew what she was about this noon and where she would be meeting the two ELF board members she thought she could trust. Just in case of trouble, Harry had pressed a marble into her hand that morning.

"It's a Portkey," Harry had told her. "If there's trouble, activate it and get out of there. It should bring you right to DMLE, understand?"

"But how…"

"Trade secret, sister-mine," Harry grinned, curling her finger over the agate sphere. "Head Aurorship has its perks."

"But what about the Muggles," she reminded him.

"Don't worry about that," Harry had assured her. "Your safety is more important. We can send an obliviation team if we have to."

Hermione stepped onto the lift and pressed the button for the Atrium. She didn't feel particularly afraid, but she did have a case of the nerves. As she had told her husband, she was sure she could trust her lunch companions for the day, but she was more concerned about their potential reaction to her concerns.

With so much on her mind, she barely registered the lift's saccharin-sweet announcement of her floor. So pre-occupied was she that before she realised it, she had arrived at a small diner not far from the Ministry building where she'd arranged her lunch meeting.

"Mrs Weasley," a kindly voice greeted her. "How are you today?" He extended his hand and she took it.

"I'm quite well," she smiled wanly. "And yourself, Mr Peasegood?"

"I can't complain," he smiled warmly, leading her to her chair, which his companion held out for her.

"Thank you, Mr Waldheimer," she said, hitching in her skirts as she sat.

The three looked over the menu to make their lunch selections. A waitress appeared at their table with an informal tea-service and a notepad to take their orders.

"I'll have the chef's salad, please," Hermione said. "And with red French dressing on the side?"

"Right. On the side," the waitress repeated, writing it all down. "And for you gentlemen?"

"I believe I'll have the same, but with Roquefort, also on the side," Peasegood replied.

"I'd like ze cold salmon plate," Waldheimer said. "Mit beer."

"Very well, then," she chirped and swished away to place their orders.

Peasegood took a sip of his tea and set the cup down in its saucer. "Mrs Weasley, I can assure you we appreciate the gesture, but just what is it we can do for you today?"

Hermione took a lingering sip of her tea, pausing for a moment to collect her thoughts. "Please, call me Hermione," she began. "I invited you here because I have some concerns I thought you might be able to help me with."

"Go on," Peasegood replied, his brow beginning to knit. He had a feeling he knew what this engaging young woman had on her mind, but he wanted to hear it from her. "And call me Arnie. Everyone else does." His eyes twinkled gaily, reminded her of another kindly old gentleman, one she missed almost as much as Harry did.

"Well," she began haltingly. "I…um…I've had some rather mixed feelings after the meeting the other night, and well…I wanted to find out if it's just me or…"

"Indeed," Arnie said, taking another sip of his tea. "How so, my dear?"

Hermione took a deep breath and began. "I can't be sure, maybe Mr Gumboil might have been over-energetic, but he seemed almost fanatical. I felt rather uneasy about that and I still do."

"_Ja_,_ ja_," Waldheimer agreed. "It reminded me of somesing—somesing I'd hoped I could forget."

Arnie turned his gaze at his friend, not quite understanding what he meant, but Hermione understood. Magnus Waldheimer didn't look old enough to have been little more than a child back then, but certainly a child old enough to remember.

The waitress returned with their lunch and placed the food on the table. "Just let me know if you need anything else. Enjoy!"

"Thank you," said Peasegood. The three watched as she walked away to tend to her other tables. As soon as she was safely out of earshot, Hermione continued their discussion.

"Then you noticed, too," she said. Both wizards nodded. "Tell me, honestly—do you think we need to be worried? I mean, with the attacks and all…"

Magnus chewed his bite of salmon and washed it down with a drink of beer. "If dis goes vere I fear it vill, ve need to be vorried. I vas just a child, you onderstand, but dere were ozzers in our town—_jungen_. Zey—"

"But how can this happen, Magnus? Alastor's a veteran Hit Wizard. _He_ can't be behind this...can he?" Hermione knew he was, but she wanted to find out what these two men thought without outing her own suspicions. Peasegood just gave a clue as to what he might be thinking as well.

"How many Aurors were in _his_ camp, Ahnie," Magnus reminded his friend. "Trust me, Mrs Veasley—ausority is not alvays firtue. Sink of ze days ven I vas a child. Good people vere taken in and many children vere corrupted mit slogans of justice und peace."

"So are we suggesting that _he_ is either aware of who's behind these attacks or that he is, in fact, the one behind them," Hermione asked rhetorically.

"Hermione, I've known Alastor Gumboil for over thirty years and in all that time, I've never known him to tell so much as a fish-story," Arnie told her. "But this last war did something to him. He barely escaped Dolores' inquisition because their little Death Eater Gestapo hadn't gotten to DMLE yet. He wasn't treated well, just the same, and he won't talk about it, but I believe something nasty may have happened to him before he fled."

"I packed up my family and ve returned to Germany for ze duration," Magnus said regretfully. "It vas just a matter off time before zey would come for us."

"Whatever happened to him must have been awful," Hermione said, cutting up a large bit of lettuce. "But what important is that we put a stop to the violence because innocent people are getting hurt."

"I agree, but just how can we do that," Arnie asked, pouring a bit of Roquefort over his salad. "If Alastor _is_ involved, how can we prove it? He knows the law and how to circumvent it when it serves his purpose."

"_Ja_, and his position vissin ze Ministry all but exempts him from ze usual channels...not to mention his seat on the Wizengamot," Magnus added.

"If he's using the law to cover up his crimes, the law is preventing us from upholding it," Hermione surmised. "The logical—yet immoral—thing to do would be to _break_ the law in order to provide the proof necessary to _uphold_ the law. But are we any better than the Death Eaters if we do that? And would such proof be taken seriously?

Arnold Peasegood considered his answer to Hermione's dilemma. "I'm afraid that's something you'd have to take up with your brother, husband or father-in-law. I'm just an old Obliviator; I haven't the slightest clue if what you've proposed is even a viable option. All I know for certain is that Frank Stiles and Gerry Stormer are close to Alastor and they're friends with Ernie Dearborn. If there's anything more to it than that, I've not been privy to it."

"_Ja_, but ever since dat mess in Antrim, Ernie's not been quite zo passionate. I haff no doubts dat Alastor has noticed dis," Magnus added. "Ernie took his bruzzer's dess fery hard."

Hermione decided that too much had been said to just parrot it back to Harry, Ron, and Arthur, so she would make a stop at an apothecary to procure a couple of glass phials on the way back to work. She would show the memory to them in one of the DMLE Pensieves used for interrogations and for trials before the Wizengamot.

The three finished their lunch and talked about the meeting itself over biscuits and tea before it was time to leave. "Thank you so much for your help, gentlemen. I was so afraid I might be going off my nut."

"I assure you, my dear, that you are quite sane," Arnie said with a chuckle. "All I ask is that you proceed with caution. If what we suspect is true, Merlin knows what might happen if our discussion were to get back to Alastor."

"Be careful, Hermione," Magnus said, taking her hand. "Ve vill help in any vay ve can. Zis fiolence must stop."

"Thank you, Magnus," she replied. "Perhaps you should leave first since you arrived here before I did. I'll duck into the Ladies' and leave a few minutes after."

"Good idea," Arnie said. "Good bye."

"Good bye," she said. She watched them leave the diner, paid the check, and then slipped into the loo.

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Hermione appeared in Arthur Weasley's office out of thin air. Three wands slipped from holsters and aimed directly at her before any of them realised who it was.

"Hermione," Harry barked. "Are you all right? Was there trouble?"

"I-I'm fine, Harry," she giggled nervously, removing her cloak. "The lunch meeting was amicable and a bit enlightening, although not terribly." She pulled a plastic bag containing the two phials from her pocket. "I just couldn't see wasting a good Portkey!"

"Smart arse," Harry grumbled.

"What are those for," Ron asked suspiciously.

"Memories," Hermione replied. "I thought it might be best if the three of you were able to view the entire lunch meeting as it happened, rather than I sit here and try to tell it all to you. Arthur, may we use one of the Pensieves?"

"Of course," her father-in-law replied. He reached into his desk for a set of keys and walked over to a locked door. "We keep them in here. I won't be a moment."

Meanwhile, Harry helped Hermione collect the memory in the phials in two parts. They had just finished extracting the second half of the discussion when Arthur returned with the Pensieve. It was large and heavy, but not nearly as ornate as the one at Hogwarts that had belonged to Dumbledore. This one was strictly utilitarian.

"Right, then," Hermione said. "Enjoy the show. I need to get back to RCMC before Amos has a load of Kneazle kittens. Ron, I'll have to stay late," she said to her husband, checking her watch. "Cricket! I'm going to be here until at least seven!"

"I'll be down a little after five, Love," Ron said, bending down to give her a kiss. "I don't want you there by yourself."

Can I call it or what? "Okay," she smirked. "See you then. Please let Molly know I'll be late, but don't wait supper. I'll eat with Ron before I Floo home."

"Of course, dear," Arthur said, kissing the top of her head. Harry followed in kind and she left them with a stone bowl and her memories.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Arthur cast a sealing charm and notified his secretary that he would be in a meeting and should not be disturbed for anything short of a fire. "Well, boys—shall we?"

Harry handed Ron the first phial to release into the Pensieve. He felt that was only right, since Hermione was the ginger-haired Auror's wife. It seemed like the ultimate permission should be granted before they all dove in.

Leaning over the vessel, three noses touched the swirling silvery liquid. Suddenly, they felt as though they were falling through nothing, only to land on their feet in what Arthur recognised as a Muggle diner not far from the Ministry building. They watched as Hermione entered from the street, met immediately by Arnold Peasegood and seated by Magnus Waldheimer.

"Well, this looks harmless enough," Arthur observed. "Arnie's a good fellow."

"Do you know anything about Waldheimer," Ron asked, still watching closely for body language or any furtive glances between the two older wizards.

"Magnus? A bit. He's all right, I suppose," his father replied. "I don't know many of the IMC lot since Barty died, and then I didn't know him that well, either. A bit too upper-crust for me, I'm afraid. I do know that he took his family and left England during the war, but that's about all."

"I think we need to move a little closer," Harry suggested. "I can barely hear what they're saying."

With that, Arthur, Ron, and Harry sidled right up to the table and stood behind the shadow of Hermione. They had to remind themselves that they could neither be seen nor heard, so they could comment to one another as the memory progressed. The waitress had just served their lunch when they found themselves hurled back through the ether into Arthur's office.

"Any ideas so far," Arthur asked, his gaze fixed on his son. Ron's tactical prowess from chess had been honed to razor sharpness, with a degree of intuitiveness picked up in just over a year in the Auror Corps.

"Well, Dad, I'd say that Peasegood and Waldheimer are concerned about Gumboil's behaviour, but I haven't seen anything yet to indicate that they think he's involved in the attacks," Ron said. "I think I'll reserve any judgement until we've seen the rest."

Harry stared at his best mate in mild shock. Ron was a damned good Auror and a fine leader, but it still fascinated Harry how insightful his previously-clueless friend had become. _Hermione's had a more dramatic influence on him than I first thought._ "Then let's get on with it, yeah?"

Ron extracted the first memory from the Pensieve with his wand and carefully returned it to its phial. He then uncorked the second on and poured it into it. "Ready?" With nods, the three of them once again touched their noses to the swirling liquid and allowed themselves to be dropped back into the diner scene.

"Looks like Hermione's got them convinced that Gumboil could be our man," Harry said. "Not that we didn't doubt it, but…"

"Yeah, but I think Waldheimer's more convinced than Peasegood," Ron said. "It's like he doesn't want to believe a man he's known for this long could be capable of conspiracy to commit murder."

"It's hard thing for a man to take in, boys," Arthur said. "Mother and I never thought any of our sons could abandon us or the family—"

"We know, Dad," Ron said, knowing his father referred to Percy's two-year estrangement from the family. "But Percy came round in the end; Gumboil—it's just different."

They watched as the discussion turned to the closing remarks. Moments later, the three men found themselves once again in Arthur's office looking down at the swirls in the stone bowl. "Ernie Dearborn," Harry said. "His brother was killed at Antrim."

"Yeah," Ron replied. "So?"

"It sounds like he's still in the inner circle," Harry reasoned. "From what these two have told Hermione, they're really not. I think we should put a tail on him and see where he does and what he does."

"Dung," Arthur asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "But…Dad, do you think Percy might be up to a little snooping? He's in the right position to visit Games and Sports here and there and seems to know what's going on in just about every department in the Ministry, frightening as that is." He shuddered exaggeratedly.

"What about Stiles and Stormer," Ron asked. "Their boys were involved in the assault on the Spinnet girl last Halloween, you know."

_Damn, I wish Tonks was here_. "We need more eyes at Hogwarts."

"I'm sure Fiona would keep her eyes open for you," Arthur said. "And Irish is there practically every night."

"Yeah, but Poppy and Onie have their hands full with the students," Ron added. "What we need is—" Ron began to grin in a rather sinister way. "What we need is _The Spawn_."

"The Spawn," Harry repeated. "What spawn? What are you on about?"

"The Munchkins, mate," Ron chuckled. "Ever since that Ape-arition Bomb thing, Filch has taken to calling our favourite second-years _The Spawn from Hell_. Patricia told Hermione all about it in a letter."

"Oh yeah," Harry laughed out loud. "Fiona said the Gryff Quidditch team had been in on that!"

Arthur snickered. "I thought I was going to soil myself when your mother read Onie's letter. She wanted to throttle George!"

"Onie or Mum," Ron asked with a snort.

"Yes," Arthur replied, breaking into laughter.

"Anyway," Harry said, bringing the conversation back to the issue at hand. "Ron, you and I need to find Dung and put him to work. Dad, could you get with Percy?"

"Consider it done, son" Arthur said. "Do you want Kingsley involved?"

"Not yet," Harry replied.

"We'll also need a Ministry photo of our Mr Dearborn so Dung follows the right bloke," Ron added. We'll also need to slip the old fraud a few Galleons to keep him honest."

"I'll see to that, Ronnie," Arthur said. "DMLE has a tidy little fund for incidental expenses. We can call it _surveillance_."

"Dad, don't do that," Harry said. "I'll pay Dung out of my own pocket—no, hear me out. If we pay him from the DMLE expense fund, we'll have to document it for audit. It's better if I just pay him. Merlin knows Gin and I can more than afford it and we won't have to worry about security."

"Harry, Fletcher's going to be doing Ministry work—"

"Dad, this entire investigation is as unconventional as they come. We can't chance a tip-off if we're going to catch Gumboil in the act," Ron insisted. "We can't even keep Kingsley in the know at this point. Gumboil's too close to him here."

Arthur eyed his two sons and internally debated with himself. Although he rarely agreed with the conventions of the Ministry and had even taken part in a bit of skullduggery with the acquisition of Ron's motorcycle, but this sort of thing pushed the envelope. "All right, boys. If you insist it needs to be done this way—"

"It does, Dad," Harry said. "We wouldn't do this if we didn't believe it's the only way—at least for now."

A few minutes later, Harry and Ron returned to the Auror offices. Harry had a couple of hours left on his shift, so he invited his partner into the training facility for a workout on the machines. "I'm going soft," Harry said as he poked his abs.

"You're not soft, mate," Ron said, changing into his workout gear. "You're well-fed."

"That's the problem," Harry snorted. "Mum taught Ginny too well. I've really slacked off."

"Then get your arse moving, Auror," Ron barked. "Move it, move it, move it!" Grabbing Harry's shirt at the shoulder, Ron shoved him toward the gym. "Drop and give me twenty!"

"Merlin's crusty sweat socks, Weasley," Harry laughed. "You've been hanging around the Yank too much!" They warmed up with a few stretches before they dared launch into the vigorous workout they'd designed for the Auror Corps. They simply couldn't afford pulled muscles on the job.

"You forget, my friend, that the Yank's taking you, me, Finnegan, Bill, and Charlie camping next week and I don't think it's for a fishing trip," Ron reminded Harry.

"Bloody hell," Harry breathed, completing the last of his warm-up exercises. "We're going to die…"

"Suck it up, ponce," Ron snorted, jumping to catch the chin-bar with freckled hands. "We're going to have to be in top form if we're going to put Bill and Charlie to shame. I heard Jayce say something about field-packs."

"Welcome to Her Majesty's Special Forces," Harry grumbled, rolling over to assume the position for push-ups.

"Or the United States Army Rangers," Ron snorted. "You ready to get squared-away, soldier?"

Harry rolled his eyes, wondering if their cousin's boyfriend had any idea he had created a monster in Ron. "Twenty, you said? I'll give you fifty, you smarmy git!"

"You're on—fifty for fifty," Ron growled. "GO!" The two Aurors grunted and huffed as each raced to complete their fifty repetitions before the other. Harry, being the smaller of the two, finished first with Ron only a few reps behind. Following that, they moved to the weight machine and the treadmill.

Ron sat down on the padded bench and set his arms to work his pecs. "One hundred fourteen kilos, mate." Harry piled fifty-seven kilos on each arm and then stepped onto the treadmill, starting at a brisk walk, working to a jog, and then a full-out run. Weighing in at approximately eighty kilos, his wiry build afforded him the agility and speed characteristic of a sprinter, but Harry really wanted to improve his overall endurance.

Ron had dedicated himself to keeping in shape ever since he and Harry had revamped the training regimen. If they were going to require the rest of the force to keep fit, he would do all he could to present a good example to the others. He switched the machine to work his legs and piled ninety kilos on each one. He was quite capable of much more, but he wasn't looking to bulk up; he really just wanted to maintain a healthy body. In all honesty, he thought those strutting, oil-slicked ponces in Speedos did more harm than good to themselves and Harry heartily agreed. Besides, he didn't want to become so massive that he'd run the risk of inadvertently hurting Hermione with a simple embrace.

After having run about fifteen miles, Harry slowed the treadmill to cool down. It was time for him to shower and go home for the evening; Ron would be on shift until midnight with his team. They would be relieved by Cho's team while Seamus' lot patrolled Hogwarts. As Head Auror, he would be on call should anything drastic happen.

"So you're in for a quiet night, hey, mate," Ron asked from an adjacent shower stall.

"Yeah. Gin's Flooing in from Holyhead tonight, so I'm going to fix her a nice dinner, candlelight, the works," Harry said, a smirk playing across his lips. His plans for dessert involved chocolate, strawberries, port wine and a very furry rug in front of the fire.

"What's on the menu, chef," Ron asked, knowing of Harry prowess in the kitchen. Harry's forte was breakfast, but the man could still hold his own in front of a cooker.

"Filets wrapped in bacon, herbed new potatoes, asparagus—you know, nothing posh," Harry replied, rinsing the rich lather from his body.

"Nothing posh, he says," Ron grumbled. "Filet as in mignon?"

"Yeah. Why," Harry queried, knowing Ron's mouth was watering heavily. If there was anything the youngest Weasley brother loved it was red meat in copious amounts, especially any cut of steak. "Ron, you could always order take-away from Sam. His Szechuan steak is excellent and I'm sure Hermione would love to have supper with you since she's working late."

"Shit," Ron cried. "I've got to go! I need to be down there with her so she's not alone."

"Ron, she's a big girl and a scary-arse dueller. If something or someone tries to attack, she'll have it or him/her down in a heartbeat," Harry chided him.

"Yeah, I know, but I just—well, you know," Ron said, turning off the water. "I just feel like I need to be there…just in case."

"Then order a nice dinner from the Dragon and share it with her," Harry said. "Meanwhile, I need to get home and start my own."

"Harry, you really need to learn to cook with magic," Ron chuckled. "You make so much extra work for yourself."

"I can cook with magic, Ron, but it just means more to Ginny when I do it the Muggle way," Harry replied. "She thinks it's sexy or something. You might give it a shot, mate. Hermione'd love it."

"Maybe," Ron said absently. He was too focused on dressing so he could rush to RCMC to keep watch over his wife.

Ron and Harry left the office and made their way to the stairwell. Harry would descend to the Atrium while Ron would go as far as the fourth level. They called good nights to one another and went their separate ways.

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In the master bedroom at Ionúin Bhaille, Harry and Ginny were slept comfortably in a tight embrace when a swan Patronus appeared at the foot of their bed. "Harry, I'm sorry to disturb you, but we have an emergency. Mr Parkinson Flooed us. Their wards have been penetrated and they're under attack."

Harry stirred in his sleep while Ginny only grunted and snuggled deeper into his embrace. "Cho," Harry mumbled "I have to... order brooms." In the next moment, Harry's eyes shot open wide. "Bloody hell! Parkinson!" Harry looked longingly at Ginny, kissed her on her forehead and all but leapt out of bed. He sent Prongs with a message telling his Aurors he was on his way. Not five minutes later, Harry Apparated outside the gates of the Parkinson home. Cho was already there heading up the initial investigation, along with Jock and Terry, who had taken the rest of the team to secure the property. Harry approached them while Cho busied herself with Pansy's father.

"Chief, good thing you're here. Ron's on his way," Terry told him. "I thought you'd want him here too."

"That's fine, Limey," Harry replied. "So what's the situation?" Boot was about to answer when Cho stepped up, signalling him to continue securing the perimeter with Jock. A great improvement on Auror procedure included the competent securing of a crime-scene.

"It was a hit and run attack," Cho said. "The house sustained some fire-damage, but no one was injured. The attackers escaped before we arrived."

_Damn._ Harry noticed Pansy and her parents standing together looking forlornly at their home. The fire hadn't devastated the house, but it would require extensive repairs before they could live in it again. He was about to approach the family when Ron arrived.

"Ron, good thing you're here," Harry greeted him. "We've had another attack. I was just about to talk with the Parkinsons."

Ron shook his head in disbelief. "It's our ruddy duty to help the bastards," Ron said, primarily thinking about Pansy's part in the Inquisitorial Squad, her bullying attitude and general sympathy with Pureblood ideals.

"I don't know how deeply involved with the Death Eaters the Parkinsons were, but there were never brought up on any charges," Harry said. "Let's act like professionals and do our job."

They took a deep breath and approached the family. Pansy looked murderous. "I thought the war was over, Potter," Pansy yelled. "Don't you and your Aurors exist to prevent this sort of thing?"

"We can't be everywhere," Harry said calmly. "And I don't think anyone want us to put detection spells all over the country keeping track of everyone and everything. At least our people got here fast enough to prevent anyone from getting hurt." Pansy breathed loudly, still very upset, but at least stopped her mad ranting.

"Now, can you tell us what happened," Ron asked.

"A group of cloaked people breached our wards, which gave us time to alert the Ministry and get out of the house. They set the house on fire and left," Pansy told them. "It was like they knew you were on your way and how long they had before they had to leave."

Harry nodded and looked at Ron. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking," Harry asked.

"That there has to be someone among the attackers who's working for or once worked for DMLE, yeah," Ron concluded. _Or in plain English, Gumboil is most likely behind it, but we have no proof._

Harry and Ron exchanged one glance that made it clear they both had the same idea. "Does your family need anything? Medical care? Somewhere to live until your house is repaired? Assistance with new wards," Harry asked with real concern. There had never been any love lost between him and Pansy—or between him and any of the Slytherins, really—but now was not the time to allow himself to be influenced by schoolyard tiffs.

"My mother's a good friend to Narcissa Malfoy. I'm sure we'll be able to stay at Malfoy Manor, and since no one's injured, there's no need for Healers."

Mr and Mrs Parkinson had been content to allow Pansy to speak until now. "Mr Potter, we wish to thank you for such a quick response," Mr Parkinson said. "Quite refreshing, really. It contributed greatly to the relative preservation of our home and well-being. I don't think there will be another attack, but until the wards are up we'd appreciate it if you could post a guard. Gringotts are sending someone first thing in the morning to see to the wards."

"Of course, Mr Parkinson. We'll send in a team of Hit-wizards to keep the area secure," Harry said and turned to his fellow Aurors. "Ross! Thompson! You're on guard duty with a team of Hit-wizards until Gringotts have reset the wards."

Harry deliberately chose two of the Senior Aurors rather than DA Aurors, because none of them liked Pansy very much, but more importantly, this was a job for security police rather than paramilitary forces. Otherwise, there wasn't much else for the Aurors to do. They examined the area where the attackers had come from in search of any clues but they found nothing conclusive.

At Ionúin Bhaille, Hermione and Ginny worked together on a hearty breakfast. Harry and Ron were still away and Hermione had joined Ginny to keep her company. They weren't worried for their husbands, since Ginny knew they weren't in any danger. All she felt from Harry was a couple of surges of frustration. She'd sent him her love and told him that she and Hermione prepared a breakfast for them at home.

At eight o'clock, two worn-out Aurors stepped out of the Floo, with Harry having stumbled only a little. Floo travel wasn't his favourite, but over the years, he'd managed to get a handle on it. At least he didn't fall flat on his face anymore. "The wondrous smell of breakfast and two beautiful witches to share it with," Harry grinned.

"Good morning, Love," Ginny purred, welcoming him with a lingering kiss.

"Ron, do you want food or your wife first," Hermione asked in mock annoyance.

"Blimey woman, do I have to choose," Ron grinned before he kissed her deeply. "Mmm…tasty appetizer, my beauty."

The four of them sat down at the table and began to serve themselves from a massive bowl of fry-up and all the traditional English breakfast fare. "So, are you going to tell us what kept you away all night," Ginny asked, taking a bite of sausage.

Harry was digging into his first serving of fry-up, his fork halting only a couple of centimetres from his mouth. "It started out with a hit-and-run attack on the Parkinsons—just minor structural damage."

"They didn't even give Pansy a black eye," Ginny asked with a half-grin.

"Sadly, no." Ron replied. "Well, they were a bit shaken up, but there wasn't much for us to do really."

"And when we were about to leave we had a new alert from the Goyles," Harry added, taking a sip of milk. "Merlin, I love milk."

Hermione huffed loudly. "Have you been visiting all of the most-charming people in Wizarding Britain," she asked snarkily.

"Aw, there's still Umbridge, Gumboil, Aunt Muriel and a couple of other nice people left on that list," Ron claimed, while he spread a thick layer of marmalade over his toast.

Harry had finished his fry-up and had begun stuffing himself with bacon, eggs and beans. He passed on the tinned tomatoes, as he didn't have fond memories of those…or mushrooms. It was understood that mushrooms had no place in any meal that would be consumed by Harry, Ron, or Hermione.

"Anyway, it was the same story at the Goyles. Hit-and-run. We've alerted all the traditional Slytherin families in case our perpetrators might try another attack."

Ron looked stunned and the others looked at him curiously. "This looks like mum's marmalade but it tastes different," he said, examining the light-orange substance.

"It's because it's _Ginny's_ marmalade," Ginny enlightened him. "It's based on mum's recipe."

Ron gaped at his sister in awe. "Bloody hell, I didn't know you were such a house witch. I thought Harry was the one of you two who's handy in the kitchen."

Ginny sighed. "I'm not as interested in housekeeping as Mum, but she ruddy-well taught me how to find my way around a kitchen. And I like marmalade, so I decided to try my hand at making some."

Ron took another bite of his toast. "There's something..." he looked like he was deep in thought. "Gin... You added Firewhiskey!"

"Hell yes, I did," Ginny confirmed. "A lot of marmalades have whiskey in them. It's just Mum's general dislike of it that keeps it out of her recipe."

"All right. Ron's sense of taste is amazing, but what happened after you'd been to the Goyles," Hermione urged.

Ron looked proudly at her and grinned. He had actually compared his memory of his mum's marmalade with Ginny's and concluded what the difference was. But Hermione was, as always, right. They had been talking about the night's events, not marmalade.

"When we were about to leave the Goyles, we had a Floo call from Mrs Crabbe, who had been attacked as well. She'd sent out all her House-elves on the grounds after our warning and they knocked out one attacker, but the rest of them fled."

Hermione smiled. "You have to put that House-elf's name in your report," she demanded.

"We interviewed him," Harry said and got a nostalgic look in his eyes. "He was a bit like Dobby, actually. His name and his heroism will appear in the official Auror report. It was good thinking on Mrs Crabbe's part, as she's living in that rambling old house all alone."

"So you got one of the attackers," Ginny asked.

"Yes, but the House-elf knocked him out cold. He's in the Spell Damage ward under Auror guard as we speak," Ron told them. "We can only hope he knows something useful. Names, locations or anything that will provide us with proof to..."

"... to arrest Alastor Gumboil," Ginny finished for her brother.

"I never said that," Ron told snapped.

"But you were thinking it."

"I thought you were only in Harry's mind," Ron grinned, serving himself another round of fry-up.

After breakfast, Ron and Hermione left Ionúin Bhaille for the Burrow. Harry and Ron would try to get a few hours' sleep before they had to report for duty once again. They had asked to be alerted the moment the attacker at St Mungo's woke up.

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Over lunch in Arthur's office, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Arthur discussed what they had learned from Arnie Peasegood and Magnus Waldheimer. It only strengthened Ron's—and now Harry's—resolve that she should quit ELF for good and all. They would send word to Seamus and Dean, explaining the situation and what they should do to keep up appearances after Hermione's official departure.

"I could stop by Dean's studio after work," Hermione suggested. "I'll explain that I'm going to leave ELF and why."

"Great. You can also tell him we want to meet with him at Irish's quarters in Hogsmeade tonight around half-ten," Harry said. "We'll explain the details then."

"Tonight at Seamus'," Hermione repeated. "Right."

That evening, Hermione stopped by the Auror Office to let her husband and brother know she was leaving for the day. Arthur was already there waiting for her at Ron's insistence. Over his arm, lay Harry's Invisibility Cloak. "'Mione, Dad's going to escort you under the cloak," Ron explained. "Just in case."

Hermione sighed deeply. All this over-protectiveness on Ron's part had begun to grate on her nerves. She appreciated his dedication to her and all, but she was a grown and very capable witch who didn't need a babysitter. "Ron—this is ridiculous!"

"Not ridiculous, Hermione," Arthur protested. "The events of the other night have got to be the work of ELF and since you're leaving it, you could become a target."

"But I'll be with Dean," Hermione argued.

"Yes, but not the whole time," Harry said gently. "You have to get there and then you have to get home."

"Harry, darling brother, have you heard of a little trick called APPARITION," she snarled.

"It can be tracked, Hermione," Harry countered. "Or someone could latch onto you like Yaxley did the day we infiltrated the Ministry. Remember that?"

"You had to remind me, didn't you," Hermione sighed again. "Fine, but we will discuss this at length very soon."

"And you'll be sure to be there," Ron said unequivocally stating that the argument was over. "Don't worry, Love. Dad'll be outside."

"It's settled then," Arthur said, donning the cloak. All but his head disappeared and he stepped to the door.

"Dad, you might want to raise the hood," Harry chuckled. "A disembodied head floating through the corridors might attract a bit of attention."

"Yes, yes. Quite right," Arthur said, his face turning scarlet with embarrassment. He raised the hood and followed Hermione out of the office, into the lift, and to the Apparition point. She reached back slightly, allowing him to take hold of her hand. They spun down and Disapparated with a soft _pop!_

Hermione stepped into Dean's studio located on a short side-street off Diagon Alley. It had once been a sort of resale shop that dealt mostly in consignment merchandise. She'd never been there before, or in any magical artist's studio for that matter. Apart from the same artistic talent a Muggle artist needed, Dean also used various charms and enchantments to make his art move and other interesting things.

"Hermione, welcome to my humble digs," Dean greeted her.

Hermione looked in awe around his studio. It was very neat and despite various piles of parchment and paper, books, brushes, pencils and tubes of colour and jars with potion ingredients, it was well-organized, but still slightly chaotic, a characteristic of most artists' studios.

"This is a lovely place you have here, Dean," Hermione said spontaneously, taking his hand as if to shake it. When she pulled her hand away, he discovered she had left a slip of parchment in his.

"Thank you. I've been struggling to get it up and running, but I've managed to land a few contracts with several businesses in Diagon Alley to produce advertisements for them for the _Prophet_ and posters for their shops," Dean declared proudly. "Your brother-in-law is one of them, by the way."

"I have four of those and two work in Diagon Alley, but only one has a business, so it must be George."

"Right in one. He's up to something quite amazing—a whole new range of products, but that's his story to tell," Dean replied with a toothy grin.

"He hasn't said anything to the family," Hermione said. "But I'm really glad to hear you're doing well. You know, your banners for the Gryffindor Quidditch team are still in use."

"I learned about that some time ago," Dean grinned, but beaming with pride at the same time. "Not my best work, but…well, you know."

Hermione chose not to comment as she scanned a few of the titles of the books in the studio and was amazed by the level of magic Dean appeared to be using. "Those books are pretty advanced. I didn't realize it was so complex to create a magical poster," Hermione said, always eager to learn about new things.

Dean looked at the books Hermione referred to. "Merlin's paintball gun, no. Those books are for my studies," Dean told her. "You see, my dream is to learn how to produce magical portraits, but it involves a lot of advanced magic. The canvas and the paint need to be prepared with special potions and the person who will appear in the portrait must be subjected to some pretty delicate magic related to memory charms. To mess that up would be disastrous."

"Of course, in order to leave an imprint of the person in the portrait, right," Hermione assumed.

"Right." Dean confirmed. "The Headmasters of Hogwarts have their portraits prepared soon after they assume the position. Once a headmaster or mistress leaves Hogwarts, the magic activates, the imprint is transferred and the portrait appears in the frame. But it doesn't _come to life_, if that's what you'd call it, until that person passes on."

Hermione listened to Dean with great fascination. She realised she'd never paid any attention to the creation of portraits, despite the fact that she'd been surrounded by them at Hogwarts. It almost annoyed her that she hadn't thought about this before now.

"Is there some kind of exam you have to sit before you're allowed to create portraits," Hermione asked.

"There's no formal exam or anything, but I must learn enough to earn an apprenticeship with an established artist. Once he or she declares I'm qualified, I will hopefully get commissions, and the better the artist I apprentice with, the better commissions I could get," Dean explained. "But until that day, I design advertisements for _The Daily Prophet_, various posters and some freelancing like my gem so far: the broomborne badge, not to mention the stuff I've done for ELF."

Hermione attention snapped back to the task at hand. Gumboil, Dearborn and Stormer would arrive in a few minutes to discuss a pamphlet including some of Hermione's research illustrated by Dean. The studio was a part of Dean's flat and Seamus was there as a precaution, unbeknownst to Hermione, but kept out of sight. Dean explained more about magical art until the ELF trio arrived.

Alastor Gumboil stepped inside the studio with Dearborn and Stormer right behind him. He looked around until his eyes fell on the witch and wizard waiting for him. He approached them with a pasted-on smile. "Good evening, Mr Thomas." Gumboil greeted the artist with a handshake before turning to Hermione, clasping her hand in his. "It's always a pleasure to meet the brightest witch in Britain, if not the entire world."

Hermione tried to remain unaffected by his flattery, but a slight blush coloured her cheeks. Having her wits praised always made her feel a strange mix of pride and discomfort.

"Good evening Mr Gumboil," she replied quickly and retracted her hand, noticing that Gumboil had called her neither _Hermione_ nor _Mrs Weasley_. Hermione and Dean greeted Stormer and Dearborn too.

"Today's business, then," Gumboil suggested, clapping his hands together. "What is it…Mrs Weasley has come up with this time?"

Hermione noticed the slight hesitation in Gumboil's voice before he said her name. She decided to act upon it. "I'm not baroness Black today, Mr Gumboil," she asked with a rather cold voice.

Dearborn, Stormer and Dean looked up sharply from an illustration Dean was showing. After Gumboil's attack on Hermione in the Wizengamot, it was obvious there had to be a confrontation.

"That is the position you have in the Wizengamot," Gumboil said smoothly.

"You could also say that Harry adopted me into his family out of necessity in order to put the first Muggleborn on an inherited seat in the Wizengamot," Hermione argued. "As such, I sat in the Wizengamot as Miss Granger, and after my marriage as Mrs Weasley, even though formality requires the use of my Pureblood title in ceremonies like the opening of the Wizengamot. When in session, you may call me Mrs Weasley, and you don't have to address Harry, Mr Greengrass, Madam Bones, Draco Malfoy or any of the other representatives from Pureblood families with their formal titles."

Gumboil looked sheepishly at her. He admired her volley of arguments, and every single word was completely true. He had used her titles, although he didn't have to. He had used them rhetorically in an attempt to gain more support for his ideals. Now he had to face the consequences. Before he had time to reply, Hermione continued. She hadn't planned this, but since the opportunity presented itself, she wanted answers about Gumboil's various ways of addressing her.

"And even if the use of my title isn't mandatory in the Wizengamot, it is still in essence correct. But then you used it again during an ELF meeting. Considering the setting and the objective of ELF, can I regard this in any other manner than a derogatory one?"

Gumboil looked around the room, uneasy about facing Hermione. He knew she'd cornered him now and he had to answer. "I argued my position in the best way I could," he said, fighting to keep his composure.

"With no regard for other people or their feelings, safety, or reputations," Hermione interrupted.

"Well..." Gumboil hesitated. Hermione was right. He had tried to undermine Hermione's position by using her titles—there was no denying that—but he refused to admit it.

"I take your lack of answer—or apology—as confirmation that you indeed wouldn't hesitate to argue against a person rather than the merits of a matter at hand," Hermione said. "And that's something I cannot be a part of. Effective immediately, I tender my resignation as Historian for the Equality and Liberation Federation and withdraw my membership from its ranks. Any research forthwith shall no longer be at your disposal."

Hermione turned to Dean. "May I use your fireplace to go home, Dean?"

Dean nodded and handed her the pot of Floo Powder and watched as she stepped into the green flames and vanished. Outside, Arthur Weasley spun down and Disapparated to the Burrow. He removed Harry's cloak and made his way quickly to the house. Judging from the conversation between Hermione and Gumboil, his daughter-in-law was sure to be in a right snit and it would take all he and Molly could do to calm her down.

Inside, he found what he expected to find. A seething Hermione paced from kitchen to sitting room and back again, muttering invective at Gumboil and his precious ELF. Molly had already begun brewing her special tea and shook her head, signalling her husband to let Hermione vent. "Could you please fetch some of Fiona's chocolate chip cookies from the cool cupboard, dear," Molly directed. "Chocolate soothes the savage witch."

Arthur crossed the kitchen and opened the cupboard, extracting a round tin in which Molly stored homemade biscuits. "You should have seen her, Molly," he grinned proudly, pecking her on a rosy cheek. "If her words had been darts, Alastor Gumboil would look like Swiss cheese! Our Hermione really took him down a few pegs. It was almost as good as the night Ronnie and Harry took us apart over the wedding food."

"Oh, ouch," Molly replied, setting the teapot to steep. "That bad?"

"That bad," Arthur confirmed. "She's rather upset then?"

"She's been like this since she stepped through the Floo," Molly said. "She was spitting soot with every word."

"Perhaps we should take this all to the sitting room," Arthur suggested.

"Good idea, dear," Molly agreed, levitating the tea-service before them. "Hermione-dear, please sit down and have a spot of tea. You'll feel better for it."

Hermione stopped mid-snarl and gaped at her in-laws. She'd only just realised she'd been muttering an pacing for the past fifteen minutes without so much as a how-do-you-do to her husband's parents. "Yes, thank you, Molly," she said quietly. She took her customary place on the sofa, with Arthur and Molly in their respective easy chairs.

For the first several minutes, the three of them sipped their tea and munched their cookies in relative silence. Finally, Molly spoke up. "Hermione, do please tell us what happened."

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Late that night, Ron arrived home and quietly made his way into the house. He noticed the biscuit tin sitting on the table with a pot of tea, accompanied by a short note:

_Dear Ron:_

_We saved some cookies and tea for you. Your mum put a warming charm on the pot. When you're finished, please come upstairs—I'm sure I'll still be awake. I need to talk._

_I love you,_

_Hermione_

Concerned for his wife, he threw back a cuppa, grabbed a few cookies, and headed up the stairs to the room he and Hermione shared on the fifth floor. He stepped into the room, where he found his wife sitting up in their bed, reading. "Mione?"

The moment she looked up at him, her face dissolved in a mass of misery while tears poured from her beautiful cinnamon eyes. "Oh, Ron," she wailed and threw herself into his arms.

"All right, Love," Ron soothed, holding her close and stroking her hair. "I'm here now. Tell me what's wrong."

He held her until she stopped crying and then stripped off to his boxers and his white uniform tee. He climbed into bed and pulled her into his lap, listening as she related the events in Dean's studio. "You did the right thing, Love," he assured her. "You left ELF with dignity and the pride of a daughter of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. I'm very proud of you."

With a final hiccup and sniffle, she turned in his arms and crushed her lips to his, begging for the comfort of his love. He held her close and snogged her until they both fell asleep in one another's arms.

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The following morning, Molly, Arthur, Ron, Hermione, Jayce, and Taya gathered around the scrubbed oak table for another of Molly's stellar English breakfast, punctuated with a few corn muffins Taya had baked. They had just finished eating when a tawny owl flew through the window and landed in front of Hermione. "Right on schedule," she cooed, placing two Knuts in its pouch and offering it a bit of bacon, which it took, before flying back out the window.

"So what does our revered newspaper have to say today," Arthur asked, pouring another cuppa.

Hermione opened it up and gasped. Splayed across the front page was another article courtesy of Sigrid Reitter. "Oh, this is going to be good," she growled, and handed the paper to Jayce. "It's your turn."

Jayce took the paper from her hand and began to read:

_**Incompetence or Ignorance?**_

_by Sigrid Reitter_

_In a wave of terror and violence, the Parkinson, Goyle and Crabbe families fell under attack by unknown assailants. They are all known to have been involved in Lord Voldemort's Death Eater activities in some capacity or another, whether directly or indirectly. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement sent their fabled Aurors to handle the situation. Am I the only one who questions the wisdom of sending Harry Potter and his cronies to help his former enemies? Does Head Auror Potter have any interest in sorting out these attacks or will he simply ignore them by performing a rudimentary or even inferior investigation, sure of the fact that no one will question their Saviour and greatest hero?_

_There is of course an even more frightening possibility that Head Auror Potter is using his position to have his revenge by staging these attacks. The lack of proof or hints of any suspects surely makes this theory plausible. Remember, dear readers, that Potter has the best Wizarding force known at his disposal, and he's the one leading the investigation. He also has the uncommonly bright witch, his sister, Hermione Weasley, at his disposal to mastermind the attacks, as well as master strategist Ronald Weasley – together with Potter known as the notorious Golden Trio—who never were satisfactorily questioned about their whereabouts and activities during the last year of the war. We all know the rumours, of course: breaking into the Ministry of Magic and Gringotts, wielding mysterious powers allowing them to defeat the most powerful dark wizard in history, and the constant evasion of law enforcement personnel who hunted from them tirelessly. Remember also that not even Albus Dumbledore was able to defeat him. Is it a far-fetched thought that this trio wants revenge and will use their fame and positions to claim it?_

_The latest rumours are that Mrs Weasley left Alastor Gumboil's organization, The Equality and Liberation Federation (ELF), who are working for Muggleborn rights, and that Potter and Weasley had refused the invitation to join outright. One can only assume Mrs Weasley did so because she wants quicker results. But she's bright enough to speak of reason and moving slowly forward in the Wizengamot, only to hide her true intentions—to support and execute Potter's Plot._

"Potter's Plot," Taya gasped. "What in Sam Hill is that about?"

"This Sigrid Reitter's got it in her head that Harry's trying to take over the Wizarding World," Ron explained. "It's just more of that rubbish she published a few weeks ago. Nobody buys it."

"Yeah, but Hermione here left ELF just yesterday," Jayce reminded them. "News travels fast."

"She's probably got informants," Hermione said. "There was a reporter several years ago who printed all kinds of horrible things about…Harry and…me…"

"'Mione? What," Ron asked in semi-alarm. Every time Hermione stopped mid-sentence, she had an epiphany.

"Oh no," Hermione snarled. "But it has to be! Why didn't I see it before?"

"Hermione, what is it, dear," Molly asked, taking her daughter-in-law's hand.

"Sigrid Reitter. It's a pseudonym," Hermione said, slapping her forehead. "And…and it's…a play on German and English!"

"Hermione, please tell us what you're on about," Ron groaned.

"Ron, I noticed something odd in her last article," Hermione began. "She's supposed to be German, right? The paper she writes for—I can't remember the German words, but translated, the mean _The Howler_. It's a tabloid!"

"Are you saying you think this screwy bitch is a gossip-columnist," Jayce asked.

"I don't _think_ anything of the kind, Jayce," Hermione replied. "I _know_ it!"

"Wait, wait, wait," Ron cried. "Back to the beginning. You said you noticed something odd in her first article. _What?_"

"Oh! Sorry," Hermione blushed. "In her first article, Sigrid—or whoever she is—said "our" instead of their when she was talking about the Ministry. If Sigrid Reitter's German, I'm bloody _Swedish!_"

"Are you saying you might know who Miss Reitter is," Arthur asked, his interest piqued.

"Oh I know who our Miss Reitter is," Hermione snarled. "Her initials are SR. Turn them around."

"SR…RS…so," Ron said, his brows knitted. Suddenly, his face lit up and his sapphire eyes shown like the gems they resembled. "RITA!"

"Who," Jayce and Taya asked as one.

"Rita Skeeter," Molly snapped. "She used to write for The Prophet and Witch Weekly. She's a horrible woman who makes up stories about people she either doesn't like or people she perceives as having wronged her."

"Yeah, and she wrote a particularly nasty book about Albus Dumbledore, too," Ron added. "Hermione, what makes you so sure it's Rita?"

"In English, what does the name Sigrid sound like," Hermione asked the table.

"Sigrid…sacred…si—secret," Arthur crowed. "Secret Writer!"

"Exactly. Now add to that the inverted initials and the style and you've got Rita Skeeter," Hermione said smugly. "If she's not working for Gumboil, he's using her."

Ron hurriedly left the table and sprinted to the fireplace. "_Incendio_," he shouted and then threw a bit of Floo powder into the grate. "Ionúin Bhaille!"

Harry's head appeared in the flames, still chewing a bit of breakfast. "Ron! What is it? Is there another attack?"

"Have you seen the Prophet?"

"You know I don't subscribe," Harry said, swallowing his food. "What's up?"

"There's been an attack, all right, and Rita Skeeter's behind it," Ron snarled.

"We'll be right there," Harry replied, and disappeared from the flames. Moments later, he and Ginny stepped through with Harry in a high dudgeon. Hermione handed Harry the paper and she and Ron led them to the kitchen.

"Bloody effing hell," Harry roared and all the windows in the Burrow shattered.


	47. Chapter 47 Butting In

**Chapter 47 – Butting In**

Harry stood at the centre of the sitting room clutching the now partially shredded remains of _The Daily Prophet_. He'd only scanned Sigrid Reitter's latest masterpiece, but in that scan he'd managed to glean enough to cause him to lose control. Even Ginny would have to admit she didn't expect that. They'd worked so hard to keep their emotions on an even keel to avoid any more destructive episodes like the one in the Forest of Dean last September.

In comparison, this outburst of Harry's was rather mild, but it still sent millions of shards of glass into the yard around the house and for a metre or two inside. With so much flying glass, it was a wonder that none of them had been cut to ribbons. Perhaps Harry did maintain some level of control after all.

"_Harry? Baby, what is it?"_

"_Sigrid. Or should I say, Rita!"_

"_Let me see."_ Ginny managed to pry the tattered newspaper from her husband's grasp. A snarl issued from her throat as she perused the defamatory tripe splashed across the front page.

While Ginny read, Harry glanced around the room. Arthur, Molly, Ron, Hermione, Jayce, and Taya stood there in mild shock, surveying the damage Harry's anger had caused. That old familiar guilt washed over him like a tidal wave and his eyes grew even darker than they had been a moment ago. "M-mum, D-dad…I…"

"It's just a bit of glass, son," Arthur assured him. "Nothing we can't fix in a few minutes."

"That's right, dear. Here," Molly said, summoning a cup and saucer from the cabinet. "Sit. Have some tea. You'll feel better for it."

_Just like Molly Weasley. When in crisis, drink some tea_. Harry couldn't help but smile to himself as he dutifully took his place at the scrubbed oak table and accepted Molly's special tea. He had taken only a small sip when a shriek issued from the sitting room. If the windows hadn't already been shattered from their frames, they would have been now.

"That…that…_bitch!_ How could... My poor Harry!" She threw the paper into the fire and raced to her husband's side. Harry had calmed considerably, although still he still felt bad for shattering the windows. He sent a blast of the Unspoken Thing through their bond to settle her. Knowing Ginny, if her temper were to continue raging unchecked, there would be more than windows to repair at the Burrow.

"She's gone too far this time, Gin," Harry said quietly, summoning another cuppa for his wife. "It's time to stop her presses."

"But how," Ginny snarled.

"Simple," Harry replied. "I'm sure King's already seen this and contacted his editor-mate at the _Prophet_. If what he says about the bloke is true, this just got past him. No doubt there'll be a retraction in the evening edition."

"Lovely, but what about Rita," Ginny snapped. "She's still out there concocting her lies under the guise of another!"

"Ah, but that's where the fun begins," Harry said. "She can't resist a press conference, right?"

"Right…"

"So we stage one," Ron added, striding toward the stairs with Hermione. "We're going to take the top floors. Mum and Dad are taking the middle. Jayce and Taya have started down here."

"Ron, I should be—" Harry began.

"No, mate," Ron cut across him. "Mum says you and Ginny are supposed to drink your tea and do nothing else for a bit. There's biscuits in the tin…"

"Ooh," Ginny moaned. "Mum baked?"

"Yup," Ron replied. "Chocolate chip, just like Onie makes." The ginger Auror chuckled as two pairs of hands gripped the tin in an attempt to wrestle it away from the other.

"Mine!"

"Uh-uh," Harry teased. "Age before beauty."

"I'll give you age," she snarled. "Let go!"

Harry continued to grin evilly at his wife. "On one condition."

"What," Ginny grunted, still trying to pull the tin away from her husband.

"I'll let go for a kiss," he smirked. His eyes had returned to their startlingly-emerald green and bored into her chocolate ones with the look that turned her insides to butter. "And no pecks, either."

Ginny leaned forward and allowed him to capture her lips with his. She opened up their bond and bombarded him with all kinds of images of the things she would do to and for him that night, for the following morning would find her Flooing off to Holyhead for the final week of regular-season play with the Harpies.

They had clinched their spot in the playoffs with their wins against the Wimbourne Wasps, the Wigtown Wanderers, and the Caerphilly Catapults, respectively. Not that any of these teams were particularly bad—they just weren't as good as the Harpies. In addition, word around the league said that Ginny Potter had all but captured the prize as Rookie-of-the-Year.

Harry could feel the heat that started in his belly and radiated to every nerve and muscle in his body. Without thought, he released the tin and fisted his hands into Ginny's flaming tresses, pulling her as close as he could. Even after almost two years of intimacy, he still couldn't get enough of her. "Ginny…" he whispered into her mouth. "I love you so much."

A wicked smile stole across her lips as she kissed him. She had him right where she wanted him. He'd let go the tin and fallen to her promises—all of which she intended to keep. She may have been a bit of a mild tease in school, but she never tortured any of her boyfriends, least of all, Harry. She could never take pleasure in building him up only to let him down. No, he'd had enough of that in his life. Besides, Harry Potter was her every weakness and her every strength, as she was his, and they both knew it.

"Thanks for the bis—cookies, my love," Ginny giggled, pulling the tin away from him. She selected a particularly chippy one and made to take a bite of it, but then held it to Harry's lips so he could take a bite.

"Mmm…" he groaned, savouring the chewy crispness of the cookie. "You've got me eating out of your hand, you know."

"And you'd have it no other way," she cooed, breaking off a piece and popping it into her own mouth. She continued to share the cookie with him until it was gone, followed by another, and another, until they'd demolished the entire tin.

"Mum's going to have kittens," Harry said in mock sadness, staring into the now-empty tin. "We've eaten them all."

"Are you barking," Ginny giggled again. "She'll be overjoyed! She now has an excuse to bake more. Besides, you've been around this house enough to know that she thinks you never eat enough anyway."

"Gin, that was then; this is now," Harry disagreed. "You feed me just fine. In fact, I was telling Ron—"

"All finished," Arthur called from the master bedroom. "We've restored all the bedrooms except Ron's and Hermione's and it appears they've got that and the attic well under control." The two elder Weasleys joined the others at the table.

"We're just finished up down here, Uncle Arthur," Taya called from the sitting room. "Jayce insisted upon _cleaning_ the windows after we fixed 'em."

"What," Jayce interjected with mock innocence. "It's spring. Call it spring cleaning."

Taya nudged her man with her hip and herded him toward the kitchen. "And you said you don't do windows…"

"Not at home," he snorted. "But it's not every day I get to fix a house full of shattered glass either."

"Fine. When we get home, I'll smash every freakin' window in the house and you can fix 'em to your heart's content," Taya snarked. "If that's what it takes."

"I'm not worthy of such grace," Jayce chuckled, whacking her on the bum. The two Americans joined Harry and Ginny at the table, hoping for a cookie for their efforts.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, hiding his face. "Gin and I…uh…well…"

"We hogged them all," Ginny said proudly, using another idiom she'd picked up from her American cousins.

"Ginny," Molly scolded. "There had to be close to three dozen in there!"

"Mum, if there were a dozen in there, we were lucky," Ginny argued. "I think Ronnie's been at them."

"Brats, all o' ya," Taya huffed. "That's Onie's recipe, too!"

"So stop whining and make some more," Jayce suggested with mild sarcasm. "It's not like your sister's the only one who can whip up a killer batch o' chocolate chip cookies." He winked at Harry and Ginny while Taya huffed.

"Would you care to help, Ginny," Taya asked hopefully. "Granny always said that many hands make light work. We'll do a double-batch in half the time."

"Oh, go on, Ginny-dear," Molly encouraged her daughter. "Cooking's good for the soul."

"But eating's better," Ron added, stepping off the last stair, Hermione in tow. "Hey!"

"Ronald, honestly," Hermione chided. "You've eaten most of that tin yourself and don't try to deny it."

"But…" Ron sputtered. His wife had him dead to rights and he knew the others knew it too. Ron loved sweets of all kinds, but biscuits and cookies were his near-favourites, independent of the almighty Chocolate Frog. "But they didn't have to eat them all!"

"I must agree, son," Arthur said reheating his tea. He took a sip and grimaced. "Molly-dear, I do believe we need a fresh pot of tea. This has gone over, I think."

Hermione leaned into her husband and stroked his lightly-stubbled cheek. "There, there, Baby. Your cousin and your sister have begun a fresh batch. You'll have fresh cookies before you in no time."

"Patience _is_ a virtue, you know," Harry snorted. How many times had they heard McGonagall tell them that over the years?

"Shut it, cookie thief," Ron grumbled.

Molly smiled warmly at the banter around her table, although it wasn't quite like the old days when all the kids were home and…well…home. She blinked back a tear and conjured another pot of tea. "There you are, dears. Drink up!"

"Dad," Ginny gasped, having glanced at the clock. "You—you're late!"

"Not at all, Firefly," Arthur said, setting his cup down on its saucer. "I've already notified the Minister that we've had a bit of an incident here and that I'd be along by ten. And Hermione, that message has been conveyed to Amos as well."

"Thank you, Arthur," Hermione said quietly. _Looks like I'm working over again this evening._

"You didn't tell him I—" Harry choked on a sip of tea.

"No, no, Harry," Arthur assured his son-in-law. "I just told him it was a family matter and we'd have it cleared up in an hour or so."

Thirty minutes later, the first pan of fresh delights left the oven. Five minutes after that, they found their way to the table. Arthur managed to grab three before he had to head out the door with a cheerful wish for a lovely day and a kiss to his wife's rosy cheek.

"Look, I'm really sorry about the windows, Mum. Honest," Harry said, still feeling a bit guilty.

"Not at all, dear," Molly assured him again. "It was just a bit of glass. Nothing to worry about."

"It's more than that, isn't it, mate," Ron surmised, knowing his best friend as well as he did. "It's more than windows."

Harry sighed heavily and buried his face in his hands. "Yeah. It is."

"What is it, Harry? Surely Rita's nonsense hasn't—" Hermione pressed. "It's not—"

"No, Hermione. It's not that," Harry sighed again. The others in the kitchen kept their silence, opting to watch the exchange. The closeness of the Golden Trio—now a Quartet—was legend in the magical world and this tight friendship intrigued them. Molly understood through experience that when Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione set to comfort one another and work out an issue, it was best to just observe unless asked otherwise.

"He lost control," Ginny said quietly. "He lost control of his anger. He hasn't done that since—"

"September," Ron finished. "Harry, mate, it's okay. We all go a bit barmy once in a while. It's what keeps us sane." The others couldn't help but snicker a bit at Ron's oxymoronic observation, true as it was. "At least you didn't try to bottle it up this time."

"Ron's right, Harry," Hermione said. "You've done much better these past months. You've learned to let things out rather than bottle them up."

"But—someone could have been hurt," Harry argued. "And it would have been—"

"Don't. You. Dare, Harry James Potter," Molly scolded. "Don't you start blaming yourself for every little thing that happens in the world again. Yes, someone could have been hurt, but no one was. Did you notice how most of the glass flew _outside?_"

"It…it did," Harry asked, not quite believing. "I mean, there was glass all over the furniture, the floors…"

"Dude, you should've seen the piles of it in the yard," Jayce said. "The most any of us mighta got is a couple little cuts here and there. None of us would have been sliced to ribbons or anything."

"That's right, dear," Molly agreed. "Now that'll be enough of that."

Harry and Ginny stood to leave, while Ron escorted Hermione to the Apparition point. She'd just make ten o'clock if they hurried. At the fireplace, Jayce pulled Harry aside. "Look, I think I know of a way to help ya—well, all of us—deal with the stress."

"Oh," Harry replied with raised eyebrows. "What's that?"

"It's somethin' my people do for various reasons, some of 'em ceremonial, but mostly we do it to unwind and refocus," Jayce said. "If it's done right, it really works—no drugs, no potions, no spells. It's all-natural, as the saying goes."

"Okay…"

"I'll explain while we're on our trek, but rest assured that it'll do us all a lot o' good," Jayce promised.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever it is, it's got to be better than potions," Harry chuckled. "Not that potions are bad—they just _taste_ bad."

"Not to mention the smell o'some of 'em," Jayce laughed, shaking his body. "Now—get back home to your wife and forget all this bullshit for now."

"See ya later, Yank," Harry said, stepping into the Floo. "Ionúin Bhaille!"

"Come on, Love," Ginny whispered, leading Harry from the fireplace toward the stairs. "I made a promise I intend to keep, starting with a full-body massage. You're tense as stretched elastic."

"Gin, you don't have to," Harry replied, allowing her to drag him up the stairs. "I'll be okay."

"No, I promised you this for the cookies and I want to pay up," she purred. "Besides, you've been under entirely too much stress and I'm going to be gone for ten days."

Ginny led him to the bedroom where she undressed him and bade him go into the loo. She drew a warm bath with some calming bath oils she picked up on her last road trip. "Go on. Get in."

"Care to join me," Harry crooned. "The water's fantastic."

"No, Love. Today's about you," she replied, removing her jumper. "Now lean back. That's it. Just relax and let Gin-Gin take care of you."

Harry leaned his head against a waterproof cushion his wife had placed behind him. He let loose an appreciative moan as she began to shampoo his thick raven locks, making sure to lather it all the way to the ends. "Oh Baby, that feels good." He luxuriated in the feel of her nimble fingers across his scalp and allowed the sensations and the aromas to fill his senses and ease his mind.

Ginny hummed quietly as she worked, squirting some of his favourite body wash onto a flannel. She gently washed his face and neck, careful not to get too close to his eyes. She so loved his eyes—they were his most-striking feature…followed by his hair that now cascaded in soft waves down his back to the space between his shoulder blades.

Rinsing his face and neck, she lathered up the flannel and began to massage the soap into his chest. She absent-mindedly lingered over the oblong scar that marred the space between his pectoral muscles where the locket Horcrux had hung. Just below it lay a slightly-jagged mark. This one meant the world to her because it was the one Harry had taken for her—for their family. It symbolised their precious bond and his love for her.

"Gin, I think it's clean now," Harry said softly, taking the flannel from her hand. He could see the tears welling in her eyes and he knew what she was thinking, bond or no bond. "I could really use that massage now."

"What? Oh," Ginny yelped, returning to the present. "Right. Okay…um…towel. Yes, here it is," she sputtered, summoning the fluffy fabric from the cabinet under the vanity. She cast a warming charm on it. "Just dry off and I'll meet you at the bed, yeah?"

"All right, beautiful," he chuckled. "Give me about five and I'll be along."

A half-hour later, Harry found himself sprawled across the bed face-down with a pillow under his head. Ginny sat astride his bum, gently massaging warm spice-scented oil into his skin. Each pass of her hands sent new waves of contentment throughout his tired muscles. He hadn't realised how tight his body had been until now. He winced as she passed over his injured shoulder.

"Sorry, Love," Ginny cooed, bending down to kiss it. "Has it been bothering you much?"

"Not really. I just got a little too happy on the weight machines the other day," he replied honestly. "I might have pushed a little too hard."

"Harry…"

"I know, I know," he yawned. "But I'm going soft."

"Oh please," Ginny huffed. "You've got one of the hardest bodies in Britain. Going soft. Give me a break, will you!"

All of a sudden, Harry reared up and knocked Ginny off-balance. In a trice, he'd managed to turn himself over and pin her to the mattress. His emerald eyes darkened with desire as he gazed into her chocolate pools. "Well…at least one part of me isn't soft," he murmured, burying his face in her hair.

"Mmm…so I've noticed," she cooed and wrapped her legs around his waist. "I told you so."

"So you did, my Light Goddess. So you did." He kissed his way from her neck to her lips and moaned deeply as she parted her lips for him. As soon as she began to beg for him, he broke the kiss and passed his hands over her body. "_Nudus_."

Since she didn't arrive at work until nearly ten o'clock, Hermione told Selma she would work through lunch and not to wait for her. That way, she could leave at six instead of seven. Her job in the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures department had become a bit tedious already, even though she had learned loads about how the Ministry dealt—or didn't deal—with many magical creatures, House-elves in particular.

She had long ago learned and accepted that House-elves needed to bond with a Wizarding family in order to survive, though Dobby appeared to have been an exception to that rule. But the laws governing the treatment of the loyal little beings were found more than wanting. She had discovered that the RSPCA levied greater fines and penalties for the mistreatment of pets and livestock, citing guidelines for their ethical treatment. But there was no such watchdog organisation for magical creatures beyond the rather restrained auspices of RCMC. In response, she had begun to draft a bit of legislation to put before the Wizengamot that Ron titled _Dobby's Law_.

Hermione had been working on her bill for months, gathering information from the Wizengamot archive concerning House-elf cases and was shocked, to say the least. She seethed as she read case after case of House-elf baiting and outright murder—legal murder—because House-elves were not considered fully-fledged beings in the eyes of the Ministry. She recalled having read a book by Archibald Nott, who had regarded House-elves as _things_ rather than sentient beings. The penalty? A fine of one Galleon.

She could not, in good conscience, allow this to go on. With each case study, she saw Dobby and Winky and even old Kreacher subjected to the cruelty of the masters in her mind's eye. She knew Dobby had lived this first hand and poor Winky had been sacked because her master refused to own up to his own mistakes. Kreacher had been driven half-mad by the ravings of a Pureblood bigoted family, more specifically, Walburga Black, Sirius' lunatic mother, among the worst of the lot.

Dobby wished to be free, but still needed to bond with someone to survive. He'd chosen Hogwarts, but had truly bonded with Harry, the wizard who had tricked Lucius Malfoy into freeing him from his hellish existence at Malfoy Manor. In the end, the sweet little Elf died valiantly at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange as he helped them all escape that awful place during the closing days of the war.

Hermione remembered watching helplessly as Winky drank herself into oblivion because of her "shame," and wondered if the poor little thing still survived. She hadn't found any documentation to the contrary, so Hermione could only assume Winky still resided at Hogwarts. And Kreacher—dear old Kreacher. He had been saved by a simple act of kindness by a new master—Harry—and still served the Houses of Potter, Black, and Weasley happily and with honour.

Hermione used the credo of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals as a model for her new legislation and adapted it for magical application. Since House-elves needed families to bond with, they'd merely been shunted from house to house with no real consideration for their safety or well-being once they'd been removed from a particularly abusive environment. Her legislation provided for application for adoption of a House-elf, which would undergo a bit of scrutiny before adoption could be made.

For complaints against families allegedly abusing their Elves, there would be a removal of the creature or creatures from the house, pending a full investigation of the case. If evidence of wrongdoing could be proven, the offending family could be fined up to one thousand Galleons per Elf, with the possibility of confiscation and relocation of said creature. The same would apply to any animal in Wizarding Britain.

That afternoon, Hermione finished the first draft of her bill to put before Amos Diggory. She hoped he would give it a serious once-over and offer any advice or help her make any viable changes to it to give it more bite, as the Americans would say. It seemed to her that any wizard who worked in a department such as this would have some inclination as to how to effectively address and solve issues like these and wish to do so with some kind of conviction. What she'd seen of Amos Diggory lately, though, didn't fill her with much hope. Still, she had to try, didn't she? Besides, she had already garnered Harry's promise of support and now having gained some respect on the Wizengamot, thanks in part to Lord Greengrass, her bill might have a chance of passing.

Since she would have to stay on the clock until six, Hermione decided to re-file the documents she'd used to research and draft Dobby's Law. That would keep her more than occupied for the final hour or so before she could leave. Ron would be along soon to keep her company and maybe he'd even help her finish.

"The interns have gone for the day and I'm about to go myself," Selma told Hermione, almost apologetically. "Will you be all right? Can I get you anything before I leave?"

"Thank you, Sel, but no. I'm fine. Ron'll be here in a little while," Hermione replied. "I'm sure I'll be quite all right."

"All right, dear," Selma acquiesced. "Just be sure to lock up when you leave tonight."

"Will do," Hermione replied with a bright smile. "I'm just going to put all these files away. I just hope I won't need them again."

"Dobby's Law is a fine bill, Hermione," Selma assured her. "I'm sure it'll pass."

"I hope so," the younger witch sighed. "I surely hope so."

"Good night, dear."

"'Night, Sel."

Hermione organised the files alphabetically and by date so she could put them away more quickly than if she'd just taken an armload and wandered all over the floor looking for the right cabinet. This way, she could make her way through the files efficiently and in an orderly manner with a lot less footwork.

She had just dropped the second stack on the sorting table when she heard the main doors open up front. "Ron? Is that you?"

No answer.

"Ron?"

Slightly intimidated, Hermione snapped her wrist, allowing her wand to fall into her hand. Ron and Harry had _requisitioned_ a pair of Auror wrist holsters for her and Ginny's wands so they could be carried discreetly and drawn in a flash if need be. In addition, once holstered, one's wand became resistant to summoning charms.

"Ronald Weasley, answer me," she snapped, now completely annoyed. It had been a long day and she really didn't need this. It was then that she felt arms encircle her waist from behind and felt a breath of hot air in her hair. She turned around and found herself gazing into the sapphire eyes of her husband. "Why didn't you answer me?"

"Sorry," he mumbled, pulling her close and burying his face in her neck.

"Ronald, what's gotten into you," she giggled.

"You," he muttered again. "Just you." He pulled back and gazed into her eyes.

"Flirt," she smiled. "I have about a half-hour before I can clock out. Would you mind helping me with these files? They're already—"

Hermione's chatter cut off as Ron captured her mouth with his. Hermione was about to melt into it when a little alarm sounded in her brain. Something about Ron was off. There was a faint taste of Firewhiskey on his lips and he smelled a bit like tobacco and…what _was_ that? Sawdust? He was on duty right now, so he couldn't have been drinking. And his smell—this wasn't Ron at all. Ron smelled of spice and chocolate. His kisses even tasted faintly of chocolate. _Great Circe!_

With a growl, Hermione spun out of his arms and summoned her wand, pointing it at his chest. "Who the hell are you and what do you want?"

"Hermione, I'm your husband," the man insisted.

That clinched it. Ron never called her Hermione except under very specific circumstances. "How did I break my ankle in fifth year?"

"You—you tripped," he replied. "Everybody knows that."

"Wrong, arsewipe," she shrieked. "_Foecus chiroptera!_"

Up two levels, Auror Captain Ronald Weasley sat at his desk, poring over yesterday's reports. He had just finished those of the second shift, when a sudden feeling of apprehension, followed by relief, followed by fear, and then anger. _Hermione! _"Bonesy! Come with me! I think Hermione might be in trouble!"

The two Aurors sped out the door into the corridor and down the stairs to Level Four. They ran like the wind to the end of the corridor to the double doors of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They burst through just in time to hear Hermione's voice shout a spell they couldn't identify.

"Hermione! Are you all right," Susan called.

"Susan? Oh, Susan! Oh my gods," Hermione cried, tears beginning to fall. "This…_person!_ He tried to…to…"

"'Mione, what happened? Are you—_bloody hell_," the real Ron barked. "Bonesy, Patronus Harry and then my father. We have an attempted sexual assault here." He made to take his wife in his arms, but stopped short when his nose made contact with her vine wood and Dragon-heartstring wand.

"'Mione?"

"How did I break my ankle in fifth year," she asked angrily, her wand shaking in her hand. "Answer me, damn you!"

"You—you didn't. Ginny did," he answered carefully. "In the Department of Mysteries. You took a curse from Dolo—_hoof!_" Ron suddenly found his wife wrapped around his body. He held her as tightly as he could while she sobbed and shook.

On the floor, the fake-Ron seized and writhed, slapping at his backside, splattering brown goo around him that had formed into several good-size winged creatures that attacked his nether regions. "Merlin, what did you do to…him…it? Is that…"

Hermione slid down Ron's body onto shaky legs, but held tight to her husband's chest. Her answer was garbled by his robes.

"I didn't catch that," he said, still cradling her in his arms.

"Butt-bogey hex," she sniffed. "I-I modified the B-bat-bogey and…well…"

Ron began to chuckle and snort and then broke out in a full-on belly laugh. "_Butt-bogey hex?_ My beauty, you're brilliant! Scary…but brilliant! Who is this bastard anyway?"

"He…he wanted me to think it was you and I did until he kissed me," she spat, wiping her mouth again and again on the sleeve of her robes. She felt a bit sick at the thought of some stranger plunging his tongue into her mouth. And now, the sour taste of stale whiskey made her want to vomit.

"Open your mouth, Love," Ron commanded. "Come on. I'm going to _Scourgify_ you."

Hermione gratefully complied, but insisted he repeat it half a dozen times before she was satisfied that any remnant of her assailant's DNA had been expelled from her.

"'Mione, you need to lift the spell. The smell is disgusting," Ron chided her. "Enough's enough."

"I-I can't," she stammered. "Um…I haven't mastered the counter-curse for the Bat-bogey yet."

"You mean to tell me you altered a hex you can't counter," Ron demanded.

"I-I'm sorry," Hermione wailed. "I panicked! I…he…" Hermione dissolved in a puddle of sobs and tears.

Ron took her into his strong embrace and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry, Love. I shouldn't have shouted at you like that. Dad and Harry are on their way. Dad'll sort him out."

Moments later, the sound of running feet filled the offices. "Over here, Dad," Ron called. "She can't lift the curse!"

"Holy shit, Batman," Harry gasped, holding his hand over his face. "What is that _smell?_" Harry's reference to the comic-book dark knight of Gotham City and his trusty sidekick was completely lost on Ron.

"Butt-bogey hex," Ron snorted. "Dad, Hermione altered the Bat-bogey, but can't counter it. Do you mind?" He continued to hold Hermione as she trembled and cried softly into his chest.

Arthur looked at Hermione and then down at the fake-Ron and then back to Hermione again. He tried ever so hard to look stern, but he couldn't help himself. The Weasley patriarch burst into gales of laughter, completely disregarding the man's discomfort. "Oh, my dear Hermione! There's no doubt at all that you are a Weasley!"

Still shaking with laughter, he turned and uttered the standard spell to lift the Bat-bogey. It worked. "_Petrificus Totalus! Incarcerus! Tergeo! Scourgify!_" The imposter's arms and legs snapped together tightly while magical ropes wound themselves around his body. Then the smell and the mess vanished to the men's loos on the Fourth and Fifth Levels. A dozen toilets flushed as one.

"I'll keep a wand on him in case his true form is smaller than Ron's and he slips free of the ropes," Harry smirked. "Any idea who this wanker might be?"

Hermione shuddered. She didn't want to voice her suspicion in case it might be true. The thought sickened her anew and she covered her mouth with her hand.

"'Mione? You know who this is, don't you," Ron asked softly.

Hermione clamped her eyes shut and shook her head vehemently.

"'Mione, tell me," Ron growled.

"I-I don't know, Ronald," she insisted. "But I have my suspicions. I-I just can't say for sure because I hope I'm wrong."

Ron and Harry stared at one another as if trying to glean the answer from one another's brains. Both suspected, but like Hermione, they hoped they were also wrong. It also seemed uncharacteristic of_ him _to do something this stupid, since he'd covered his tracks so well so far other activities they suspected his involvement in. A few minutes later, Arthur reappeared with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Aurors Dawlish and Ross. Susan was still taking notes on her new spiral notebook when they arrived.

"Ron, take Hermione home. Now," Arthur commanded. "I don't want her here when the Polyjuice wears off."

"Yes, sir," Ron replied obediently. He really didn't want her to see it either, nor could he trust himself if his and Harry' suspicions were correct. They'd find out soon enough. He picked his wife up and carried her out of the office bridal-style, whispering comfort in her ear.

As soon as they were gone, Kingsley spoke up. "Polyjuice, then. Whoever this is somehow got hold of some of Auror Weasley's hair."

"It would be an easy thing, sir," Harry said. "All he had to do was slip into the locker room and find a towel with ginger hairs on it. But it would have to be someone who wouldn't raise suspicion by being there if he were caught. And then he could have nicked one of Susan's…"

"Oh _ew_," Susan spat. "Besides, Ron's hair isn't as long as mine and it's a lot redder. Any idiot would be able to tell the difference."

"_Any idiot_ is right," Harry agreed, cocking his head at the floor. "Look."

Molly Weasley sat comfortably in her easy chair working on her column for the next issue of Witch Weekly. Since the Easter holidays were approaching, she decided to present an all-out menu of Weasley family favourites, including a special bread ring that involved the use of coloured soft-cooked eggs plaited into the dough. As the bread baked, the eggs finished cooking.

As she arranged the recipes, her knitting needles clacked and sparked. Teddy Lupin would turn two years old in a little more than a week, so she set to knitting him his first Weasley jumper in turquoise blue with a large block 'T' on it, underscored by a broomstick. How that little boy loved to _fwy!_ She smiled to herself and kept on working.

Molly's reverie broke when the grate whooshed bright green, belching out her youngest son, blue eyes flashing cold fire jaw set like granite. In his arms, he carried a bundle that looked suspiciously like Hermione.

"Ron," she cried, clutching her heart. "What on earth—"

"Mum," he choked. For all his ferocity, Ronald Weasley had a heart of gold. He cut an intimidating figure few people cared to cross, but when it came to his wife, he treated her as tenderly as a man his size could do.

"What happened? Is she hurt," Molly cried, leading them toward the stairs.

"I can't…she…no," he sputtered. "She's not hurt…well, no physically, anyway. Listen, could you fetch Richard and Helen? I promise I'll explain everything when they get here."

"Of course, dear. Can you manage all right?" Molly knew he could, but the mother in her just couldn't resist.

"Yeah. I'm just—"

Ron was just about to head up the stairs, still cradling his wife in his arms, when the kitchen door opened, admitting Jayce and Taya, who had been out shopping for a few things Molly needed and just to have some us time, independent of the family.

"Gallatea-dear," Molly called. "Please help Ron with Hermione. Jayce, I need you to stay down here and wait for Arthur and Harry. Something's happened with Hermione and I need to fetch her parents."

"Sure, Aunt Molly," her niece replied, her eyebrows raised and eyes questioning. Taya dropped their shopping on the table and bustled over to follow Ron up the stairs. "What do you need, Ronnie?" Their voices faded as they climbed the stairs.

"I'll be back in a tick," Molly said, leaving the Burrow for the apparation spot.

_I might as well put this stuff away_. Jayce set to emptying the shopping bags to put the food and other items away. He'd been around the Burrow long enough to know where everything belonged in Molly's kitchen. Anything he had doubts about he just left on the table.

Upstairs, Ron and Galletea tended to Hermione. He rifled through her dresser looking for a clean nightdress. "Shower," she sniffled. "I need a shower. I feel…filthy." She raised tired and swollen eyes to her husband, pleading with him to understand.

Ron, sensing that perhaps this was a women thing, asked Taya to help her with the shower while he changed the bed. If Hermione felt dirty, he wanted everything that touched her to be clean, including himself. Once she finished her shower, he would take one as well, under water as hot and purging as he could stand. With a wave of his wand, the bed unmade itself and shook off all the linens. He banished them to the laundry and the summoned fresh sheets, pillowcases, and a fresh comforter. He Tergeo'd the pillows three times and then allowed the bed to remake itself. He then cast a Scourgify over the rest of the room to remove every speck of dust—not that there was much as Hermione had always been meticulously neat—and any possible crumb that might lurk anywhere in their room.

Satisfied with his work, Ron descended to the loo and paced outside the door like a caged lion. He couldn't bring himself to leave Hermione, even though she wasn't exactly alone at that moment. While he paced, he turned the events as he knew them over and over in his mind. With each step, he became more and more agitated at the possibility that that bastard might have been the one who'd tried to seduce his wife disguised as himself. If it was he, that man's days on this planet were severely numbered.

Soon, he heard the water from the shower cut off and the rustling of cloth as Taya helped Hermione dry herself and put on her clean nightdress and dressing gown. The door opened and Ron stood face-to-face with his wife and cousin. "I…I'll just have a wash and then I'll be up, okay, Love?"

"O-okay," she replied meekly, her wet curls all over her head and in her face. "I'm sorry, Ron. I'm so…s-sorry!" Hermione began to cry again in earnest. Taya put a protective arm around her and held her close, offering the support only one woman could offer another.

"'Mione, there's nothing for you to be sorry for," Ron corrected her, tears shining in his sapphire eyes. "You didn't do anything wrong." He so wanted to take her in his arms, but he didn't want to touch her until he'd cleaned himself up. He had determined that nothing unclean would touch her tonight. Nothing. "Taya, please take her upstairs. I'll be there in a little while."

Taya gently ushered a weeping Hermione up the stairs to their fifth-floor bedroom. The room smelled of freshly-laundered linens and wildflowers. "Where's yer brush, honey," Taya asked.

"Um…it's on the dresser," Hermione answered quietly. "You don't have to fuss over me. I can do it myself."

"I know, but it's been a long time since I got to brush someone's hair. Onie and I used to sit for hours and brush our momma's hair and then play with each other's," Taya explained. "Jayce doesn't like people playing with his hair. It's a man-thing, I guess." Taya giggled a little at her observation, hoping to raise Hermione's spirits a little. She still hadn't any idea what happened, but she wasn't going to ask, either. She figured Ron would explain once they had Hermione settled in.

"My mum brushed my hair when I was little," Hermione said as Taya began to run the brush through Hermione's thick mane. "Ron does it once in a while. Harry told him once how he brushes Ginny's hair dry. That's why Ginny's hair shines, you know." Hermione tended to babble when she was nervous or upset and this time was no different. She would sit and quote _Hogwarts: A History_ to Taya if it kept her mind off…_it_.

"Hermione, d'ya wanna talk about it," Taya asked as she worked a particularly tangled handful of curls. "I'm a pretty good listener."

Hermione stiffened at the prospect of reliving the event, but she began to tell the story anyway, hoping the girl-talk might ease the anxiety somewhat. While Taya worked through Hermione's wild curls, Hermione talked, cried, raged, and cried some more. "I feel like I've cheated on Ron," she sniffed at the end.

"No you didn't," Taya said, now arranging Hermione's hair into a French braid. "Ya didn't invite that guy in and feed 'im Polyjuice potion ta look like Ron. Ya didn't let him keep on once ya figured out he wasn't Ron, either. Ya _stopped_ him, Hermione. Ya didn't ask for this and ya didn't accept it either. That ain't cheatin'."

"Oh, Taya, I know I didn't _really_," Hermione cried. "I…it just _feels_ like I did."

Downstairs, the two women heard a mild commotion as Molly returned to the Burrow with Hermione's parents. After some mild discussion, footsteps ascended the stairs, stopping outside the bedroom door. There were a couple of light knocks before the door opened slightly and Helen Granger's head appeared.

"Mummy," Hermione wailed and collapsed in another fit of tears. Helen crossed the room in two steps and took her daughter in her arms, rocking her and whispering words of comfort in her ear. Molly beckoned to Taya to leave mother and daughter alone. With a nod, Taya quietly stood and followed her aunt down the stairs.

"I helped Hermione shower and dress, then I put her in the bed and bushed her hair," Taya explained on the way to the sitting room. "Ronnie's in the shower. In fact, he's been in there quite a while."

"Did Hermione tell you what happened," Molly asked, as they stepped off the final steps of the rickety staircase.

"Yeah, she did, Aunt Molly, but I don't know if I should be the one to pass it on," Taya replied. "But I will tell ya she took control of the situation before it got outta hand."

"No surprise there," a male voice said.

"Gallatea Prewett, Jayce Silvercloud, this is Hermione's father, Richard Granger," Molly said by way of introduction. "You sort of met Helen a few minutes ago."

"Sir," Jayce said, extending his hand, which Richard took firmly.

"Pleased to meet you, Jayce. I understand you're a United States Federal Marshall," Richard replied. "You're working with Harry and Ron on some project?"

"Well, yeah," Jayce replied. "I'm a liaison between the States and Britain. Professional male-bonding, I guess."

Richard laughed at Jayce's assessment and turned his attention to Taya. "Gallatea, is it? You're named for the statue the sculptor fell in love with, am I right?"

"Yessir," she replied, taking his extended hand. "That's what my momma told me, anyway. You know my sister, right?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "Fiona's quite the character."

"You got that right," Taya giggled. "Of the two of us, she's the scamp, as Granny used to say. I was just the rough-and-tumble tomboy."

"Don't let her fool ya; she still is," Jayce chuckled. "Taya works for the South Dakota Parks Department. She's a tracker and field guide. She hasn't lost one yet."

Taya, nudged Jayce's shoulder. "Stop it, Fulla Bull."

"Well…how about I fix us a quick dinner while we're waiting," Molly suggested. "Taya-dear, would you mind?"

"Not at all, Aunt Molly," she said. "If you gents'll just excuse me?" She gave Jayce a quick peck on the lips, nodded politely to Richard and left the room.

Ron finished the rather lengthy shower that left his skin deep pink and a bit shiny. He ran the water as hot as he could stand it and then scrubbed himself thoroughly to make sure he was completely clean. He shampooed his hair four times before he was satisfied that not iota of oil or a single flake of skin clung to it. He knew this endeavour was a bit over-the-top and possibly even obsessive, but it was something he just felt he needed to do.

Drying himself off, he dressed in a fresh pair of boxers, jeans, and white uniform tee shirt. His feet still bare, he padded up the stairs to the bedroom he shared with his sweet Hermione. He knocked lightly and stepped into the room where he found Hermione leaning into her mother's embrace.

"Helen," Ron greeted his mother-in-law quietly. "Thanks for coming."

"Not at all, dear," Helen replied. "I'll just nip on down and see if I can help Molly with anything, shall I?"

"Okay," Ron replied.

"Thanks, Mummy," Hermione whispered, her voice raw from all the crying.

Helen kissed her daughter on the top of her head. "That's what mummies do for their children, baby." She rose from the bed and made for the door. As she passed Ron, she ran her hand over his face. "She's lucky to have you, Ron."

As his mother-in-law left the room, Ron stared at her gob-smacked. He never expected anything like that from Helen. He'd heard it enough from his own mother, but to hear that from Hermione's mother meant the world to him. A few moments later, he turned his attention back to the exhausted woman sitting up in their bed. "You all right, Love?"

Hermione smiled weakly. "I'm a bit tired, but otherwise—" Her voice cracked again and a small tear stole down her cheek. "I'm…oh Ron!"

Ron nearly dove across the bed to take his wife in his arms. He thanked whichever gods were listening for keeping her safe from her attacker and berated himself for his tardiness. _I should have been there. Dammit! I should have bloody been there!_

Ron held Hermione gently but firmly in his strong arms, dropping tiny kisses on her forehead and anywhere else around her face and head he could reach. He stroked her arms and rubbed circles on her back, whispering endearments and assurances that none of this was her own fault. He did, however, refrain from berating himself out loud. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her even more. He knew this wasn't his fault either, but as a man and a husband, he couldn't help feeling a modicum of guilt.

About a half-hour later, there was another quiet knock on their door. "Come in," he called softly. Hermione hadn't fallen asleep yet, but she was close and he didn't want to disturb her rest.

Taya came in holding a tray with a bowl of soup, some crusty bread, and some of Molly's special tea. "Aunt Molly sent this up. She said you're to make sure Hermione eats every bite and drinks all her tea. Then you're supposed ta come down and eat, too.

"Thanks, Taya," Ron said, summoning the tray from her hands. He flicked his wand again, allowing the tray to float a few inches over the bed.

"My pleasure," she replied and backed out of the room, closing the door as she left.

"C'mon, 'Mione," Ron whispered. "Eat this. You'll feel better."

"But I know you're hungry," she said, sitting up straight. "I can manage."

"No deal, Love. Mum says you're to eat every bite and drink your tea. I'm going to make sure you do," he smiled. "Besides, I'm not going to starve. I'm staying right here until you've finished and then I'm going to tuck you in."

"Are you going to tell me a bedtime story, too," she smirked, lifting a spoonful of soup to her lips.

"If you want one," he grinned. "But not _The Tale of the Three Brothers_. I think we've had enough of that one for one lifetime."

"Actually, I'd like to hear _Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump_," she replied.

"Deal," Ron agreed. "Now eat."

Downstairs, Molly, Helen, Richard, Taya and Jayce gathered around the scrubbed oak table to partake of some soup and bread themselves. Molly believed, as did most Muggles, that chicken soup was good for the soul and it was obvious that some souls needed something good tonight. As usual, she made enough to feed an army; it was just how she cooked. She raised seven children, six of them boys, all of which had appetites like nobody's business—another Weasley trait. In addition, Harry had learned to eat his fill after years of deprivation at the hands of his aunt and uncle, and he could almost keep up with Ron now.

The group at the table had just finished up their first helpings when Ron padded down the stairs. "She's sleeping now. The soup and the tea were just what the Healer ordered."

"Did you talk about it," Helen asked, taking it upon herself to serve her son-in-law.

"No, not really," Ron replied. "Thanks. She wanted a bedtime story, if you can believe it."

"Oh, I can believe it," Richard interjected. "When she was a little girl, I read to her from _The Brothers Grimm_—the kinder version, that is. The originals…well, not bedtime story material, I'm afraid." He shook himself at the very thought of what really happened to Cinderella's step-mother and step-sisters. "So which was it? _Rapunzel? Sleeping Beauty? Rumplestiltskin?_"

"Um…no," Ron replied, a little puzzled. "_Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump_."

"Never heard of that one," Richard said, shaking his head. "Not _Grimm_, obviously."

"No, it's _Beedle the Bard_," Taya offered.

"Pardon," Richard replied. "Who?"

"The Tales of Beedle the Bard," Taya replied. "He's the Wizarding world's answer to _The Brothers Grimm_."

"So you know those stories," Molly asked, aghast.

"Oh sure," Taya said, tearing into another slice of bread. "Momma read 'em to us out of a beat-up old copy she said belonged to our daddy and Granny told us the Appalachian versions of the Grimm stories."

Molly's hand flew to her mouth. "F-fabian gave that old book to her? Oh my! I thought that book had been lost years ago. Do you still have it," the Weasley matriarch asked hopefully.

"Y-yeah," Taya replied. "Um…it's in my stuff upstairs. D'ya want it back?"

"Back? Oh no, dear! If Fabian gave that to Rhiannon for you girls, then it's yours," Molly said. "But…could I see it?"

"Sure," Taya said, sliding her chair back to leave the table.

"Oh no, dear! Not right this minute," Molly chided. "Finish your supper and then we'll have a look, yes?"

Taya hitched her chair back up to the table to finish her meal. The talk at the table consisted mostly of comparisons between The Brothers Grimm and Beedle the Bard. They'd all decided that fairytales were meant to teach object lessons, but what none of them could have known was that the Deathly Hallows were real and that Harry owned two of them, with the third lying somewhere in the Forbidden Forest under the detritus of nature.

Once everyone had eaten their fill of what Jayce called Jewish Penicillin, Molly, Helen, and Taya cleared away while Jayce and Richard followed Ron to the sitting room. "So are you going to tell us what's going on," Richard asked gruffly. He knew there was more to this than a little scare because it took quite a bit to upset his princess like that.

Ron sat down in his father's chair with a heavy sigh. He ran his hands over his face and through his long red hair. He scratched at the whiskers on his chin. He had decided to grow a bit of a small beard on his chin and a moustache to go with it. Hermione told him she thought it would look dashing…in a roguish kind of way. "Someone tried to bullshit Hermione into thinking he was me."

"Polyjuice," Jayce asked, his dark eyes going almost black. "Some dickhead PJ'd himself into you to…"

"Right in one, mate," Ron said. Over the next half-hour or so, he told his father-in-law and fellow Auror what had transpired that day. By the time he'd finished, Richard had begun muttering threats about high-powered Muggle weaponry and Jayce joining in, recommending certain favourites among his private collection.

Ron let it all go. He still felt guilty about not having been there as punctually as he should have been, but at the same time, he swelled a little with pride at how quickly his wife was able to take control of the situation and neutralise her assailant. _But who was he?_

While Richard and Jayce discussed various and sundry side-arms, rifles, and hunting gear, Ron's mind raced. He was shaken from his reverie when his father, his best mate, Susan Bones, Amelia Bones, and Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped through the kitchen door. "We're home!"

Ron stood and entered the kitchen in six long strides. "So…was it—"

Harry shot Ron a withering look and nodded almost imperceptibly. With a snarl and a quiet roar, Ron pushed past the five of them and stomped out of the house. "Want me to go after him, Dad," Harry asked, knowing his partner was about to launch on a tear.

"No, Harry. I'd better," Arthur said. "You lot sit and have some supper. I smell fresh bread and chicken soup. I'll see to Ronnie. Molly, I shouldn't be long."

"Take your time, dear," she replied, kissing his cheek. "There's plenty to go around several times."

Harry watched sadly as Arthur stepped outside into the night. "Is Hermione all right," he asked. He loved his sister deeply and had all he could do to contain himself when the Polyjuice potion wore off.

"She's a bit shaken," Helen told him. "But she's sleeping now. We expect she'll sleep through the night, what with Molly's excellent soup and a cup of that wonderful tea."

"Oh," Harry smiled faintly. "Yeah, she'll sleep the night for sure." He winked at his mother-in-law and then sat down with the others for a steaming bowl of soup and a knot or two of fresh bread.

"Who was it, Harry," Molly asked, wringing her hands on her ever-present apron. "Who did this?"

Harry finished chewing his bit of bread and washed it down with another spoonful of soup. "Um…it was Gumboil, Mum. Alastor Gumboil." As soon as he spoke the name, he closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath.

"_Easy, Love,"_ Ginny's voice drifted to his mind. _"Do you want me to Floo over?"_

"_You need to rest, Gin. You have to head out early tomorrow."_

"_I'll be fine,"_ she countered. _"Save some soup for me, yeah?"_

"_Okay, Gorgeous Girl. See you in a few minutes."_

Sure enough, the Floo whooshed with green flame and Ginny stepped through. "Where's Ron?"

"Outside somewhere with your father," Molly answered. "Sit down and have some soup. Have you eaten at all today?"

"Yes, Mum. I've been grazing all day like I usually do," Ginny replied, rolling her eyes. "But this smells like paradise!"

"_He's taking it pretty hard."_

Ginny shivered. _"Can you blame him?"_

After their brief telepathic exchange, Harry and Ginny joined in the table conversation, subdued as it was, and waited for the explosion they were sure to feel and hear from somewhere at the back of the Burrow property.

Arthur stuck his hands in his pockets and ambled through the orchard to the pond. It seemed to be a favourite place for his children to sit and think. In the moonlight, he could just make out the dark form of his youngest son silhouetted against the light dancing on the water. "Knut for your thoughts, son."

"It's my fault," Ron said darkly. "I should have been there."

"This isn't your fault, Ronnie," Arthur countered gently, placing a hand on his son's shoulder.

"If I'd been down there with her on time like I was supposed to be, this wouldn't have happened, Dad," Ron pressed. "I was supposed to be there when Selma left for the day, but I was too wrapped up in those damnable shift reports!"

"You were doing your job, Captain Weasley, and no one can fault you for that, least of all Hermione," Arthur said a bit assertively. "Besides, it was quite obvious you trained her well. She took control of the situation before he could do any damage."

"He," Ron snarled. "It was him, wasn't it? Gumboil?"

"Yes, Ronnie, it was Alastor Gumboil," Arthur confirmed. "He transformed about ten minutes after Ross and Dawlish secured him on the cell-block. King and I had to hold Harry back or he'd have done something we'd all have regretted."

"Why, Dad," Ron asked, tears falling down his face. "Why my 'Mione?"

"He didn't say," Arthur told him, sitting down next to Ron. "There's going to be an inquest in Kingsley's office tomorrow morning at nine. You and Hermione have to be there."

"Will that slimy bastard be there too," Ron asked, knowing full-well Gumboil would have to be in attendance, too.

"Ronnie, you know the answer to that," Arthur said.

"Yeah, I do," Ron admitted. "Dad, what are we going to do?" Tears began to fall from the big Aurors eyes in torrents. His heart was near the breaking point with guilt, but his love for Hermione held it together.

Arthur wrapped protective arms around his son. He marvelled at how big the boy had become. He could barely hold him to his side as he had done so many times when Ron was younger. No longer skinny and gangly, his youngest son was well-built, fit, and above all—coordinated in a way neither he nor Molly ever dreamed he could be. Still, he was their little Ronnie and he needed his father. "It's all right, Ronnie. Let it out. There's no shame for a man to hurt and to feel. It's all part of being human."

Ron collapsed in his father's embrace. He sobbed out his grief, his guilt, and his self-recrimination onto Arthur's robes. "He could have…have…" He couldn't say it. He couldn't bring himself to even _think _that Alastor Gumboil might have raped his wife.

"He could have, but he didn't, though, did he," Arthur reminded Ron soothingly. "He didn't have a chance, really. We're talking about our Hermione, here."

"Yeah, we are," Ron said with a watery chuckle. "She's really something, isn't she?"

"That she is, son. That she is."

"Dad, you said there's no shame in a man showing his feelings, but isn't it a bit poncey to blubber like an old woman," Ron asked, taking a conjured handkerchief from Arthur.

"Poncey," Arthur repeated in mock shock. "Certainly not! I have it very good authority that witches really…dig it."

"I wonder if that's what Ginny meant when she called Harry a _sensitive new-age guy_," Ron snorted.

"That's entirely possible," Arthur replied with a thoughtful smile. "Sensitive new-age guy, huh? Fascinating."

"I think we should go in now," Ron observed. "Mum's probably going spare wondering where we've got off to. She probably thinks we've gone to one of the village pubs to drown our sorrows."

"Well, I don't know about that, but I'm sure she's worried," Arthur agreed, standing up and brushing last fall's detritus from his robes. "Up you get, then." He offered his hand to Ron who took it and heaved himself to a standing position.

"Won't be long and you'll be picking _me _up off the ground," Arthur observed with a chuckle. "You nearly pulled me over!"

"I am a growing boy, Dad," Ron laughed, still wiping a few stray tears away from his sapphire orbs.

"Merlin's shinplasters, I surely hope not," his father laughed, clapping him on his back. The father, a full head shorter than the son, ushered him back to the ramshackle old house that had been home to the Weasleys for many, many years. Warm light and soft laughter wafted through the night air, growing steadily louder as they made their way through the orchard and the back garden.

"Here we are," Arthur announced as he and Ron stepped through the door. "Now how about some of that marvellous soup, Mollywobbles?"

"Yeah, Mum. I'm starving," Ron added, much to the delight of the witch of the house and the amusement of the others.

Kingsley sat behind his desk with a grim look on his face. On his right sat Amelia Bones and on his left, Audrey Martin, who diligently took detailed notes of the meeting taking place. His office served as a courtroom in order to perform the interrogation of Alastor Gumboil, who'd been in a DMLE holding cell following his arrest and subsequent transformation back from the shape of the Assistant Head Auror. In the office, the other two witnesses of the event, Hermione and Ron Weasley sat together in a magically expanded easy chair, their hands firmly clasped together, and the one person from DMLE who could safeguard everyone's security—Harry Potter. Hermione had requested his presence, and since Ministry regulations didn't allow for an arrested person access to the Minister's office without a guard present, the accused had no grounds for objection.

Kingsley cleared his throat and stared straight at the witnesses. "Yesterday, a person posing as Auror Captain Ronald Weasley entered The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and approached Hermione Weasley, who was working late. Soon, she realised something was wrong and a short struggle began, which ended with the person posing as Mr Weasley struck with an unknown hex, effectively incapacitating him. The actual Auror Captain appeared on the scene at that time."

At this point, Kingsley paused for a few moments and continued his formal reading describing the event. "The assailant was relieved by DMLE Head Arthur Weasley, arrested and taken to a holding cell at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Once the Polyjuice Potion wore off, the assailant was revealed as the Senior Undersecretary to Magical Law Enforcement, Alastor Gumboil. Mrs Weasley, do you have anything to add to the description of the event at this point?"

Hermione shot daggers at Gumboil as she rose. "No, Minister. That covers it," she confirmed.

"Mrs Weasley, can you please tell us what curse you cast upon Mr Gumboil," Amelia asked.

"It was the Bat-bogey Hex, but with a slight alteration to affect the... _butt_, rather than the nose. I call it Butt-bogey Hex," Hermione explained matter-of-factly without a flinch. "The alteration is perfectly legal and no more complicated than a Jelly-legs Jinx, but it's unknown to most people because the Bat-bogey Hex is known by so very few."

Chief Warlock Amelia Bones felt hard-pressed to argue. While rather good at Charms and Spells herself, she had to marvel at just how nonchalantly this barely twenty-year-old witch spoke of spell altering. _She makes it sound like any wizard or witch could do it. Doesn't she know how rare gift it is to so effortlessly manipulate spells?_

"You're saying that the victim's..." Amelia said, trying not to giggle. "... instead of bogeys turn into bats attacking the victim?"

"Yes, exactly. I think it's quite possible to adapt the hex to affect ear wax as well," Hermione stated," but stopped before she launched into lecture mode.

"Why do you think Mr Gumboil would attack you," Amelia asked. "What would be his motivation?"

Hermione took a breath before she spoke, quelling the anger she felt toward the man.

"I recently left his organisation, ELF, which I served as Historian. We had quite an argument leading up to my resignation, and there were witnesses to this event. He also showed a lot of hostility toward me in the last ELF meeting I attended as well as in the Wizengamot, both events witnessed by many witches and wizards. None of this is of course a reason for Mr Gumboil to attack me, but it's obvious he was upset with me, although I had no idea of the extent of it. Further, when he tried to..._ kiss_... me," Hermione spat out the word fighting to stay objective. "I noticed a hint of Firewhiskey, and that may have numbed his common sense enough to relax his inhibitions."

Amelia nodded silently as DMLE investigation had measured a fair amount of Firewhiskey in his body. "I'm sorry to ask you this question, Mrs Weasley, but why do you think he would try to kiss you rather than hex you?"

Hermione was prepared for this question to come up. "First of all, my guess is that Mr Gumboil finds me attractive," Hermione said, feeling uncomfortable about stating it. "The Most Beautiful Witch list in _Witch Weekly_ would suggest that he's not the only one who does. Secondly, sexual assault and rape have been used in the Muggle world for millennia as a way to dishonour and demean women. It's even been informal policy with no risk of punishment for the rapist among Muggle armies throughout history. I've learned that the laws concerning rape in our world are so strict that it just doesn't happen and sexual crimes of any degree are almost unheard of."

Hermione finished with a bow to Kingsley and Madame Bones before she sat down. Kingsley looked at Gumboil, who was sweating profusely.

"Captain Weasley, do you have anything to add at this point," Kingsley asked.

"Nothing at this point, sir," Ron replied.

Kingsley turned to Gumboil. "Mr Undersecretary, what do you have to say for yourself," Kingsley asked coldly hinting a grave irony at the title.

"Am I accused of a crime," Gumboil asked, assuming his mantle of superiority. "As Mrs Weasley points out, our laws in this matter are very strict and I never broke them."

Kingsley nodded. It was true. Sexual assault wasn't a crime according to Wizarding law because it just didn't happen—at least not among Pureblood families whose progenitors had more or less written the law—and there hadn't been a rape in centuries. _Damn, here's something in those ruddy laws in desperate need of an update. _Gumboil arranged his face in smug grin.

"Mr Gumboil," Kingsley began calmly. "You were in disguise under the effects of Polyjuice potion in the Ministry building, posing as the Assistant Head Auror, seducing a member of the Wizengamot, and not just a member, but a baroness of a Noble and Most Ancient House and a happily married woman.

Gumboil's grin faded a bit, and he didn't feel as confident any more. Still, he did his level best to maintain his superior demeanour. "So?"

"It took some digging, Mr Gumboil," Amelia said icily. "Since this sort of thing is so rare, but as it happens there is a law from 1134 that is still on the books that more than applies here." Amelia looked sharply at Gumboil and let him stew for a few moments. Back in those days, laws could be very harsh and the penalties extreme.

"A commoner assaulting a noble is a potentially-capital offence, Mr Gumboil, depending on the circumstances. Even the Kiss has been administered," Amelia explained. "And posing as an Auror is also illegal, and you did that within the Ministry itself, using it to commit such an act."

Gumboil's jaw dropped, but he tried to gather his thoughts. "This is not a court of law, but an inquiry," Gumboil persisted. "A hearing, if you will." His arguments were valid, but weak, and he knew he walked on thin ice at this point.

"We want to avoid turning this into a trial before the Wizengamot, Mr Gumboil," Amelia said flatly. "The situation in our community is explosive enough as it is. If this turned into a trial before the full Wizengamot, there'd be an outrage among the people who are already rioting against the Purebloods the likes of which we haven't seen since London burned in 1666. A Muggleborn Undersecretary on trial for assaulting a baroness. Can you imagine the effect that would have on the fragile peace in our community? It would destroy what we are trying to build, and what your organisation, ELF, purports to promote. You would be destroyed— potentially given over to the Dementors since the Kiss still isn't abolished."

_So it would, but it would punch a hole in the Pureblood laws so big they'd never repair it. But on the other hand, I can't let myself become a martyr by persisting and being tossed to a Dementor. Damn them._

"So, you'll have a choice, Mr Undersecretary, " Kingsley began in a way of summarization. "We can settle the business here, quietly and cleanly, which we can do since I, the Minister for Magic, and Chief Warlock Bones are present; or, we could charge you in as a suspect and put you on trial in a public forum before the Wizengamot. We figured it's in everyone's best interests to keep this out of the public eye, and that's why we are here today."

Gumboil realised he was cornered. If he were to push the matter and demand a trial, he'd more or less endorse the attacks, which he of course couldn't do. It would destroy him as well as ELF, and although ELF served a secondary role to him, it was necessary in order to gather the masses. He had one-third of the Wizengamot on his side and he'd lose them all if this…indiscretion… went to trial. Reluctantly, Gumboil nodded.

Kingsley sat up straight with magical authority swirling about him. He surveyed the people in the room and cleared his throat. "Alastor Gumboil, you are found guilty of the assault of baroness Black. You are as of now relieved of your duties as Senior Undersecretary for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and summarily dismissed with a fine of 20,000 Galleons, with the stipulation that you shall never again find employment with the Ministry of Magic. Furthermore, you are fined an additional 20,000 Galleons in damages, which are to be paid directly to baroness Black. If you are unable to pay, you will serve one year in Azkaban for every 1,000 Galleons not paid," Kingsley declared gravely. "These proceedings are closed and you all free to go."

Gumboil's face registered the shock that coursed through his body. 40,000 Galleons! Although he'd been well-paid as Senior Undersecretary, coughing up that much gold to avoid Azkaban meant he'd have to sell everything he owned. That just might cover it—at least he hoped so. For a brief moment, he found himself wondering how much gold the ELF coffers held, but shook it off. He would never plunder what he dreamed would become the next governing body of Wizarding Britain.

Harry ushered the now-disgraced former Undersecretary out of the office, while Ron and Hermione lingered inside. Kingsley had arranged for that in order to keep Ron out of trouble. He could see that the ginger-haired husband of the victim struggled to maintain a modicum of professional decorum when what he really wanted to do was throttle the bastard.

"Ron, are you okay," Hermione asked meekly. She was still a bit tired and her throat raw from all the crying the night before and the fair bit of testimony she had to give that morning.

"What? Me? Oh, yeah. I'm okay," he lied. "It's you I'm concerned about."

"I'm just tired is all," Hermione admitted. "I could really do with some good Chinese food. You wouldn't happen to know of a place, would you?" She grinned evilly, knowing Ron was probably hungry since he didn't eat much at breakfast, and since Harry escorted Ginny to Holyhead, she knew he hadn't eaten much either.

"I hear there's a really good place in Diagon Alley," he replied with an impish lopsided grin. "I'm told the food is excellent."

"Great. As soon as Harry comes back, we'll go check it out," Hermione giggled and then rubbed at her throat. "A bit scratchy."

"Then, my love, you shall remain silent for the day to rest it or I'll have Poppy and Onie on you before you can say Pepper-up," Ron admonished. "And that is an official order, Mrs Weasley."

"Y—"

"Silence, woman," Ron said again, touching his index and middle finger to her lips. "Not a chirp."

A few minutes later, Harry reappeared and walked up to them. "So…I'm famished. Lunch anyone?"

"A man after my own heart," Ron sighed. "The Dragon? Hermione's buying."

"Is that so," Harry chuckled. "Well then, baroness, shall we go?" Brother and husband offered their arms to Hermione, who nodded and took them. In that moment, it almost felt like the old days at Hogwarts when one of them was rarely seen without the other two.

Together they made their way to the lifts that would take them to the Atrium, where they could Floo directly into the Black Dragon's main dining room. They were among the few privileged Sam Chang allowed to do that.

As soon as they stepped through, the owner greeted them and showed them to their table. "The usual?"

The Golden Trio exchanged looks and nodded as one. "The usual," Ron said. "Dinner for Six."


	48. Chapter 48 Butting Out

**Chapter 48 – Butting Out**

_A/N: On Monday, 3 January 2011, JAM and SD/GC hammered out approximately 85 percent of this chapter in the same place at the same time, fuelled with Dominos pizza and soft drinks. The rest was brainstormed on Skype. We never had so much fun with our storytelling as we did with this chapter, because for the first time we were able to work face-to-face. We hope you find it as amusing to read as we did to write it. Thanks to Keyoke, Spyridon and Writing Blacksmith for pointing out a few errors we needed to correct, so here is a re-posting._

Audrey Martin finished her record of the meeting while everyone but Kingsley and Madame Bones left the Minister's office. Once she finished, she picked up her parchment and quill and turned to the Minister. "If there's nothing more, sir, I'll have this report sent to you later today."

"Thank you, Miss Martin," Kingsley replied with a nod to dismiss her. Audrey bade goodbye to Madame Bones and left the office to return to the Wizengamot Administration Services.

"She's a fine employee," Amelia commented as the young witch left them.

"Yes, there's a young generation with many dedicated wizards and witches—Miss Martin, our young Aurors, Mrs Weasley, Lee Jordan's team and Mr Malfoy. Oh, and while you're here and I'm thinking about it, I'd like to talk to you about Percy Weasley."

"Is there a problem," Amelia asked.

"Not with Mr Weasley. He also ranks among those most-dedicated employees. But he's employed as former Minister Fudge's personal assistant, and I can't change that. With you as Chief Warlock, we should be able to suss out how to change it without having Fudge re-elected as Minister, which I think neither we nor Cornelius would like."

Amelia smirked at Kingsley's comment. From what she had heard, Cornelius Fudge enjoyed his retirement, living somewhere in the Mediterranean. "I'll look into it. It shouldn't require more than a decision in the Wizengamot, in which he'll be released from his duties, and then after that, you can give him a proper position."

"Thank you, Amelia," Kingsley said. "That's one less problem. Now onto the next one—finding a new Senior Undersecretary for Magical Law Enforcement."

"Do you have anyone in mind," Amelia asked.

"Of course. I have several candidates," Kingsley assured her. "The most logical choice would be Arthur Weasley, but I think he'd agree that he's better needed where he is. DMLE is still recovering from the war and we need to let Arthur finish that work before we consider him for another job. And with the current unrest, we can't afford any disruptions at his Department."

"That makes sense," Amelia agreed.

"John Dawlish is of course qualified, but I'd have to talk to Harry before even considering him. Although the Aurors are strong, their numbers aren't great, and I don't want to lift anyone from the Auror Office unless Harry agrees. At least not with the additional work they have with preparing for and starting up the Auror Training Programme this autumn."

"And those two are the top candidates currently working in DMLE," Amelia assumed.

"Yes, the Department Head and the former Head Auror," Kingsley said. "But the Senior Undersecretary doesn't necessarily need to be from DMLE as long as he knows Wizarding Law and is able to understand how Law Enforcement is carried out."

"A Healer can do his job without having had the disease he's treating," Amelia said.

"Exactly," Kingsley agreed. "Which made me think about Virgil Greengrass."

Amelia considered the suggestion. Virgil Greengrass was a fair man and although he was a Slytherin, he had never expressed any Pureblood Supremacy opinions. He had also supported Hermione's proposal openly in the Wizengamot. "He certainly knows Wizarding Law and he strikes me as a wise man, not letting himself be dragged into Voldemort's plots in either war. Supporting Mrs Weasley in the Wizengamot shows that he's not afraid of doing what's right. Through his daughter's upcoming marriage to Mr Malfoy, he's a dominant figure among the traditional Slytherin families. _And_ despite the fact that they're weakened at the moment, they will recover and still have an important role to play in Wizarding Britain," Amelia said listing what she recognised as his strengths. "However, the fact that he's a Pureblood will be used by ELF and their like, but he's not connected to Harry Potter."

"Other than Harry casting the wedding charm for his daughter and Mr Malfoy," Kingsley told her.

"Really? Harry Potter will cast the wedding charm for Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass," Amelia asked in surprise, and received a wide grin and definitive nod from the Minister. "I think there's hope for our community, Kingsley. And with that, I have to return to Hogwarts, as I have fifth-year Transfiguration after lunch and after that, a pile of essays to grade."

Kingsley noted that the Chief Warlock hadn't recommended that he approach either candidate mentioned; she'd merely stated her opinion. Amelia Bones definitely knew how to handle the relationship between the governing Minister for Magic and the legislating Wizengamot. Kingsley's admiration for Albus Dumbledore and his greatness aside, he preferred Madame Bones as Chief Warlock. He couldn't help but wonder, though, to what extent the friction between the former Chief Warlock and former Minister played into Voldemort's hands to take over Wizarding Britain.

A few days later, Percy arrived at his tiny office cubicle to find a rather official-looking parchment envelope sealed with the broadside 'W' of the Wizengamot. He wasn't sure what to make of it, since he'd never received any kind of personal communication from that august body. With shaky hands, he broke the seal and opened the envelope. A small note rose to float before his eyes.

_Dear Mr Weasley:_

_We hereby inform you that you have been honourably discharged from your duties as Assistant to Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge._

_Thank you for your dedicated service._

_Dorcas Much,_

_Wizengamot Administration Services_

"I…I've been sacked," Percy gasped to himself, beads of sweat breaking out on his freckled forehead, fogging his thick glasses. His first instinct was to collapse in a pool of tears. He'd put the Ministry before his own family, for Merlin's sake. Sure, it was a bad choice, but it only showed his dedication to his job and the government of Wizarding Britain…didn't it?

Once the initial shock wore off, one question echoed in his mind: _WHY? What have I done? Or not done? There must be some mistake!_ "Have I not served the Ministry faithfully and diligently? No, no, no. This isn't possible," he muttered out loud.

"Mr Weasley," a timid female voice called. "Are you quite all right?"

"Oh," Percy squeaked, his reverie broken by the intruder. "Yes, yes. I'm quite well, thanks. Just a bit overwhelmed."

"Of course," she replied. "If you need any help, I'd be happy—"

"No, no. I'm quite all right," Percy insisted. _Unless you can get my job back for me_.

"All right, then. Good day," she said and ducked back into her own cubicle.

"Yes. Right. Good day," Percy squeaked again, having snatched the floating memo out of the air and crushed it in his still-shaking hand. _This is outrageous!_ As the shock wore off and was replaced by indignity, Percy resolved to get to the bottom of this…this…outrage. He almost wanted to blame the twins, but there were no twins—only George—and he was too busy with his shop and developing new pranks and such to pull something like that. There was no doubt that his younger twin brothers—together or apart—could be rather ridiculous at times, but they were never intentionally cruel to anyone.

His first instinct was to run to his father to demand someone's arrest. But that wouldn't do, since sending a non-threatening memo wasn't a crime. In fact, it wasn't a crime to send a threatening memo either…unless it was cursed, but by the time that would have been detected, the damage would have been done. Realising he might be going over the edge a bit, he calmed himself enough to think rationally. _Audrey Martin! She'd know if this is real. She'd be able to tell me if this Dorky person exists_.

Gathering up his briefcase, Percy stormed out of the office between the cubicles, the offending parchment still clutched in his fist. He had all he could do to refrain from muttering invective as he hurried to the lifts that would take him down one floor to WAS on Level Two, on which DMLE also resided. He was just too angry to consider using the stairs and besides, that was an Auror-thing and he had no desire whatsoever to emulate his gorilla of a youngest brother or brother-in-law. Not that he didn't respect them or the work they did, but Percy just had no desire to—how did Jayce say it? Oh yes—_get ripped_.

As soon as he stepped onto the elevator, he all but punched the button and then cursed under his breath because the door wouldn't close as quickly as he would like. Moments later, the lift descended and stopped. "Level Two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Wizengamot Administration Services," the saccharine-sweet voice reported.

"Yes, yes, I know, damn you," Percy huffed. "Just open up already!"

"Have a nice day and thank you for visiting the Ministry of Magic," the voice replied as the gate slid open.

"Visiting indeed," Percy growled. "Even the bloody lift knows I'm sacked," completely disregarding the fact that the voice said that to everyone, employee or no.

Percy sped past his brothers' office, almost tempted to stop by his father's, but thought better of it and continued on to WAS. Stopping to take a deep breath, he opened the door a bit rougher than was probably prudent, but at this point, he was so angry, he really didn't give the south end of a north-bound Hippogriff what any of them thought.

Stomping inside, he found the entire office engaged in a ruddy tea-party. _Bloody hell!_ His rather noisy entrance garnered the attention of the party, who all stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. Percy mentally scoffed at them as he had focused his thoughts on finding Audrey. After a quick scan of the room, he spotted her at the centre of the company, sipping tea rather daintily and chatting with a couple of other witches about something he was sure had to do with shopping, fashion, or his youngest brother.

Stepping determinedly toward her table, completely unaware that the rest of the room followed his every move, he thrust the crumpled and smeared memo into Audrey's face. "What is this? Is this your idea of a joke?"

"Percy, what are you on about? And please take that…thing…out of my face," Audrey replied, setting her teacup down on its saucer.

"This…thing, as you call it…appeared at my desk not fifteen minutes ago informing me that I'm sacked as Minister Fudge's Assistant!"

Audrey couldn't help but smirk. "Percy, Minister Fudge has been gone since 1996," she reminded him.

"That's not the point," Percy argued.

"Then what is the point," she replied. "You can't very well be an assistant to someone who isn't employed here anymore."

"But Audrey," Percy argued. "I've been sacked!"

The others in the room hid their smiles and snickers behind their hands, trying not to spit biscuit crumbs into their tea or some other undignified thing. Percy was never particularly popular among Ministry employees and few had forgotten how he worked hard to further discredit Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore while former Minister Fudge stuck his head up his…well, ignored the warnings about the Dark Lord's return. Many had felt the sting of Percy's own memos as he summoned them to Dolores Umbridge's inquisitions as well. To them, Percy Weasley's apparent plight was truly entertaining at the least.

"Let me see the memo," Audrey said, reaching for the now-nearly-illegible bit of parchment. She tapped it with her wand and muttered "_Legible_." The parchment straightened and the ink flowed back into the fine lines and flourishes that made coherent language. She read the notice and checked the seal on the envelope for authenticity. With a sigh, she returned it to the redhead and turned sad eyes to his. "Percy, I'm really sorry, but I'm afraid this notice is real. I knew nothing about this, I promise."

Percy's shoulders slumped in defeat, his eyes prickling with hot tears he silently swore he wouldn't allow to fall. Audrey stood and took his hand. "Perhaps you should talk with the current Minister and see if there's anything to be done. It can't hurt."

Percy sighed heavily, his face red with embarrassment for having been sacked and for having been such a boor upon entering the WAS offices. As soon as her suggestion sunk into his guilt-addled mind, he brightened. "Of course! Oh, Audrey, you're a genius! I'll see Minister Shacklebolt and see if there's something he can do! Thank you," Percy gushed to the amazement of the onlookers. Pompous Perfect Percy Weasley had come unglued and then gushed. Would wonders ever cease?

Percy snatched the letter from Audrey's hand, tempted to kiss it, but decided that might not be appropriate at this juncture. With a final wave, he raced out the door and back to the lifts. He was about to pass by his father's office when he thought it might not be a bad idea to have some moral support. He skidded to a stop just beyond the door. Not bothering to turn around, he just stepped backwards and opened the door.

"Percy? Is something wrong," Arthur asked, his eyebrows raised in question.

"Father! Oh thank Merlin you're here," Percy cried. "I…I've been sacked." He waved the now-repaired memo over his head.

"What," Arthur gasped. "How?"

"This," Percy said, handing the parchment to his father. "Audrey Martin said it's real."

Arthur pretended to read the memo several times over, trying valiantly to hide the grin that played along his lips. Clearing his throat and assuming some semblance of a thunderous countenance, he handed the parchment back to his son. "Percy, this is serious. What are you planning to do about it? Surely there's been a mistake."

"Well, I thought so, but Audrey says it's not, and suggested that I see Minister Shacklebolt and appeal it," Percy replied shakily.

"A very wise witch, this Audrey," Arthur replied, knowing the young lady quite well.

"Yes, I believe she is," Percy agreed. "I only hope I can save my job."

"But Percy, you were assistant to Cornelius Fudge; he's not Minister anymore," Arthur replied gravely.

"I know that, Father, but just because Fudge…fudged the job…doesn't mean I can't keep mine," Percy argued, almost whinging.

"Tell you what, son," Arthur began. "How about I come along with you to see Kingsley? Perhaps we can work something out."

"Would you? I mean…of course you would…I'd be ever so grateful," Percy gushed again. His son's demeanour reminded Arthur of the times when Percy was a little boy and simply gloried in the attention he received for any little accomplishment.

"Come along, then," Arthur said, rising from his chair. "I believe the Minister should be having his tea about now, so I'm sure he can squeeze us in."

Arthur notified his secretary that he would be out of the office for about an hour and to hold any memos that were sure to come his way. With a firm hand on his son's shoulder, he guided Percy to the stairwell beside the lifts. "Good for the constitution, Percy."

The two Weasley men climbed the stairs to the First Level and to the Minister's suite of offices. "Is he in," Arthur asked.

"Yes, he's just having his tea, Arthur. Go on in," the secretary replied, turning the page of the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_. "Tell Molly I'm going to try this hot-cross buns recipe; it looks wonderful."

"She'll be thrilled," Arthur replied, as he and Percy disappeared into Kingsley's office.

"Arthur," Kingsley greeted them, extending his hand. "Percy."

"Minister," they each replied.

The Minister for Magic returned to his rather plush leather chair, a throwback to the Fudge era of excess. "Tea?"

"Yes, thank you," Arthur replied. "Percy?"

"Yes, please," the younger wizard replied shakily. He really didn't feel much like sipping tea at that particular moment, but it would have been rude to refuse.

"So what brings you by," Kingsley asked, already suspecting the reason.

Arthur nudged Percy, who set his cup into its saucer. "Yes, well, I received a rather…um…disconcerting memorandum this morning."

"Indeed," Kingsley smirked, taking a bit out of a crème biscuit. "And what did it say?"

Percy's face burned red and then paled to almost-white. "It," he squeaked. "It told me I've…I'm…I'm sacked…sir."

Kingsley stole a glance at Arthur, who smirked in returned. "And did the…memorandum…reveal the reason for the sacking?"

"N-no, sir," Percy replied with a quiver in his voice, sweat breaking out once again on his forehead. "It…it just said I'm honourably discharged as assistant to Minister Fudge." Percy handed the parchment to Kingsley.

The Minister pretended to read the notice a few times and then laid it on his desk. "It seems to be in order, since Cornelius Fudge hasn't held this office in nearly four years."

"But…but I've been a good employee! I…I did a good job for you, didn't I," Percy argued.

"Yes, this is true, but you can't hold a position that no longer exists," Kingsley explained, as though he were teaching a child that the sky is blue.

"But…but I thought I was _your_ assistant," Percy cried.

"No, Percy. I'm afraid your title was Junior Assistant to Minister Cornelius Fudge," Kingsley replied. "And as such, I had no power over you, nor did I have the authority to change your title or status. This was a decision of the Wizengamot, not me."

"But…but you're the Minister," Percy wailed. "You're—"

"Percy," Arthur interjected, taking hold of his son's arm. "The Minister doesn't hold as much power and authority as Ministers Bagnold and Fudge—or even Scrimgeour—would have had us to believe. The three of them acted inappropriately on many matters concerning who had authority to do what and when."

"But…"

"Percy, things are different now," Kingsley explained. "I made a solemn promise to the people of Wizarding Britain, to the Wizengamot, and to myself that I would not conduct Ministry affairs the same way as my predecessors. I intend to fulfil my official duties according to the law—not my personal interpretation of it."

"So…there's nothing you can do," Percy asked, thoroughly defeated.

"Not about the sacking," Kingsley replied sadly. He then stole another look at the young man's father, who nodded. "But I am now free to offer you a position as Personal Assistant to the Minister for Magic."

At first, Percy didn't hear the Minister's offer. He was still in shock at having lost his former job. It was a rare occurrence that one would be dismissed from Ministry employment and those who were certainly deserved it, such as the now-disgraced former Undersecretary to the DMLE, Alastor Gumboil for having tried to force himself on Hermione.

"Percy. Percy," Arthur called. "Percy Ignatius Weasley!"

Percy jumped in his seat, wide-eyed and shaken. "Y-yes, Father? I'm sorry. I…"

"Percy, the Minister just made you a rather prestigious offer. Do you plan to at least answer the man," Arthur chided his son, still trying to hide a smile.

"Oh…um…yes," Percy stammered. "W-what was the question?"

"It wasn't a question, Percy; it was a statement," Kingsley chuckled. "I said that there was nothing I could do about your having been sacked as Junior Assistant to Cornelius Fudge, but that I am now free to offer you the position of Personal Assistant to the Minister for Magic."

Percy's heart leapt into his throat and then his brain shifted into overdrive. "Sir, are you—are you in earnest? Me? Your personal assistant?"

"Not _my _personal assistant, but Personal Assistant to the Minister for Magic," Kingsley corrected. "You see, Percy, the trouble we had with your position within the Ministry was your title—Junior Assistant to Cornelius Fudge. When he left office, you became an assistant to a non-entity, if you will. Essentially, your job no longer existed. As such, I had no way to advance you or even change your title without first having you sacked."

"That's right, Percy," Arthur agreed. "Minister Shacklebolt and Chief Warlock Bones had a meeting about you the other day to determine how best to deal with your situation. What they discovered was that the Wizengamot not only had the authority to sack you, but to permanently eliminate any possibility of such nonsense ever happening again."

"That's right," Kingsley said, taking over the explanation. "This way, your title is one that can be transferred should I be succeeded by a new Minister. Your position is now secure, and should a new Minister wish to bring in his or her own Personal Assistant, he or she is free to transfer you to another department or keep you on in some other capacity without having to sack you first."

"Yes, and when someone asks you what you do for a living, you have a definitive answer," Arthur announced proudly.

"So you knew all along," Percy surmised. "You let me stew all morning, knowing I was sacked merely on parchment and not truly sacked."

"Percy, we did prank you in way, I'll admit. And it was fun to watch you squirm, but really this was the only way to correct the problem and secure your career with the Ministry," Kingsley assured him. "We meant no harm—well, maybe a little—but we'd planned this after much careful study and investigation amongst the litter of insanity called Wizarding Law."

"Father?"

"I did, son. Amelia had come to me and sworn me to secrecy," Arthur replied.

"Well. Uh…thank you…I guess," Percy stammered. Now understanding the situation, he sat up straight in his chair, assuming his official Percy-demeanour. "Minister Shacklebolt, I am truly honoured that you would choose me for this position and I accept." He extended his hand to the Minister and winked at his father.

"Done, but on one condition," the Minister said gravely.

"C-condition?"

"Yes. Unless we are in public or in session or among subordinates, you are required to address me as Kingsley, not Minister Shacklebolt."

"Done, Min—er—_Kingsley_," Percy agreed. "Thank you."

"This calls for a celebration," Arthur said, clapping his hands together. "How about a celebratory dinner at the Black Dragon tonight?"

"For…for me," Percy asked, completely taken off-guard.

"Of course for you, son. Who else just got sacked, re-hired, and promoted in one hour today," his father asked rhetorically.

"Exactly," Kingsley boomed, his laughter carrying to the outer office.

"Fine. I'll let Sam know the party's on, then," Arthur said.

As Arthur and Percy left Kingsley's office, they met Virgil Greengrass, who had been waiting outside the Minister's office. With rudimentary nods, the two Weasleys walked on, leaving the attorney wondering if the summons to a meeting with Kingsley had anything to do with his defence of Elwood Darby.

Following his trial, the man had been assessed a rather hefty fine he couldn't afford to pay, which meant he'd have to spend the next five years in Azkaban. Even Darby had to admit that this sentence was a lot better than the lifetime sentence he certainly would've received had Lord Greengrass not taken his case, and not to mention young Mr Malfoy's willingness to strike a plea-bargain to help him. _There were all kinds of victims of the war, directly and indirectly._

The Weasleys hadn't been gone but a few minutes when the Minister's secretary invited Virgil into the Minister's office and seated him in one of the comfortable armchairs that adorned the office, _gifts_ to Cornelius Fudge from Lucius Malfoy. He politely accepted the tea and shortbread Kingsley offered him.

"Lord Greengrass..." Kingsley began but was immediately interrupted.

"Please, Minister, I prefer _Mr Greengrass_, or _Virgil_ in private conversations such as this one," the man requested.

"Virgil then, and please call me Kingsley. I take expect you're wondering why I asked you to come here today," the Minister said.

"Yes. I must say that I was rather surprised to receive an owl from you," Virgil said.

"Let me get straight to the point, then. I'm sure you have other business to attend to, what with your daughter's wedding, along with other family business and legal counsel," Kingsley said to point out that he understood that the man across from him had a lot on his plate already.

Virgil chuckled. "It's actually my wife and Narcissa—Mrs Malfoy—who are doing most of the planning, Kingsley. My task seems to be to simply provide the Galleons."

Kingsley didn't know Virgil Greengrass very well, but he liked what saw so far. The man seemed relaxed and genial and displayed a wry sense of humour. "Straight to the point, I'd like to offer you a job."

Virgil hinted his surprise in his eyes, but didn't flinch. "I'm listening."

"I had to let my Senior Undersecretary for Magical Law Enforcement go, and I need a new one," Kingsley explained. "I need the qualified candidates currently working in DMLE in their present positions; I just can't spare them for this."

"Assuming I accept your offer, what exactly is the job description," Virgil asked. "As I've no doubt you're aware, I know the law, but very little about law enforcement."

"Yes, as a former Auror myself, I daresay the Minister's staff have a sufficient understanding of Magical Law Enforcement. What I really need is someone who knows the law and can assist me on an administrative level, as well as advise Arthur Weasley in the actual execution of it. You'd be welcome to join the Squads, Hit-wizards and Aurors to gain an understanding of their everyday routine in order to more effectively perform your duties. There are always situations that regulations or the law itself do not directly address and so there would be cases in which your judgement would be invaluable. Your most important job would be to identify where our system is in need of clarification or outright change."

Virgil nodded slowly, deep in thought. "I'd have to give up my legal practise, but I honestly think I'd be in a position to do more good for our community on your staff than in the courtroom," Virgil said. In all honesty, he knew he'd make better money and more of a name for himself in public service. But there was an item of concern that he simply had to address with the Minister before he could even consider accepting his offer. "What about the fact that I'm from a Slytherin family?"

Kingsley appreciated the question. It showed him that Virgil Greengrass considered his options carefully, as befitting an attorney of his stature. "Of course there'll be a couple of headlines about that. We also expect the factions opposing Pureblood advancement of any kind to object. But imagine what would happen if I chose, for instance, the current Head of DMLE, Arthur Weasley, for this job? Another Pureblood who also happens to be Harry Potter's father-in-law."

"Yes, that would just lend more credence to that ridiculous theory about Potter's Plot," Virgil concluded before turning to Kingsley and looking him in his eyes. "Kingsley, I'm more than tempted to accept your offer; however, I ask that you allow me to sleep on it. I have no doubt that my response will be a positive one, but I wish to examine the issue from all sides before I make a final decision."

_Typical lawyer_. Kingsley offered his hand to the other wizard. "Of course, Virgil. I'm glad you think enough of the offer to give it that much thought." The two men shook hands and Virgil left the office.

The Weasleys had quite a celebration at the Black Dragon that night, which included many toasts to Percy's good fortune and George's vocal appreciation for his usually-stuffy older brother's sporting acceptance of the quasi-prank that Minister Shacklebolt and their father played on him. For his part, Percy found himself eager to start his new job, which was really the same as it had always been, but with a real job-title and the rather impressive pay-package to match.

The following morning, Percy arrived at the Ministry and met Audrey Martin at the wand-check. "Good morning, Audrey," Percy said cheerily.

"Why Percy, I thought…" Audrey had felt bad for Percy, as he'd always seemed to her to be a hard-worker with a good ethic. His sacking seemed terribly unfair and really didn't make sense to her, especially since there had been no explanation as to why he'd been sacked.

"Yes, well," Percy began, his ears reddening, followed by the rest of his head. "I took your advice. I went to see the Minister…with my father. It was all a formality."

"A formality," she asked. "A formality for what?"

"I had to be sacked from my former position so Minister Shacklebolt could offer me a new one," Percy beamed. "You're now looking at the new Personal Assistant to the Minister for Magic!"

Audrey's eyes opened wide at the revelation. "Percy, that's wonderful! Congratulations!" She gave him a quick hug and then let him go as if she'd been burned. _Well done, Martin_.

"Thank you," he said, blushing again. Not one for hugs, he had to admit to himself that Audrey's was rather nice. "Well, I guess I'm off," he said, still blushing furiously.

"Good luck," she called as he hurried away.

When Percy arrived at his usual cubicle, he found that his desk and files had been cleared. In his confusion, he turned to his neighbour for any information she might have.

"Oh, they didn't tell you," she said. "A few interns came to move all you things to you new office," she giggled.

"I have an office," Percy gasped. _Why doesn't anyone tell me anything?_

"Of course. You're the Minister's personal assistant," she reasoned. "It wouldn't do to have you down here when there's a perfectly good office right next to his!"

Percy couldn't help but puff out his chest, as he often did in his pride. This time, though, it wasn't because he wanted to show off; it was because he truly was proud of himself. "Thank you. I should have guessed."

"You're welcome," she giggled again. "Congratulations and good luck."

Percy took one last look at the space he'd occupied for approximately three years and then walked away. A new phase of his life had just begun and he intended to make the most of it.

That Thursday, Arthur, Molly, Ron, Hermione, Jayce and Taya sat around the Burrow's breakfast table indulging in a traditional English breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, beans, bangers, hash browns, toast, tinned tomatoes, mushrooms, tea and coffee. The inclusion of tomatoes and beans in a breakfast seemed a bit odd to the Americans at the table, but they found it tasty all the same.

They had breakfast about an hour earlier than usual because they were all getting ready to attend the inauguration ceremony for Virgil Greengrass, as he would be sworn in as the new Senior Undersecretary for DMLE that morning. Following the ceremony, which would take place in Kingsley's office, the Minister had called for a press-conference to make a statement and stop the spread of any rumours before they even got started.

The _Prophet_ owl arrived with its burden as it did every morning, but there wasn't much beyond the mundane reports about this sale or that sale at this or that shop in Diagon Alley. Hermione noticed that the latest WWW advertisements was one of the designs she'd seen at Dean's shop the day she told Gumboil which train to get off of and where.

"It's really beautiful," Hermione said, showing the ad to her husband. "He does such lovely work."

"Yeah. Remember that banner he did for Gryffindor for Harry's first game," Ron agreed. "I hear they're still using it."

They passed the paper around the table, all of them exclaiming about the quality of Thomas' work. "And he wants to train to do portraits," Hermione added. "He says it'll take a few years to learn to brew the proper potions and incorporate them into the paints properly."

"So this isn't something one just whips up," Taya asked.

"Oh no," Hermione said excitedly. "After Dean told me, I went to Flourish and Blotts and found a few books about magical portraiture. He'll have to apprentice and earn a Fellowship before he can accept commissions. It's highly-advanced magic and potioneering."

"Yeah, and we learned _so much_ from the greasy git," Ron grumbled.

"Ronald Weasley, what have we told you about speaking ill of the dead," his mother admonished. "He died a hero and he's not here to defend himself."

"Sorry, Mum," Ron grumbled. _Sorry Snape was such a greasy git_.

Soon it was time to leave for the Ministry. They didn't want to be late as they knew Harry and Ginny would already be there waiting for them before the ceremony, and they all knew Hermione's feelings about tardiness in any situation. Best to hurry and avoid a lecture.

They hurried into their cloaks and made their way to the Apparition point outside the wards. In pairs, they Apparated to the Ministry Atrium, bypassing the wand-check due to their status within the organisation. They arrived at Kingsley's office with only a few minutes to spare. Harry and Ginny had already arrived and been engaged in light conversation with the Minister, the Chief Warlock, Percy, and his newly-appointed Undersecretary and his wife.

"It's about time," Ginny huffed. "If this was the Hogwarts Express, we'd barely have enough time to board the train, let alone stow our trunks!"

"I don't know how this family does it, really," Hermione concurred. "I was taught to arrive at least fifteen minutes before an appointment and…"

"Yes, Hermione. We know," Ron groaned, rolling his eyes. "But we might have been here sooner if you hadn't gone on about the fifteen books you read about magical portraiture."

"It was only three, Ronald, and I didn't go on about them," Hermione said with a degree of anger. "I only said…"

"That it's time we inaugurate Lord Greengrass," Arthur finished.

The others allowed themselves a laugh at Hermione's expense, but they really needed to get on with the ceremony as the press-conference was due to begin immediately afterward. Already, the Atrium had begun to fill with reporters, Ministry employees, Aurors, and Troopers, and gawkers eager to find out why they had been invited there.

Percy stood perpendicular to Amelia Bones and Lord Greengrass, who faced each other, with Arthur and Harry acting as official witnesses. He held out a rather large book that had been charmed to hover about a centimetre over his hands so as not to fatigue his arms. "Lord Greengrass, please raise your right hand to the square," the Chief Warlock commanded.

Amelia cleared her throat and spoke. "Virgil Greengrass, do you solemnly swear to execute your duties as Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, upholding the law of Wizarding Britain?"

"I do so swear," he replied.

"And do you, Virgil Greengrass, swear to support and defend the Minister and advise him in his duties as Minister for Magic as they pertain to Magical Law Enforcement?"

"I do so swear," he replied again.

"Then with the power vested in me as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot of Great Britain and Ireland, I pronounce you Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Congratulations," she said, extending her hand.

"Thank you, Madame Bones," Virgil said.

"Welcome to the Ministry," Kingsley boomed. "Percy, Rosmerta's best mulled mead!"

The group drank to their new colleague and exchanged hugs and handshakes all around. "Molly, your column in _Witch Weekly_ is a godsend," Edwina Greengrass said. "Our House-elves are just mad for the recipes!"

"Thank you, Edwina," Molly replied politely. "I'm so glad you're enjoying them." After a few more minutes of conversation, Kingsley herded them all to the Atrium for the press-conference. Molly had been invited to many Ministry functions over years, but it never ceased to amaze her how grand each one was—balls, conferences, general assemblies, and the late duelling tournament—they all fascinated her with their ceremony and circumstance.

DMLE Troopers stood guard against the crowds of reporters hoping to get a question in to the Minister, the Chief Warlock and their entourage as they passed. The original question had been why they were there, but now they wanted to know why Lord Greengrass had become part of the Minister's entourage, since no other member of the Wizengamot other than Madame Bones moved among them.

As Head Auror, Harry Potter was automatically one of the Minister's bodyguards and as his Assistant Head, Ron Weasley would also be in attendance, so their presence was no mystery. Some of them had noted Molly Weasley, Edwina Greengrass, Hermione Weasley, and Ginny Potter among them, but were escorted to seats near the front and just behind the Wizengamot, all of whom were dressed in full regalia. Among them, another certain interested party took extra notice at the presence of such high-powered women and deigned to get a closer look.

Interesting to note was the presence of the leadership of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, sans Senior Undersecretary Alastor Gumboil. Everyone knew Virgil Greengrass was a rather well-respected and successful attorney, but couldn't imagine what on earth he was doing with the denizens of magical law enforcement on dais with the Minister.

"Witches and Wizards, may I please have your attention," Kingsley's voice boomed above the crowd. After a few more moments of buzzing, the assembly quieted to hear with the Minister had to say to them.

"Thank you," he said. "I suppose you're all wondering why we invited you here today." A smattering of laugher passed through the audience. "Allow me to read the following statement."

Molly watched as Kingsley produced a sheet of parchment from his robes. She looked on proudly as her two youngest sons stood at parade rest and scanned the onlookers for threats. What fine figures they cut in their Auror robes. It seemed only yesterday that Fred, George, and Ron arrived at the Burrow with a disheveled and scrawny Harry Potter. She wondered for a moment if Harry still had the first Weasley jumper she had knitted for him for Christmas their first year at Hogwarts. She'd never forget the sweet thank-you note Harry sent her for it and the other goodies she'd sent him. She had included it in the scrapbook she had been working on.

"Last Friday, Alastor Gumboil was relieved of his duties as Senior Undersecretary for Magical Law Enforcement." Voices muttered as quills scratched against parchment. "A few moments ago, Virgil Greengrass was sworn in as his successor by Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot Amelia Susan Bones according to our law." More muttering and scratching.

Edwina smiled proudly as the Minister introduced her husband, whom everyone knew on sight anyway, but the ceremony of it all appealed to her upper-crust Pureblood soul. She looked over at Molly, who returned her smile with a warm one of her own, although the Weasley matriarch's eyes couldn't help but maintain their focus on her sons and husband.

_My, but the Weasleys have come a long way_. The looks on her daughters' faces mirrored her own when she and Arthur were first married. Devotion. Pride. _Oh, why sugar-coat it?_ Lust. She couldn't blame them, really. All of her boys were rather dashing in their own ways—even Percy. In fact, she noticed several young witches in the crowd with the same look on their faces.

Following the statement, the reporters began to fire questions, hoping to be the ones noticed and answered. While she could hear the cacophony, she really didn't pay much attention to it. She was simply too absorbed in her own thoughts to really care. She knew why they were there and what facilitated Alastor's dismissal, so she really hadn't been listening to the insinuations contained within their questions.

Molly continued to revel in her thoughts about how much their lives had changed since Harry became a part of their world and the end of the war. She couldn't be prouder of any of her children than she was at this very moment, even though the moment had nothing to do with any of them at all. Ginny realised her life's dream—dreams, actually—married to Harry Potter and playing professional Quidditch with the Holyhead Harpies. Ron finally grew up and she and Arthur didn't have to worry about him anymore; Hermione made a fine wife for him and she could tell that they were completely and hopeless devoted to one another.

Following Fred's death, she worried that George would withdraw into himself, but Angelina drew him out and helped him rebuild the lucrative business he's started with his twin. Fred would have been thrilled for both of them. Percy had been such a prat for so long, but he finally came around when he realised that the Ministry couldn't solve everyone's problems and that it was a problem in and of itself most of the time.

But what made her happiest in the big picture was the return of her two oldest sons, Bill and Charlie, from Egypt and Romania respectively. While she didn't really approve of their chosen professions initially, they since proved to be the best at what they did. She was just glad and a bit relieved to have them in close proximity while they did it. And Bill had been the one to give her and Arthur their first grandchild, pretty little Victoire who was born on the anniversary of the fall of Tom Riddle. Fleur turned out to be a delight and stood by Bill in his darkest hours.

In her musings, she didn't notice a small something whizz by her shoulder and circle around overhead. When Ginny nudged her near the end of the press-conference, she looked up to see what appeared to be a beetle scurrying across the upper back of the Wizengamot member seated directly in front of her. At first, she didn't think much of it, reaching forward to brush it off, but looking again at the insect, she noticed the peculiar markings on its head. _Oh no you don't, you lying bitch!_

She tore Edwina's copy of Witch Weekly out of her grasp and began to roll it up. _I told you never to mess with my family again, Rita Skeeter—or Sigrid Reitter—or whoever you are today—and I meant it_. "Sorry," she whispered. "I need to borrow this."

_Whack!_ The Wizengamot member nearly fell forward out of his seat at Molly's rather enthusiastic blow. "What in the name of Merlin…?"

But Molly wasn't listening. She picked up the stunned insect and tossed it into the aisle between the rows of seats. She drew her wand and pointed it at the beetle. "_Homorphus!_" At that instant, Harry and Ron drew their own wands, as did the Troopers in the general vicinity a few moments later.

"Mum, what are you doing," Ginny hissed as Harry and Ron made their way to the melee, hoping their women were safe.

"Just watch, dear," Molly grinned evilly.

"Mum? What's…_bloody hell!_"

"Troopers, report," Harry snapped, all attention now focused on him.

"Sir, this witch drew her wand and shot it at—"

"RITA! IT'S RITA SKEETER," a reporter shouted. "Mrs Weasley caught Rita Skeeter!"

On the floor lay a much-dishevelled woman with blonde and brown hair, ruby-red fingernails, and a tight-fitting dress. Her rhinestone-encrusted glasses lay twisted on her face. She was breathing, but the force of Molly's charm knocked her out cold. "Well, if it isn't Sigrid Reitter…or is it," Harry drawled, a perfect impression of Lucius Malfoy.

"_Ennervate_," Ron said snapping his wand in her direction.

Rita began to stir and groan. "Oh my head," she moaned. "Where am I? What happened?"

"Miss Skeeter…or is it Fräulein Reitter, you are under arrest for illegal trespass upon Ministry premises, unregistered Animagus status, and sedition," Harry intoned officially, hauling her to her feet.

"Sedition! What have I done that could be even remotely construed as sedition," she screeched.

"We have proof that you have disguised yourself as Sigrid Reitter of _Der Schrei_ and have published lies and innuendo about the Minister for Magic and the Head Auror of magical Britain. These articles have induced riots and general unrest among our people to the point that several families have been attacked and displaced from their homes," Kingsley intoned. "Chief Potter, take her away."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied with a smirk. "Come along Miss Skeeter." Harry took her wand and advised her not to try to transform as he would be more than happy to step on her or snatch her out of the air and squash her like the insect she was.

"You'll pay for this," she snarled. "I'll see all of you ruined! You'll never show your faces…"

"Oh for the love of Circe, shut up, Rita," Hermione shouted. "You're finished!"

Ron and Harry led her away to the applause of the crowd, especially her so-called colleagues who, because of her less-than-scrupulous reporting practises, had found it difficult to ply their trade in a legitimate way.

Friday morning found the denizens of the Burrow, plus the Potters, Seamus, Bill and Charlie, gathered around the scrubbed oak table for a celebratory breakfast. So many wonderful things had happened to the family that week, Molly simply couldn't allow her boys to go off on their camping expedition without full bellies and full packs. What she didn't realise is that by stuffing all the food she did into their packs, she made them heavier to carry.

She didn't understand that the point of the exercise was to learn to survive without the use of magic, so Jayce wouldn't allow them to cast weightlessness charms on their rucksacks. As it was, Jayce had ensured that they carried regulation US Army surplus field packs, which weighed approximately 30 kilos without extras. Upon a last inspection, he discovered the extra provisions and quietly vanished them to the Weasley cooling cabinet.

As per usual, the _Prophet_ delivery-owl swooped through the window and landed next to Hermione, who placed two Knuts into its pouch. With a dip of its head, it took flight and flew back through the window.

"What does the Prophet have to say to us today," Arthur asked, as he did every morning.

Hermione unrolled the newspaper and began to laugh out loud. "I can't believe it!"

"What is it, dear," Molly asked her daughter-in-law, wondering what could be so funny.

"The headline! It says _**M Weasley Whacks Intruding Dung-beetle**_," she howled, handing the paper to Ron.

"Oh this is good," Ron grinned, handing the paper to Harry.

"How fitting," Ginny said, looking over her husband's shoulder. Only a year before, Rita had been up to her old tricks while Ginny and Molly had been in Diagon Alley for a wedding-dress fitting. Ginny had lost control of her magic at the disgraceful reporter's questions and insinuations, which led her to accidentally stun a few other reporters, literally scaring the living shit out of Rita herself. It appeared the _Daily Prophet_ had not forgotten the incident.

"Oh my," Molly giggled. "I'd forgotten all about that!" She then launched into the tale that ended with Rita Skeeter on her arse, wet and covered in her own mess. The family fell all over one another, laughing heartily, especially Ginny, who'd been the real victim in that incident.

Harry read the article aloud to the delight and amusement of them all, noting that there had been no mention of the inauguration of Virgil Greengrass, which was the reason for the gathering in the first place. He paged through and found a small blurb on page four that read:

_**Virgil Greengrass Sworn In as Senior Undersecretary for DMLE**_

_Official reception pending_.

Arthur chuckled. "Page four. The Ministry's moving up in the world. Well done, Mollywobbles!"

Molly blushed prettily and hid her face in her hands while her family congratulated her. "You're a hero, Mum," Charlie snorted.

"Yeah. First Bellatrix and now Rita. You're on a roll," Bill added with a wink. "Maybe if the Toad escapes, you can send Mum to bring her in, Harry."

"Hmm," Harry said, stroking the Van Dyke he'd grown just to annoy Ginny. "Honourary Auror Molly Weasley. It has a nice ring to it, yeah, Dad?"

"I like it," Arthur declared.

"That will do, you silly gits," Molly laughed. "If Dolores escapes, I'm sure Harry will have her before I could finish my tea."

"But Mum, you're apprehension of Rita Skeeter saved Kingsley's arse," Charlie said, pushing the issue a bit further.

"What? How did I save Kingsley's…skin," Molly asked snarkily.

"You kept him from having to explain why Gumboil was sacked," he said succinctly. "You turned all the real attention to Rita instead. You're not only a hero, but a genius!"

"Oh please," his mother scoffed. "This has gone far enough. Finish your breakfast."

About a half-hour later, Jayce finished his coffee and belched. "This has all be fun, but we need to beats feets," he declared, rising from his seat. "We've got an appointment with the wild. Your wands, gentlemen."

"What," they all barked in surprise.

"The point of this exercise is survival," Jayce reminded them.

"Without our wands," Ron grumbled. "How are we supposed to survive with no way to defend ourselves?"

"I'll explain later. For now, cough it up—both of them," Jayce barked like a drill-instructor.

"Is wandless magic allowed," Harry asked, already knowing the answer.

"Shut up, Potter. Just cough 'em up," Jayce said with a smirk.

"Fine. Hand 'em over, Aurors. That's an order," Harry said authoritatively.

"But we're not Aurors, so you can't give us orders," Bill reminded his younger brothers.

"I hereby deputise William Arthur Weasley and Charlie Weasley for this weekend, so mote it be," Harry replied sassily. "Now hand 'em over!"

"Smart-arse little bastard," Charlie grumbled. "This is war, Potter." Bill and Charlie handed over their wands with laughter all around.

"The male-bonding has already begun and they haven't left the house yet," Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Makes you want to throw up, doesn't it," Ginny agreed, secretly wishing she could go with them.

"Yeah. Gets me right here," Taya added, feigning a vomit.

"Oh leave them alone," Molly chided the younger witches. "I think it's very sweet."

"Now _I'm_ going to throw up," Ron muttered. "Wizards are not _sweet!_"

"Oh, I don't know about that," Hermione purred. "It seems I remember a certain Pensieve memory that proved that a certain red-haired Auror can be _very_ sweet."

"All right, that's enough, maggots," Jayce barked. "Kiss your women and let's march!"

Ginny and Hermione left for Ionúin Bhaille for a little sleepover while the boys tramped around the woods. Deep down, they knew their husbands were in good hands that nothing would happen to them, but they couldn't help but worry because they didn't know where they were.

"Hermione, I have an idea," Ginny said, picking at her dinner. "Let's Patronus the girls and have a sleepover. It'll help pass the time and I'm sure Fleur's kind of lonely out there with only the baby for company."

"Okay. Should we invite Angelina too," Hermione suggested. "And Taya?"

"Well, duh. Taya, definitely," Ginny agreed. "Do you think Madame Pomfrey would allow Onie to join us for the night?"

"I'm sure she would. Listen, you Floo Taya and Fleur and I'll Patronus Angie and Onie, okay?" Hermione reached into her overnight bag and withdrew her wand. "_Expecto Patronum!_" A playful silver otter burst forth and balanced itself on its hind legs awaiting its mistress' pleasure. Hermione whispered into its ear. With a graceful leap, it disappeared through the wall and into the evening.

At the same time, Ginny tossed a bit of Floo powder into the grate. "_The Burrow!_" In a whoosh of green flame, her mother's head appeared in the fireplace.

"Ginny? Are you all right," Molly asked, slightly alarmed.

"We're fine, Mum. Is Taya around," Ginny asked.

"She's right here, dear," Molly replied, waving her niece to the fire.

"What can I do for ya, Gingerbread," Taya asked.

"How would you like to come over for a sleepover," Ginny suggested. "We've invited Fleur, Angie, and Onie too."

"Sounds like fun," Taya agreed. "Gimme about ten and I'll be right over."

"Great! IB out," Ginny said, tossing fresh Floo powder into the grate. "_Shell Cottage!_"

"Geeny! What eez eet? Are ze boys safe," Fleur cried. "Muzzer and Fazzer are well?"

"Yeah, we're all fine, Fleur. I was just wondering if you'd like to join us for a sleepover with Taya, Onie, and Angie," Ginny told her. "I haven't seen my niece in ages!"

Fleur didn't answer right away, but finally she decided it might be fun. "All right, Geeny. I will need to bundle Victoire and put a bag togezzer. I'll be zere in about an 'alf-'our, oui?"

"Oui…yes! See you then," Ginny said, hardly containing her excitement. "This is going to be great!"

"Ginny! Hermione," a voice called from the Floo.

"Hey, Onie," Ginny said. "Well? Is Poppy going to let you come over tonight?"

"Yeah, I'll be through in a bit. I got one more to check on and I'm sprung," her cousin said with a grin. "Seamus ain't been gone one day and I'm pinin'! I need the distraction."

"See you, then," Ginny said. She stood from the fireplace and padded back to the sofa in her stocking-feet to wait for her guests. Hermione had transfigured some of the Potters' throw pillows into poufs like the ones the students sat on in Professor Trelawney's Divination class. She distributed them around the room and then plopped into a lovely periwinkle blue one and sank into it.

Whoosh! The fireplace glowed green as Angelina stepped through from George's flat, followed by Verity. "Hope it's all right that I brought Verity. She's kind of lonely tonight, too."

"Of course," Ginny grinned. "The more the merrier!"

"You got that right, Cousin Ginny," another voice called from the fireplace.

"Onie," Ginny and Hermione cried together.

"Hey, Fiona," Verity said. "How's Hogwarts treating you?"

"Like a House-elf. Speaking of House-elves…" Fiona replied, dropping her rucksack next to one of the poufs. She noticed the mildly thunderous expression on Hermione's face. Unfazed, she continued. "Dinky's the best! She's pretty good at dressin' basic cuts and fixin' bruises. The kids love her!"

"Dinky! Isn't she that little House-elf that brought breakfast to Ron and Dean after that mess in Antrim," Hermione asked.

"Yeah, that's her. She's really a great help. Smart as a whip, that one," Fiona said brightly. "So what is it tonight? Beer and pizza?"

Just then the fireplace whooshed again and Taya stepped through. "Yer in England, Onie. Beer and pizza. We need red wine and spaghetti!"

"Hey, it's alcohol and Italian, ain't it," Fiona replied, nudging her sister.

"Sounds good to me," Angelina enthused. "Who's cooking?"

"Taya and Onie," Hermione announced. "They're so good at it!"

"I guess we're elected," Taya said resignedly. "Got the stuff, Gingerbread?"

"Please. I live with Harry Potter, amateur chef. He loves spaghetti Bolognese," Ginny giggled. "Follow me, ladies."

"I need to learn how to cook," Hermione said. "We're not going to live at the Burrow forever and I'm married to a man with a hollow leg…and he's really tall."

"You can't cook, Hermione," Angelina asked aghast. "I thought there was nothing you couldn't do." She and Verity each had claimed a pouf and stretched themselves out.

"I must confess that cooking and flying are not my best subjects," Hermione admitted. "I…um…tried to make a special breakfast once for my parents' twentieth wedding anniversary. It wasn't nice at all."

"What happened," Verity asked.

"Well…um…I didn't know I was supposed to cook the bacon bits first and then the onion bits before I tried to fold them into an omelette. Then I burned it and the inside wasn't done—it was awful," Hermione told them. "I never tried to cook anything more difficult than toast ever again."

"Sounds like a project, Angie," Verity giggled. "Maybe we should spend the weekend teaching Hermione how to cook using Molly's column."

"No thanks," Hermione laughed. "When I'm ready, I'll just appeal to Molly. That way, if I make a mess of it all, only she and I know about it."

"Coward."

In the kitchen, Ginny showed her cousins where all the ingredients for their dinner could be found and then sneaked down into the cellar for a few bottles of wine she and Harry had stocked with Fleur's help. It was by no means as extensive as one might imagine the Malfoy cellar might be, but it was enough for them.

Ginny remembered that red wines go best with Italian dishes containing tomato-based sauces, so she searched the several types she found there. "Hmm…" she hummed. "California Zinfandel? When did he pick that up? Oh, this is good—Sangria. No, wait. Fleur said it's too heavy to pair with food of any kind. I guess we'll go with the American stuff. If Fleur recommended it, it must be okay." She selected the Zinfandel for dinner, but grabbed a bottle of the Sangria, a Merlot, a Cabernet, and a lovely Claret for later on. This was a party, after all.

Ginny shrunk the bottles and carefully put them in her pocket. She was about to leave the wine cellar when she turned back and snatched a bottle of Lambrusco. "Italian wine with Italian food. It's got to work. If not, we'll just drink it later with the others." She waved her hand and the room went dark, a little trick she'd learned from Harry. She could also light the fireplace, but that was about it so far. She and Harry had been working on wandless levitation, but hadn't had much luck with it as yet.

Returning to the kitchen, she set the bottles on the counter and returned them to their proper size with a wave of her wand. She and Harry agreed that their wandless exploits should remain between them and Ron and Hermione for the time being. "Everything all right?"

"Oh yeah. The sauce is workin' and we sliced the bread," Taya told her. "Onie's whippin' up the garlic butter. What didja find down there?"

"Well, Zinfandel and Lambrusco with dinner," Ginny began. "And then these four for later on."

"Cool," Taya replied. "Sounds good!"

Ginny returned to the sitting room to find Fleur and Victoire had arrived. Hermione, Angelina, and Verity had been passing the baby around, cooing at her and cuddling her. She had grown so much since Christmas and would be a year old the second of May. Teddy would be two years old in a couple of weeks and Harry and Ginny planned to take him to the finals of the Hogwarts Cup between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

Later that evening, the spaghetti and garlic toast demolished, the party-witches changed into their night clothes and cracked the first of the remaining four bottles of wine. Conversation started with rather mundane things, but as the wine flowed, the discussion turned to their men. "So what exactly are the boys doing this weekend," Verity asked. "Is this that male-bonding thing the Muggles talk about?"

"Partly," Hermione answered. "But it's a bit more than that. Harry and Ron want to turn in Auror Corps into more of a military unit than a police one."

"Yeah, Seamus says that Harry runs on about how the Aurors are too intensely-trained to play policeman," Fiona added. "Seamus loves the whole idea; this Auror Lieutenant thing's right up his alley."

"And since Jayce is former US Army-issue Ranger, Harry hit him up to train them on the side," Taya explained. "Bill and Charlie threw in just for the fun of it."

"Fun? Tramping around Merlin-Knows-Where without a wand is not fun," Ginny huffed. "Yes, ladies—Jayce took their wands."

"Why," Fleur cried. While she had no qualms about her husband's ability to defend himself physically, it was no comfort to know that he would be sans his primary weapon.

"Oh don't worry, gals," Taya soothed. "If they find themselves in a bad enough situation, Jayce'll give 'em back. The whole point of this exercise is to teach the boys to survive should they be disarmed or their wands destroyed."

"Right," Hermione agreed. "When we were…doing what we had to do during the war—"

"Harry was disarmed," Ginny finished, hoping the others would let it slide. There was no way she wanted it to get out that Harry's wand had been broken and then repaired with the Elder Wand, which currently resided in a wall-safe in Harry's study behind a print of his dream-car.

"Y-yes," Hermione said, shooting Ginny a look of relief. "We were in a really tough spot, but I still had my wand, so I was able to cover us. We managed to recover it and get away in one piece."

"Wow," Verity breathed. "So they'll be all right, then?"

"Oh sure," Fiona laughed. "Jayce won't let 'em get hurt. Besides, them boys ain't exactly helpless old ladies. If they get into a scrape—which they won't—a couple o' healthy punches from Ronnie alone'd put down anybody fool enough to try anything."

"Any of 'em could put a world o' hurt on an attacker," Taya assured them. "Trust me—they're fine and probably havin' the time o' their lives!"

The wine continued to flow and the brain cells to shut down until Hermione brightened up. "I have an idea! How about a game?"

"A game," Ginny repeated. "What sort of game?"

"Well…we could make a story in the round," Hermione suggested.

"What eez zat," Fleur asked.

"Very simple. One person starts a story—not an existing one, but one of her own. She's allowed to tell her tale for, say, three minutes, and then the next person takes over," Hermione explained. "Sometimes, a perfectly sensible story emerges, but mostly it's barmy by the end."

"Ooh, zat sounds like fun," Fleur enthused. "You will start, non?"

"Sure," Hermione replied. "I'll start if you're all game."

"Go on then," Ginny said. "But make it five minutes instead of three. There are only seven of us…unless Lady Dorothea would care to join us," she smiled, gazing at the portrait over the mantle.

"Oh no, thank you, dears," Her Ladyship demurred. "I would be most gratified to listen as you weave your tale, though. It has been so many years since I have heard a good _original_ story."

"Are you sure," Ginny asked. "You're perfectly welcome, you know."

"Quite, dear child. However, I would be glad to keep time for you. Five minutes, correct," the former mistress of House Potter asked them.

"Yes. Five minutes," Hermione agreed. "Are you ready, Lady Potter?"

"Yes, quite. Three…two…one. Begin!"

"Once upon a time, there was a hermit who lived in a hovel deep in the woods, who cared for nothing but gold and silver," she began. "He shared it with no one, nor did he spend it on himself. He kept it hidden, burying it under the dirt floor of his hovel and round the outside…"

Hermione continued until Lady Potter called that her time was up, at which time Fleur took over as soon as the portrait bade her begin. On and on the story went until each witch had taken two turns. Finishing the story fell to Verity. "…And so the hermit was never seen or heard from again, and his treasure was never recovered. To this day, no one has dared seek it out, for fear of…of…the legend of the _Dreaded Killer Niffler_. The end."

"_Dreaded Killer Niffler?_ Zey are too adorable to be danzherous," Fleur laughed. "Imazhine zose leetle darlings attacking 'umans!"

"Hang enough gold on him and they'll be all over him," Taya laughed.

"Remember what Lee did to Umbitch," Ginny laughed. "He turned a Niffler loose in her office and they trashed it. She actually blamed _Hagrid_ for it, believe it or not!"

"I weel admit zat zey are destructiffe, but zey are not danzherous," Fleur insisted.

"_Killer_ Nifflers are," Verity reminded her. "This was not your average Niffler—it's a _killer!_"

They all fell about the room giggling and laughing, fear for their men's safety largely forgotten. They continued to talk and share stories of the old days until long after midnight, when Hermione yawned hugely.

"Guess it's time to pack it in," Fiona said. "Hermione's about to leave us." The others heartily agreed. Fleur climbed the stairs to the guest room so she could tend to Victoire without disturbing the other witches, while the rest set up camp in the sitting room. Soon, Ionúin Bhaille fell quiet, the only sounds coming in sighs of sleep. On the wall, Lady Dorothea smiled contentedly, keeping watch over her many greats-granddaughter-in-law and her friends. "Good night, my dears," she whispered.

All morning and well into the afternoon, Jayce led his five charges through an unfamiliar wood to which he had Portkeyed them all. They set up camp without magic and learned to start a proper campfire on which they could cook as well as use for warmth. Spring in England was quite lovely, but the temperatures still dropped into uncomfortably cool ranges after dark.

As soon as they settled themselves in, Jayce took them out to set snares for rabbits and other small game, explaining that if rigged correctly, they might catch enough food to keep them from starving should they become lost and unable to Apparate. They would bait the traps in the morning when they set out on their manoeuvres.

"In your packs, you should have found a few odd-looking packets labeled _MRE_. Those are _meals ready to eat_. All you need to do is open them, and add the indicated amount of water to the small tray you'll find inside. It contains magnesium, which will react with the water to create heat and warm the food. Instant supper.

Each of the wizards selected his MRE and followed the directions Jayce gave them. Soon, they found themselves enjoying a rather satisfying beef stew, all things considered. After congratulating the Muggles for their brilliance—or Mundanes, as Jayce insisted they be called—they stretched out around the fire to engage in what their leader termed a _bull-session_. In time, talk turned to the events of the past several days.

"Hey, little bro," Charlie said, nudging his youngest male sibling. "Why the hard gaze?"

"I can't understand why he did it," Ron huffed.

"Who? Did what," Bill asked, not quite catching on.

"That cursed prat, Gumboil." Ron growled. "Did he really think he'd pull that off and get away with it?"

"He'd been drinking quite a lot and Hermione's felt awkward around him for months," Harry recalled. "But yes, it all seems a bit odd, doesn't it?"

"For what it's worth, I've seen a lot of good soldiers break down in battle," Jayce said. "The Mundanes call it PTSD—_Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder_ and Gumboil certainly showed signs of it during and after the duelling tourney. It causes people to do the most whacked-out things—things they wouldn't ordinarily do—without any concern for safety or the slightest iota of restraint. In a battle situation, their erratic behaviour can get either themselves or others killed…or both. And from I hear, Gumboil _has_ acted rashly before."

"What do you mean, rashly," Ron asked.

"Well, during the tournament he assaulted Mr Malfoy. Despite the setting with the rules and the people watching, he lost control, and he was sober as the preacher's daughter that day," Jayce explained.

"Add some Firewhiskey to that..." Charlie thought out loud. "After all, just getting sloshed made Percy howl for hours; add that post-dramatic chess thingy and anything can happen."

"Do we know anything about Gumboil's war experiences," Bill asked.

Harry thought about what little he'd heard from the Senior Aurors in passing. "Well, before the war he was a highly-respected Hit-wizard, and a damned good one. He's not a Muggleborn, but the Toad gave him some grief because he flatly refused to arrest and bring them in. Her stupid Muggleborn Registration Commission—or whatever the hell it was—made his life difficult, but I don't know if anything specific happened to him, at least not directly."

"So he's been exposed to high-risk operations as a Hit-wizard for a long time, and possibly it escalated during the war," Jayce said. "He's a Half-blood, right?"

"Right," Ron confirmed. "Jayce, are you saying that what happened to him during the war can surface now and make him a nutter?"

"He wouldn't be the first one," Jayce replied "And it _would_ explain why he'd try to do something he should've known he'd never get away with."

"How come we're reasonably sane, then," Harry asked, ignoring the smirks and snickers from the others. "We've been locked up, tortured, fired upon, and inundated with the darkest of magic since we were kids and we're all right."

"There's no straight answer to that, man," Jayce said, shaking his head. "Some people can handle more stress than others; everyone has a different breaking-point and/or tolerance for pain. Whatever happened to Gumboil during the war must've broken him and now he's on a crusade aimed at crushing any and all Purebloods, rather than seeking justice against those few who are responsible. But…we can use this to our advantage."

"How," Seamus asked. He'd been content to listen to the palaver and absorb as much information as he could. He'd made quite a good practice of it as a pseudo-member of ELF. "How c'n a man's barminess be an advantage to us?"

"Good question, Irish," Jayce complimented him. "It's pretty simple. Unbalanced leaders make poor decisions that lead to their downfall. All we need to do is turn up the heat on Gumboil until he eventually cracks."

"Let's hope it's sooner rather than later and that no one else gets hurt in the meantime," Harry commented.

"Always remember, men: No matter how bleak the outlook, there's always hope," Jayce said solemnly. "Now, we need to hit the sack—we've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow and you'll need your beauty sleep. Good night."


	49. Chapter 49 The Lost Boys

**Chapter 49 – The Lost Boys**

"Weasleys! Bloody damned _Weasleys_," Alastor Gumboil snarled, throwing his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ onto the gouged table in his less-than-well-stocked kitchen. Since he'd been sacked from the Ministry and assessed 40,000 Galleons in fines and damages, he'd been reduced to bare-bones living and forced to put his house on the market.

"First, that red-haired behemoth marries a woman he certainly isn't worthy of and then his cow of a mother puts a respectable reporter away for exposing the truth about that Potter brat and his kennel of lapdogs!"

Gumboil examined the events of the past six or eight months, finding others to point fingers at when things went wrong, beginning with the disaster at Antrim. "Bloody Micks! You can't teach them anything," he muttered to himself.

Of course, he rather disregarded the warning Seamus had given him about staging a rally in Northern Ireland, but that wasn't the point at all—he simply hoped to raise a few Galleons to help rebuild Wizarding Britain! _Was that so terrible?_

"Of course not! But those damned dirty bastards didn't want to pony up their share!"

_But what did I get for my efforts?_

"A dead colleague and almost a month's suspension without pay after a dressing-down from Harry Bleeding Potter!"

And then there was that damned duelling tournament. He could have beaten that Pureblood ponce, Draco Malfoy, but that half-Goblin midget stopped the match to recite a load of sissified baby-rules about it being a magical duel instead of a Muggle brawl.

_Please. To win a duel, you use everything you've got_.

Furthering his shame, his Unified Team should have won hands down, but no! Just because Gilbert Wimple cast a rather clever—if previously unknown—spell, he was disqualified, costing the team another wand. Never mind the fact that it was probably imprudent to add such a wizard to his team, since he'd managed to grow a set of horns thanks to some spell he'd botched years before. The fact that the spell damage couldn't be reversed should have thrown the proverbial red flag in Gumboil's face. But no—once again it was the judge's fault.

_It was fixed. That's it._

"The bloody tournament was fixed so Weasley and Potter could show off," he growled. That was the only explanation Alastor Gumboil could come up with that made any sense to him. Then, to top it all off, he hired some wimp of a derelict to pretend to attack Draco Pureblood Prince Malfoy. Bugger it all anyway!

_What did the idiot do? He actually connected and damned-near killed the little bastard!_

Perhaps if he'd actually _killed_ Lucius Malfoy's spawn, it would have been a real victory for Wizardkind. "But instead, Potter's people got to show off once again with their quick thinking and corresponding action that enabled them to secure the premises before a riot could ensue," he whinged in a sing-song way.

_Where the hell was Stiles anyway?_

And then there was the debate in the Wizengamot. Hermione Granger had made a good case, but he, Alastor, had managed to grandstand just enough to cast doubt over the wisdom of her agenda… "That is, until that godsdamned lawyer stood up and defended her arguments." A Pureblood sucked up to a Muggleborn only because she holds a Pureblood title thanks to her _so-called_ Half-blood Baron of a _so-called_ brother!

_Potter and Weasley again!_

Oh, that Hermione Granger! The sly, sexy little _bitch _who not only preempted him with her tight little treatise several months ago when she first joined ELF, but she did it again in the Wizengamot and garnered 70 percent of the body's support—"and then had the audacity to give me what-for in public and spit her resignation in my ruddy face!"

_She'll pay for that!_

Never mind that Gumboil deliberately humiliated her in front of the entire organisation at the next meeting and all but chased her away.

The disgraced former Undersecretary couldn't let that stand. There was no way in Hell he would allow a woman to have the last word against him. He'd had enough verbal battles with that pink-clad toad, Dolores Umbridge, during the war.

"Always had the last word, that bint, and I'll be damned if another woman ever gets the best of Alastor Gumboil again!" His plan for revenge was harmless, really. All he did was disguise himself as that ape Granger was married to and have a little fun with her. No harm done.

_It's not like she was a virgin or anything._

But yet again, Weasley's little bitch felled him with a brilliant spell worthy of Wimple that left Gumboil covered with his own mess.

_And in the face of Auror Captain Ronald Effing Weasley to boot!_

As a result, he'd lost his job and his fortune, but did Granger receive any punishment for using unauthorised altered magic? Of course not. "The Wizengamot would never _dream_ of censuring a baroness of the Ancient and Most-noble House of Black!"

_Noble, my hairy arse-cheeks! The House of Black is as dark as its name!_

So there he sat—alone, penniless, and without recourse but to sell off everything he owned to pay the last of the damages to those bloody-damned Weasleys or risk Azkaban! Until yesterday, he had free propaganda in Sigrid Reitter's articles in _Witch Weekly_ and in _The Prophet_. Never mind that Sigrid Reitter turned out to be none other than Rita Skeeter, and then _The Prophet_ had the gall to print a retraction of her last exposé. But even that was gone thanks to another Weasley—that Prewett cow of Arthur's who squeezed out that freckled pain-in-the-arse who took his woman away from him.

But bleak as this all seemed, it was no matter. No matter at all. He would have his revenge on that entire clan, Potter included, when he finally removed all traces of Pureblood influence from the Wizarding world, even if a few _Light _families had to be sacrificed to bring it about. Yes, removal of the Weasleys and Amelia Bones would be a good start, and then he could take down that crazy old biddy, Augusta Longbottom, and her milquetoast of a grandson, Neville. "The woman wanders about with an effing great bird on her head, for Merlin's sake!"

_How could the son of two of the greatest Aurors the Ministry had ever seen settle for a job teaching Herbology at Hogwarts?_

It was a disgrace! Surely Augusta had much to do with that, making the boy feel inferior to his parents and then associating him with the likes of Potter and Weasley. No wonder the boy was weak. But once again, Gumboil disregarded how Neville put his own safety—even his life—at risk to protect the students at Hogwarts during the Death Eater occupation and how he stood toe-to-toe against the Dark Lord, beheading his snake with the Sword of Gryffindor without a second thought. Imagine his horror had he known Harry Potter had put the Longbottom scion up to it or that the boy acted according to how he believed Potter would act.

Gumboil decided he needed to call a meeting of the board, who also served as the commandants of his enforcer teams. It was time to take the fight to Potter and Weasley. Not that they were the least bit evil, but they stood in the way of his ultimate dream and he couldn't allow that.

_This is war, Potter! You did your bit when you took down Voldemort, but now it's my turn, and I intend to win_

"If you won't step aside, I'll remove you by force…and your little red-haired puppy-dog too!"

_Mark my words—you are all going down!_

Stomping to the fireplace in his nearly-empty lounge, Gumboil tossed a pinch of his quickly-dwindling supply of Floo Powder into the grate. "Stiles!"

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Harry awoke early Saturday morning to the sound of birds chirping in the trees overhead. _Don't they know it's barely dawn?_ His years with the Dursleys had never allowed for lie-ins, although his sleepyhead wife, combined with his desire to be close to her, had somewhat remedied his erstwhile habit of waking up early. Still half asleep and mentally cursing the avian set, he heard a strange sound not indigenous to the forest. There was the sound of the wind in the trees and those bloody birds chirping away, but the low-rumbling sound had him completely baffled. Opening bleary eyes once again, he realised it was Ron's stomach growling.

_Poor sod. He's starved_. Harry shook his head and stretched, scratching his belly and cracking his neck. They had only had field rations last night and had worked hard pitching the tents and building their fires. Doing it all the Muggle way took a lot of time, but Jayce was a great instructor, explaining the advantages of knowing how to live in the forest without magic, even if it was unlikely they could lose their wands. But with Jayce's help, they would learn to survive without them nonetheless.

Using magic left traces people like Alastor Gumboil and Voldemort's former Inner Circle could track easily. To catch dark wizards and creatures, it could beneficial to avoid using magic until absolutely necessary—like just before an attack. Their hope this morning was to catch a couple of rabbits and a few fish for the evening meal. If there was a decent stream nearby, trout should be plentiful, but a river could provide salmon, as this was the time of year the larger fish gathered to spawn. Jayce would also show them edible roots and how to prepare them into a hearty stew with or without meat. _Barbecued rabbit with roots. At least it'll be a change to the field rations. Tastier too, no doubt._

Harry got up and stumbled out of the tent, stretching his body fully, appreciating once again the warmth of a real bed. He'd forgotten how stiff and sore he had been during the war, sleeping on that cot for months on end. It was a chilly morning, but at least it wasn't raining or snowing.

"Good morning," Harry greeted Jayce with a yawn. Their Native American teacher had already been up over an hour already planning the days activities.

"Chief Potter," Jayce returned. "Have a good night's sleep?"

"I've slept worse. I got used to Ron's snoring during our years at Hogwarts, so overall, I'm good." Harry's eyes clouded over a little as he thought back his Hogwarts days.

"Missing another redhead, are we," Jayce grinned.

"Always," Harry replied with a grin, but still emphasising his devotion to Ginny with this one word.

"She's trained you well," Jayce said with a chuckle.

"She's a formidable witch in her own right and adding to that, her mother's daughter," Harry said, without a hint of indignation.

"Yeah, I hear ya there, mate," Jayce agreed. "Taya can be quite a handful sometimes, too. Women want what they want and that's all there is to it."

A few minutes later, Bill, Charlie and Seamus began to stir and soon joined Harry and Jayce around the burnt-out camp-fire from the night before.

"So…where's Ron," Charlie asked, looking around for his youngest brother.

"Sleeping," Harry said, pointing to their tent. "Blissfully unaware that the world is still spinning."

"Or starving to death," Seamus assumed. "That gut-rumble woke me out of a very nice dream." _Ah, Fiona…mo grá._

"Let's wake him up, then," Bill said with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Jayce put a hand in his pocket and showed the others what he'd been hiding.

"Is that..." Charlie asked.

"... a Black Cat firecracker, yes. A Mundane one," Jayce replied. "Nothing big, but it'll make a racket."

They placed the tiny explosive on the ground just outside the tent where Ron slumbered noisily. The boys all grinned and snickered as Jayce lit the fuse. They all withdrew for safety with eyes fixed on the tent and Ron's imminent reaction.

_Blam! _They heard a panicked yell from inside the tent and like a volcano erupting, the biggest little Weasley brother erupted through the roof of the tent with a wild look in his eyes, fumbling for the wand he didn't have on him, while trying to identify and assess the danger. What he noticed a few minutes later was the others howling with laughter and slapping one another on the back, congratulating Jayce for his brilliance. Looking down at himself, Ron became aware of the situation. He had broken through the tent roof and now wore it like a deranged ball gown, his hair sticking out at all angles and his eyes wild. The entire situation was just plain hilarious.

"Mornin'," he growled bluntly, a bit put out that his comrades-in-arms were having such a great time at his expense. _Ruddy ponces. I'll have my revenge_.

"Ron, that... looks like..." Harry gasped from laughter. "No, it looks _worse_... than your... fourth year dress robes!"

"Did anyone... bring... a camera," Charlie asked hopefully through his laughter. _Fred would have loved this_.

"Damn, I forgot," Bill said, smacking himself on the forehead with his palm.

"Just as well, because I'd be more than happy to try blasting it to bits _without_ a bloody wand if took a picture of this...after I handed your arses to you on a stick," Ron huffed, untangling himself from the ruined tent and broken poles. "And you won't laugh so hard when you think about where you're going to sleep tonight, Potter," he said pointedly to his best mate.

"Merlin's migraine, I didn't think about that," Harry groaned as his grin faded away.

"No worries, Harry," Jayce announced. "We're building shelters today so _nobody's_ gonna be sleepin' in tents tonight."

"Shelters? What kind of shelters," Charlie asked. Having worked on the reserve with Dragons, he often had to build himself a lean-to to observe nesting mothers and keep tabs on the hatching times.

"Lean-tos," Jayce replied. "They're easiest to build and easiest to hide, since we'll use only stuff we find in the woods and a bit of rope to hold them together."

"Cool," Charlie replied. "I've built a few of them myself. The nice thing is that they're easy to take down and once you do, it's easy to hide any evidence of their ever having existed. I'm sure Bill has some experience with them in the desert."

"Exactly," Jayce said. "You two can help me teach our little boy scouts over there." _This should be interesting_. "Bill shouldn't have much trouble substituting trees and branches for fabric and bits of canvas."

The boys partook of a rather unpleasant MRE omelet for breakfast, but it was hot and filled them up. Afterwards, Jayce handed out instructions for the shelters and assigned duty shifts in order for all of them to help with building them. Charlie and Bill proved to be very helpful, giving Jayce the chance to prepare the days' foraging lesson.

The building project took most of the day to complete, so it was late in the afternoon when they were finally able to stand and admire the fruits of their hard labours. But they didn't have long to admire them because they still had to check the traps and trout-lines. Sure enough, there were rabbits in the snares and fish on the lines. Tonight's menu would consist of a stew of boiled roots and barbecued rabbit and fish.

"What about those," Ron asked, pointing at the rabbits caught in the snares. "I mean, they're alive."

"Yes, and we'll have to do something about that before cooking them, won't we," Jayce answered loftily.

"We're going to kill them," Ron asked with a gasp. "That's barbaric!"

"Ya gotta kill it before ya can grill it, dude! Where do ya think meat comes from anyway," Jayce snorted, thoroughly enjoying Ron's discomfort. "Even in the magical world, we need animals to produce meat."

Ron looked sorrowfully at the rabbits and nodded. "So, how do we..." Ron asked. "AK-ing them would be the painless way, but since we have to do this the Muggle way..."

"Most Mundane hunters would use a shotgun rather than a trap to get the killing part done, but the advantage to using snares and traps is that ya don't pepper the meat with lead pellets and risk cracking a tooth while you're eating it," Jayce said, noticing that the Pureblood wizards were utterly lost.

"What's a shotgun," Bill asked, scratching his head.

"A projectile-weapon that fires a swarm of lead pellets contained in a single cartridge," Jayce explained, trying to keep it simple. "But the cartridges can be loaded with rock salt as well, which isn't lethal but a real pain in the ass, if you get my drift."

"A Muggle version of the Stinging Hex," Charlie assumed.

"Something like that," Jayce confirmed, finding the analogy accurate enough for the time being.

"But how are we going to..." Ron asked, eager to get started on supper…at least the eating part of it.

"Well, there are several ways, but we're just gonna snap their necks," Jayce informed them. "It's the way I was taught at home. In the Army, our Ranger instructors didn't give a damn how we dealt with killing our food, just as long as we did it quietly and didn't cause the animals any unnecessary suffering."

Jayce proceeded to show them how to hold a panicked rabbit with both hands around the neck. With a distinct twisting motion, he quickly turned its head, resulting in a rather nauseating cracking sound. For a few moments, the rabbit twitched on the ground before it finally lay motionless. "See? It was quick and painless. That twitching you saw was just leftover nerve impulses—it didn't feel a thing."

"That... that's gross," Ron said, swallowing deeply, fighting back his rising gorge.

"Well, I don't know about you lot, but I'm hungry," Charlie said, stepping up to be the first one to dispatch his rabbit. The Dragonmaster had no qualms about hunting or field-dressing a kill. He'd seen Dragons literally tear their prey apart hundreds of times, so any queasiness he may have felt disappeared long ago.

A few minutes later, Harry and Ron remained. Harry felt a reassuring nudge from Ginny, who wouldn't give a moment's hesitation if she had to kill for food. In fact, Molly had taught Ginny how to butcher and prepare a hen, a skill any properly-trained country housewitch would need to keep her family fed. Imbued with Ginny's experience, Harry soon sat with a dead rabbit in his lap, waiting for further instructions and trying not to think about what he had just done.

But Ron still hesitated. "I...I don't know if I can do this," he said sadly. "What would 'Mione think of me if she found out I…killed a defenceless rabbit? I mean, it's Luna's Patronus."

"You can. Trust me," Jayce said. "And Hermione would think nothing of it, since you've hunted and killed for food, not for sport. And this is not your friend or her Patronus—it's your dinner."

Ron nodded and took a deep breath before he grabbed hold of his rabbit. Under Jayce's close supervision, he closed his eyes and silently apologised to Hermione and the rabbit. With a quick twist of his big hands, his rabbit lay still.

"Good! Now, to skin and gut them," Jayce instructed, handing out a knife each. "It's called _field-dressing_."

"What," Ron gasped. "Oh Merlin, I'm going to be sick."

"You didn't think we'd cook them like this, did you," Jayce laughed. "Or do you want to hawk up hairballs all night," Jayce smirked. "And rabbit guts don't taste very good. I don't know what you're going to do when you have to field-dress a deer, my friend."

"A…a deer," Harry cried. "But that's _my _Patronus…and…and my dad's _Animagus form!_ I…I couldn't do that to Prongs!"

"Harry, my man, you've got to let that stuff go. The taking of an animal can mean the difference between life and death in tight spot. It's always hard the first time, but with each kill, it gets easier to live with," Jayce assured the younger wizard.

_Just like war. It's always easier the second time around_.

Later that night, the Weekend Warriors gathered around their fires to eat and _shoot the bull_, as Jayce so aptly put it. Mostly, the younger wizards ate in silence, still making peace with what they had to do for the feast they now enjoyed.

Seamus finally broke the silence and opened the conversation. "Well, we've had no messages from Lotus, so she must have things under control," Seamus commented, pulling a bit of roast rabbit off the carcass with his teeth. With the three top Aurors off-duty, Cho took charge for the weekend, eagerly supported by Lavender and Susan. _Poor Limey and T-bone—they'll be jinxed out of their pants down in the Den._

"They can handle things all right," Harry replied. "Jock has the office under control and Cho knows how to handle calls." Harry had complete and unwavering faith in his subordinates and never doubted for a minute that they could hold down the fort, as the saying goes. "If there's any real trouble, we'll know about it."

"Cho won't be too happy about workin' all weekend, though," Seamus added.

"Why not," Ron asked. "She's so devoted to the Auror Corps, it's scary." Ron finished the last of his rabbit and tossed the bones into the fire.

"It's just that I overheard LB and Bonesy gossipin' about Cho earlier this week," Seamus continued with a mad twinkle in his blue eyes. "She had ta re-schedule a date with that mystery Muggle she's been seein' because of it."

"Blimey, she's still on about him? He's in trouble for sure," Harry grinned. "Poor bastard."

"More than he could possibly imagine, considering he's dating one of Britain's toughest duellers, _and _the commander of the future Broomborne Squad," Ron mused.

"_Trés formidable_," Bill said in awe. Since his marriage to Fleur, he'd become rather fluent in French and took great pride in using it.

"Oh hey, Bill. Care for some rabbit," Harry greeted his brother-in-law, holding up a stick with part of his rabbit still hanging from it.

"No thanks. I've had enough for tonight," the eldest Weasley brother replied, rubbing his belly. "Charlie and Jayce are blathering on about Dragons and Merlin-Knows-What-Else. Sort of dull for a banker. So what's this about Auror Chang?"

"Oh just office gossip," Harry said, tossing another heavy stick on the fire. "She's got herself a Muggle boyfriend."

"Ah. What's the scoop, then," Bill asked, taking a seat on the ground before the campfire.

"Well…what do we know about Cho's Muggle," Harry asked. It wasn't that he didn't trust the bloke—he'd never met him; it was just that he shared a sort of kinship with Cho and he wanted to be sure she wasn't getting into anything dodgy.

"I heard from Bonesy that he's a Financial Analyst o' some kind," Seamus said and then added thoughtfully, "Or at least I think that's what she meant when she said _Whimsical Catalyst Workin' in a Muggle Version o' Gringotts_."

"And what kind of work is _that_," Ron asked, digging through his pack, hoping to find something else to nibble on. "Bollix!"

"He runs numbers through a computer, and the most excitement he may ever see at work is a paper jam in the printer," Harry told him.

"Yeah, that's about it," Seamus agreed. "Me mam's neighbour-lady works in a bank and she's always on about how the system _goes down_ when business is brisk."

"Muggles make jam from paper," Ron asked in utter astonishment. "Well, I've seen that goo, _Termite_, Patricia Templeton can't live without, but paper jam? _Blecch!_" The red-haired Auror shuddered and grimaced at the thought.

Harry looked with wide eyes at Ron before he burst into laughter. "That's _Marmite_, Ron, and a paper jam is a sheet of paper—or several—that gets stuck in the printer. You have to manually remove it before you can go on printing documents from the computer," Harry explained. "What I meant is that he really doesn't see much excitement in his work. It's boring."

"You're saying that Cho's dating a Muggle version of _Percy_," Ron asked, once again in astonishment. He turned a little green that one of the most-beautiful women he'd ever met might be enamoured with the likes of someone like Percy the Pompous Prat.

"Watch it, Ron. She'll hex ya 'til yer hair turns green and yer nose flashes every colour o' the rainbow should she ever hear ya say somethin' like that," Seamus howled.

"Bugger off, prat," Ron grumbled. "Hey, are you going to finish that, Harry?"

With a snort, Harry tossed the remains of his rabbit across to his best mate, who practically inhaled it and then belched like a drunken Dragon. "Thanks, Harry."

"Don't mention it," Harry replied with a smirk while the others burst into loud laughter.

They spent the rest of the evening telling off-colour jokes and talking about old times at Hogwarts. There was no mention of the war or those they'd lost, although those events stuck firmly in the backs of their minds. Around midnight, Jayce shunted them all off to their tents, promising a bust day to come.

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Hermione couldn't sleep; she missed Ron terribly when he was away, but that wasn't what kept her awake. Since Gumboil's foiled attempt to seduce her disguised as Ron, she'd become wary of her own husband. She had to fight back the urge to turn her wand on him and demand that he identify himself before she would allow him to touch her. It broke her heart, but she knew Ron would gladly comply if he thought it would make her feel better.

Guilt. That's what it was. Guilt for being a target for that crazy bastard in the first place and guilt for seemingly not being able to overcome a fear of her husband she deemed irrational. Ron would never hurt her—she knew that with all her heart—but it wasn't Ron she was worried about. It was Gumboil. What if he tried again? _For heaven's sake, Hermione. Gumboil couldn't get past the Burrow's wards no matter whose face he wore._

As much as Hermione hated to admit it, she needed advice—good advice—and she knew just where to find it. She would appeal to the two women who were readily available and whose opinions she valued greatly: Molly Weasley and Gallatea Prewett.

Hermione checked the wind-up alarm clock beside her bed. 4:23 AM. She sighed resignedly. Molly would be up soon to prepare breakfast for the denizens of the Burrow, so she decided to drag herself out and shower in time to help. Jayce and Ron were on wilderness camp with Harry, Bill, Charlie and Seamus, so only four would gather around the scrubbed oak table this morning.

Since it was a Saturday, Arthur would likely spend the day in his shed tinkering with Circe-Knew-What, leaving the witches to their gossip, cooking, crafting or whatever it was that witches did with their time. Hermione thought she would finish editing Molly's Witch Weekly article so she could owl it in time for Monday's deadline. There wasn't much to edit, really, other than the occasional grammatical gaffe, but nothing earth-shattering; Molly Weasley was hardly illiterate, having taught seven children reading, writing and maths in preparation for Hogwarts, where they would all receive their magical education.

Following a quick shower and plaiting-job on her hair, she crept down the stairs to the kitchen. As quietly as she could, she started pots of tea and coffee and sat down to work on Molly's article. She'd just finished, when she heard the stairs creak.

"Hermione-dear," Molly cooed. "You're up early. Is something wrong?"

"Oh no, nothing's wrong," the younger witch replied with a sigh. "I couldn't sleep, so I got up. I just finished the edit on your article. The Easter Feast sounds scrumptious!"

"I hope so—that's what we're having," Molly chuckled. "By the way, I owled Helen the other day to invite her and your father to Easter dinner. They're coming, but she wants to prepare Easter baskets for everyone."

Hermione had to laugh outright. Her parents—dentists—preparing Easter baskets full of sugary goodies! Not likely. "Plan on finding toothbrushes, toothpaste and floss among the chocolate…and don't be surprised if the goodies are sugar-free. They rarely let me have sugar growing up."

"Don't worry, dear," Molly assured her daughter-in-law with a pat on the shoulder. "I'm still making my famous Easter eggs for everyone, complete with real sugar."

"Easter is saved," Hermione declared with mock relief.

Molly turned to the cooker just as the teapot began to whistle and the warm, rich smell of fresh coffee began to fill the air. "Coffee or tea, Hermione?"

"Um…tea, please," Hermione replied. "I guess I made the coffee out of habit. Ron's rather developed a liking for it since he joined the Aurors. He and Harry drink entirely too much of it, if you ask me; they all do, especially on the night shift. I guess it helps them stay alert or something."

Molly set a cuppa in front of Hermione and summoned the cream and sugar from the cool cabinet and the sideboard. She did her best to hide it, but her face betrayed the knowledge that something was wrong with Hermione. The younger witch only babbled on about trivial things when she was upset or nervous about something. "Hermione-dear. What's wrong?"

"W-wrong? N-nothing. I…"

"Hermione, you're prattling on about Aurors drinking too much coffee," Molly chided her. "That tells me something's not quite right with you."

Hermione sighed deeply. She didn't want to go into this yet, since Taya hadn't appeared, but there was no fooling Molly Weasley. "Well…I don't know if it's something that's wrong, _per se_, but…" She couldn't go on without bursting into tears. "It's just not right, I guess. I do want to talk to you, but I'd rather wait until Taya comes down."

"Of course, dear," Molly said, truly concerned now. Her eyes narrowed and her eyebrows knitted. "You and Ronnie aren't having problems are you?"

Hermione's head shot up in alarm. "Oh, no! Nothing like that. Ron's wonderful; it's probably just me being silly, more than anything. I'll tell you when Taya's here and Arthur's not." She picked up her tea and sipped it, closing her eyes and relishing the warmth it brought. She loved Ron deeply and as such, she needed to resolve this before it became an issue in their marriage.

The two witches sipped their tea in silence—one contemplating how to explain her trouble while the other tried to imagine what the trouble was. Several minutes later, the stairs creaked again and Taya appeared. "Do my nostrils deceive me or is that coffee I smell?"

"Coffee," Hermione replied. "I made some out of habit—Ron loves it."

"Ron, _shmon_," Taya moaned. "I'm nothing without my daily shot of caffeine and Jayce is the Devil incarnate until he has his."

"Here you are, dear," Molly said, setting a mug of what was the invigourating elixir of life for her neice. "Cream and sugar are on the table."

"Thanks, Aunt Molly," Taya replied gratefully. "You're an angel of mercy." Preferring her coffee black as night, she gripped the mug and brought it to her face. She inhaled the heady aroma of the dark-roast and moaned in pleasure, taking a small sip. "Nectar of the gods."

The three witches sipped their tea and coffee, carrying on minimal conversation, until Molly stood up with a slight groan. "I do believe I'm getting old," she grinned. "These weary bones aren't quite as tolerant as they used to be."

"Aw, you're not old, Aunt Molly," Taya disagreed good-naturedly. "You're a classic."

"A classic, am I," Molly laughed. "I think I like that. Now, let's make some breakfast—a full-English, I think."

"That sounds wonderful," Hermione agreed.

"Is that the one with the beans and tomatoes," Taya asked.

"The same," Molly told her. "I picked up some bangers in Diagon Alley yesterday, since Arthur's not fond of black pudding. I rather like it, but I'm about the only one who does in this family."

"Ron hates it," Hermione giggled. "He turns the most-interesting shade of green at the mere mention of the stuff."

"You mean there's something the human garbage disposal won't eat," Taya gasped in mock-surprise. "I never thought it possible."

"Oh yes. He doesn't like liver either…or lima beans," Hermione replied.

"Liver! Who eats liver anymore," Taya spat. "It's not good for you!"

"Since when is liver not good for you," Molly asked, pulling the largest skillet Taya had ever seen from the cabinet next to the cooker. "It's supposed to be full of iron for the blood or some such thing."

"That's about _all _it's good for, but then again you can get iron from other healthier sources," Taya explained. "If you really think about what the function of the liver is, you'd understand why it tastes like it does and not want to touch it ever again. Give me a nice medium-rare steak. _There's _iron!"

"Oh?"

"Yes," Hermione interjected. "The function of the liver is to filter impurities from the blood. It's rather fatty and full of cholesterol. Red meat, such as steak, is better if eaten in moderation."

All of this nutritional information was news to Molly. She knew how to prepare nutritious meals for her family and what food was best to stuff Harry with every summer to offset the lack of nutrition he received from the Dursleys. "Coal asteroids? What on earth are _coal asteroids?_"

"Koh-_less_-ter-awl. Basically, it's protein—some good, some bad. Liver is loaded with LDLs, which are bad because they're not dense enough for the body to use effectively; HDLs are good because they're higher-density and the body _can_ use them," Hermione explained. "Too many bad ones can build up in the bloodstream and attach to the walls of our blood vessels, creating a blockage which can lead to heart attack, clots and sometimes, cancer."

Molly's face lost all colour. "You mean that if I eat liver it could kill me?"

Taya shook her head. "Not necessarily. You're relatively active, so your body dumps the LDLs pretty readily, but you should still limit the amount of it you eat—as if you'd want to anyway. Besides, your magic can protect you from most of that. Aints not so much."

"Magic or no, I don't think I'll ever eat liver and onions again," Molly said with a shudder. "All those DLLs…ugh!"

"LDLs, Molly," Hermione giggled. "DLLs are shared-library files in computers…files no one really knows the purpose for, actually, but that's something else entirely. Let's cook!"

Molly, Hermione, and Taya set to work on a full-English breakfast, complete with baked beans, tomatoes, bangers, shredded hash browns, bacon, mushrooms, and scrambled eggs. Coffee, tea, milk and orange juice rounded out the meal. They were just plating the food when they heard the sound of feet on the stairs.

"Good morning, Arthur-dear," Molly greeted him warmly, accepting a kiss on the cheek from her husband of over thirty years.

"Something smells right spiffing this morning," he declared jovially. "Is this a full-English I see before me, prepared by three of the seven most-amazing witches in Britain?"

"Seven? Just who do you include in this auspicious group, Arthur Weasley," Molly asked, nudging him toward his seat at the head of the table.

"There's you, our daughter, our two daughters-in-law, our two nieces, and Miss Angelina Johnson," he said proudly.

"Angelina," Molly repeated. "Do you know something I don't?"

"Only that any witch who can put up with our Georgie and keep him in line as well as _you _do has to be amazing," he chuckled. They all broke into laughter and tucked into their meal with gusto, all worries about Hermione's mystery-issue, shared-library files, liver cholesterol, lima beans and black pudding forgotten.

While they ate, the Saturday Morning edition of _The Daily Prophet_ arrived, mostly laden with adverts about the many spring sales presented by shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. "Oh my! We simply must get to Slug & Jigger's this afternoon," Molly enthused. "They're having a blow-out sale on all potions ingredients, including Unicorn horns and Dragon's livers! Twenty-five percent off, today only!"

"We'll have to make a list," Hermione added. "And then we can have lunch on me at the Dragon."

"Ohh, now _that _sounds like fun," Arthur said. "I'll have the Burrow to myself, then. What joy." His face took on a beatific look as though he'd died and gone to heaven.

"If you bring just one of those ridiculous—" Molly began, but was interrupted by the arrival of a dozen more owls flying in groups of four carrying large packages. Arthur jumped up quickly and opened the windows wide to admit them.

"What's this, then," he said, as he and Molly alleviated the owls of their burdens while Taya and Hermione rewarded them with bits of bacon and sausage. "They're all addressed to our Hermione."

Hermione examined the packages, looking for a return address of some kind. Her eyes opened wide when she found it written in scratchy capital letters—ROOK HOLLER, NC. "Oh my gosh! I'd forgotten all about these! I ordered them just after Christmas!"

"Hmm…looks like Coy Dennis' handwriting—or printing," Taya said. "These are quilts, aren't they?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted. "I ordered them from Madame Tyree. Fiona had one made for Ron and me for a wedding gift. You saw it on our bed."

"That double wedding ring is one of Granny's," Taya gasped. "I might've known. That quilting bee of hers is nothing short of phenomenal!"

"One's for Harry and Ginny for their first anniversary in July, one's for my parents for their twenty-fifth anniversary, which was actually last week, and one's for Arthur and Molly for their thirty-first anniversary in August," Hermione said. "I'll give my parents theirs at Easter."

"Oh, Hermione, you didn't have to—"

"Molly, I know I didn't have to. Besides, it wasn't just me; Ron's in on this too," Hermione insisted. "Besides, Madame-

"Hermione, it's Granny, and there's a letter with this one," Taya said, pulling the envelope from one of the packages. "Granny doesn't read or write too well, so Coy must've taken dictation."

_Dear Miss Hermione:_

_Here they are, safe and sound and bigger than all outdoors. They should fit any bed. The one that looks like flower baskets is for your folks, the one that looks like stacked logs is for the Potters, and the one that looks like patchwork is for your man's folks. They all have bits of material special to each couple, just like you sent me._

_We had them blessed by those who bless things before we sent them on. Use them in good health. And please give my girls a squeeze and a smooch for me._

_Blessed be,_

_Eula Mae Tyree_

"Well, let's have a look," Arthur suggested.

"You can see my parents' and Harry's and Ginny's ones, but not yours," Hermione snarked with a grin. "It's a surprise."

"Not even a little peek," Molly whimpered. "It sounds so beautiful!"

"The patchwork quilts are," Taya assured her. "And each one is different in some way. Granny's bee does all their work by hand—no sewin' machines of any kind, treadle or modern. Folks've been makin' quilts for centuries without machines and that's one tradition that Rook Holler folk work very hard to preserve."

"You'll see yours in August," Hermione said, tearing a little bit of the paper to determine whose quilt was whose. "Now, this one is my parents'." She tore the paper off to reveal a kaleidoscope of colour and pattern that made up the first quilt.

"Oh, this is one of the big ones," Taya breathed, running her hands over the fabric. "It's gotta be eight feet by seven feet, at _least!_ When Granny said it'll fit any bed, she means _any bed!_" She explained the significance of the fabrics used and how each piece was painstakingly measured and cut to fit together with the others.

"How long does something like this take to make," Arthur asked, his eyes taking in the simple beauty of the quilt.

"It depends," Taya replied. "Granny's bee has about twelve master seamstresses. Younger girls start a sort of apprenticeship by tracing the patterns and doing some of the cutting—with supervision, of course. A baby quilt takes only a few hours from cuttin' to piecin' to stitchin' to tyin'-off. This one probably took them about a month, all told. The flower basket design is one of the more time-consumin' to do."

Hermione pointed to a couple of pieces that were cut from worn cotton fabric with Unicorns and rainbows on it. "This was my favourite pair of pajamas. I was so sad when I couldn't wear them anymore. Mum was going to send them to OXFAM, but I cried so that she relented and packed them away. Now, here they are—immortalised in something that we can pass down to our children and grandchildren."

"Every quilt tells a story, Hermione," and you just told us part of this one. "I wonder about this piece of white satin. Your mom's wedding dress maybe?"

Hermione nodded, tears filling her brown eyes. "Yes. She kept it safe and covered for years, until she got tired of moving it around," she explained. "One year, my father's country club threw a New Year's party—semi-formal—and mum was all set to buy a new cocktail dress for it. But then she remembered her wedding dress and that she could have it altered and dyed to wear to special things like that rather than have it hanging about collecting dust. She took it to a seamstress, who cut it off and hemmed it, adjusted the bodice, and then dyed it forest green. Mum wanted the remnant for a keepsake…and here's a small bit of it."

Molly's eyes also filled with tears. She could only imagine the stories the quilt she and Arthur would receive would tell. Her mind filled with memories of sleepers, favourite blankets, worn out shirts and trousers, pretty baby dresses, her own… _Hang on_. "Hermione, if one of those quilts is ours, where and how did you get the fabric?"

Hermione smiled widely now. She remembered fondly the day she and Ron sneaked up into the attic and rifled through trunk after trunk and box after box of clothes and things the family had outgrown. They'd enlisted Ginny's help in choosing the right things and even in nicking some of Harry's old things to include. They'd appealed to Fleur for a few things from her and something of Victoire's to add, and had even contacted Andromeda Tonks for something of Teddy's. After all, the elder Weasleys were grandparents to him too, more or less. "That, Molly, is a closely-guarded secret. You'll see."

Next, they unwrapped Harry's and Ginny's quilt. Molly immediately recognised bits from Ginny's baby dresses, her ragged old blanket with frolicking lambs on a light-blue background, a bit of fabric from one of Molly's old aprons and another from one of Arthur's old robes. Also included were bits of fabric from a couple of the first shirts Harry bought in Diagon Alley with his own money just before third year, some bits of denim from a favourite pair of jeans he wore until they literally came apart, and fabric taken from his first set of dress robes. The Gryffindor crest from worn Quidditch jerseys and the Hogwarts crest from a school pennant adorned opposite corners. She even managed to procure one of Sirius' robes thanks to Kreacher and a bit of tweed from a pair of Remus' trousers from Andromeda. Lastly, there were pieces made from the leftover fabric from Ginny's wedding gown and Harry's wedding robes.

"They're going to love this," Molly said, her voice quavering just a little. "Lily and James…"

"I tried, Molly. Petunia actually looked around her attic, but couldn't find anything of Lily's and had no idea where we might find something of James'," Hermione explained regretfully. "She actually sounded sorry."

"This looks like a sock," Arthur said, pointing to a bit of fabric with Golden Snitches on it.

Hermione smiled sadly. "Yes—it is. It's from a pair of socks Harry gave Dobby for Christmas our fourth year. Prof—Minerva found them. Well, actually, Winky had them. She had kept all of Dobby's things left at Hogwarts."

"Dobby? Winky? Who are they," Taya asked, thoroughly confused.

"Dobby and Winky are House-elves," Hermione explained. "Dobby adored Harry because he helped free him from his family. They treated him horribly. In a way, Dobby attached himself to Harry, even going so far as to give his own life to save ours during the war. He's buried at Shell Cottage. Harry dug his grave by hand."

"Winky used to belong to a former colleague of mine, Barty Crouch," Arthur interjected. "He freed her unjustly and sent her away for disobedience. Dobby found her wasting away and took her with him to Hogwarts."

"Exactly. She had a hard time adjusting and took to drink—Butterbeer—but she must have gotten over her sadness because she's still at Hogwarts and doing fine according to Minerva," Hermione said.

"What a story _this _quilt tells," Taya said. "I can't wait until they see it and tell us the tales."

"I'll warn you now," Hermione began gravely. "Harry doesn't like to talk about his childhood and he still carries a lot of scars from the war. Don't be disappointed if Ginny does most of the talking."

"Why doesn't Harry talk about his childhood," Taya asked suspiciously.

"He wasn't treated very well by his Muggle relatives," Hermione said tentatively. "There's a lot _we_ don't even know."

Molly's face turned red with suppressed rage as her lips drew together in a purse. "Bars on the windows indeed…cat flaps…thin and pale as death…clothes too big…" she muttered under her breath.

Arthur wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and pulled her to him. "There, there, my beauty. Harry's safe and happy now."

"Are you tellin' me that sweet man was abused as a child," Taya cried incredulously.

Hermione sighed heavily. "We're pretty sure he was, but we don't know to what extent. He simply won't talk about it, but if the demeanour of his walrus of an uncle is any indication, I'd say it could have been severe."

"All we know for sure is that he'd show up here mid-summer pale, underfed, dressed in his cousin's cast-offs that could fit two of Harry at once, and quiet as could be," Arthur said. "The first time he arrived at the Burrow was just before his and Ronnie's second year at Hogwarts."

"Yes, and I was worried sick," Molly added. "Car gone, no note…they could have been killed that night!"

"Yes, love, but it was still a brave thing they did," Arthur said. Turning back to Taya, he explained about that summer—how Harry hadn't answered any of Ron's and Hermione's letters even though he had his own owl, and they'd become worried. "Then the night of Harry's birthday, Fred and George and Ron sneaked out of the house and nicked an old Ford Anglia car I'd been tinkering with and flew it to Surrey to rescue Harry."

"_You_ made it fly," Molly huffed. "Honestly. And that invisibility booster—Arthur, they could have been _seen! _In fact…"

"Yes, yes, but that was later on," Arthur said. "As I was saying…as soon as the boys returned home, Molly met them and laid into them something rare."

"I did, but once they explained what they found in Privet Drive, I couldn't very well be too angry with them, although I told them never to touch that car again," Molly said. "Bars on his windows…cat flaps…starving the poor dear. I can't tell you how badly I wanted to Apparate over there and give those people a piece of my mind…and my wand!"

"Now, now, Molly," Arthur said soothingly. "Don't get yourself all worked up over it again. It's over and Harry has almost nothing to do with those people anymore."

"That's not the point, Uncle Art," Taya interjected. "Child abuse—at least in the States—is a crime, punishable by imprisonment and/or fine and the child is permanently removed from the home."

"It's the same here, Taya," Hermione added. "But the trouble is reporting it and then proving it. The Dursleys told their neighbours Harry was a problem-child—a delinquent—who attended St Brutus', a reform school for criminally-incurable boys or some such nonsense. I doubt it really exists. They'd even managed to convince authorities at the primary school he and Dudley attended that Harry was a troublemaker, so who would believe him if he did tell someone?"

"That's just sick," Taya spat. "Sick! So these people got away with blatant child abuse! How that man's turned out like he has is nothin' short of a miracle!"

"His friends had much to do with that," Arthur said, nodding at his daughter-in-law. "Hermione and Ronnie—and eventually Ginny, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood—kept Harry grounded and assured that he was a good person worthy of love and friendship."

"He really has no idea how loved he is," Hermione confessed. "And I don't mean just for defeating Voldemort; I mean for who he is—for _just being Harry_. I know a lot of who I am can be attributed to my friendship with Harry…and Ron, of course."

"And Ronnie rather came out of his shell once he became friends with you and Harry," Molly added. "He was such a loner most of the time, but once he made friends with the two of you, he was a different boy. Of course, Ginny was convinced she'd marry Harry Potter from the time she was four years old and made it clear that she'd have no other."

Taya and Molly began to clear the table while Arthur and Hermione folded up the two quilts they'd examined. They were heavy and very unwieldy for two people to tame, let alone one person. As soon as they finished, Hermione drew her wand and secured the quilts with strong ribbon to keep them together. Arthur cast a weightlessness charm on them so they could carry them up to the fifth floor and then took his leave and disappeared into his shed.

As soon as the food was put away and the dishes set to washing themselves, Molly made a fresh pot of tea and the three witches sat down to talk. "Now suppose you tell us what's wrong," Molly said to Hermione.

Stealing a glance at her husband's cousin, Hermione began. "Well…I'm afraid."

"Afraid," Taya repeated. "Of what?"

"Ron." Before the other two could explode, Hermione raised her hands to stave off the verbal blast. "Not Ron, really, but…_dammit!_ Ever since that thing with Gumboil Polyjuiced as Ron, I have this awful urge to force Ron to identify himself before…before I let him near me. I've never done it, mind, but I just can't shake the urge and it's driving me batty!"

Molly finally understood Hermione's odd behaviour of late. "Hermione-dear, you know Ron would never hurt you, don't you?"

Tears flowed down the youngest witch's face. "Of course I do! He's as upset about this as I am—at least at Gumboil. He's said on several occasions that if that man crosses his path, he'll…he'll kill him. I don't doubt Ron'd do it, either!"

"I think Ron's professional enough that he really wouldn't," Taya said. "But this thing with you not trustin' him—that's trouble."

"Have you talked with Ron about this," Molly asked, taking a sip of tea. "Is he aware of this fear of yours?"

"I can't," Hermione replied, her voice breaking. "He'd just feel guilty for running late that night and it wasn't his fault! I don't know what to do!"

Molly put her arm around Hermione and gave her a squeeze. "You really need to tell Ronnie what's bothering you. He's your husband and he loves you more than anything in the world. He'll do anything you want him to do if it'll help."

"But what," Hermione protested. "What can he do? Give me a Wizard's Oath that he's Ronald Bilius Weasley every time he sees me?"

"Of course not," Molly said. "But there's sure to be a way you can work this out."

After a few moments of contemplation, Taya slapped the table. "I've got it! I think I know how you can deal with this until ya work through it! Code phrases!"

"Code phrases," Molly repeated in reply. "What do you mean?"

"During the war, didn't you all have special things you said to each other to be sure you were talkin' to who you thought you were talkin' to? Questions, maybe," Taya asked. "Jayce told me that they did stuff like that when he was with the Rangers in the Gulf and Somalia. They still do."

"Well…Arthur and I had certain questions we asked one another," Molly confessed.

"That's what I mean. Hermione, you need to talk to Ron about this so you can come up with a few questions or special phrases to use just in case," Taya said. "They don't have to mean anything in particular—just a certain question or statement paired with a certain answer is all you need. Several of them would be good. That way, reprobates like Alastor Gumboil and his bunch won't be able to pull somethin' like this again."

"It's certainly better than demanding a Wizard's Oath," Hermione agreed. _Simple Q&A_. "All right, then. As soon as the boys get home, I'm taking Ron upstairs for a talk…among other things."

"So that's it, then," Molly asked. Hermione nodded. "You're sure?"

"That was all, Molly, really," Hermione said. "It's all been so frustrating! None of this was his fault, but Ron stood to suffer because of it. I love him so much, I just can't bear to let this go on." Tears fell freely once again. Taya and Molly held Hermione's hands and let her cry it all out, conjuring tissues and handing them to her as she needed them. Ten minutes later, Hermione wiped her eyes and blew her nose for the last time.

"Better now," Taya asked with a smile.

"Yes," Hermione sniffed. "Much better."

"Well, then, I think we need to pull ourselves together and do some shopping," Molly announced, levitating the empty cups and teapot to the sink.

"Sounds like a winner to me," Taya agreed. "I just need to run a brush through my mop and tie it up. Give me five and I'll be right with ya!"

"I'll start a list while you girls tidy up," Molly said. "I definitely need the Unicorn horn and Dragon's livers…not to mention Hellebore and some Nettles…" Molly scribbled down her list, mumbling each item to herself while Taya and Hermione readied themselves upstairs. _A bit of Boomslang skin wouldn't hurt,either. It gives my healing salves a nice boost. Oh, and I need to see George about some more of that wonderful bruise cream he and Fred came up with._

Ten minutes later, the three witches bade Arthur a good morning and set off for the Apparition point outside the Burrow's wards. With a _pop!_ the three laughing witches Disapparated from Devon to the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, London.

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Early Sunday morning, the Weekend Warriors breakfasted on leftover root stew and cold trout. It wasn't much, but it filled them up and tasted far better than the MRE omelets they'd eaten the day before. When they were finished, they cleaned their dishes in the stream and broke camp.

"Now, remember to scatter the branches and other stuff around so it looks like we were never here. Any bit of ground that looks flattened, needs to be fluffed up and kicked around to hide our presence," Jayce explained. "To the average tracking-wizard, we were never here."

The six of them scurried around, tearing down their shelters and scattering the remains hither and yon for approximately a 20-metre radius. "Looks good, guys," Jayce complimented them. "Let's go home."

With a quiet cheer, the Weekend Warriors picked their way through the woods to the clearing where they'd Apparated in. Jayce handed each of them their wands and they all Disapparated away—Harry to Ionúin Bhaille for a hot bath and to prepare a candlelit dinner for Ginny, Bill to Shell Cottage to make mad, passionate love to his wife, Seamus to Hogwarts to see Fiona, Charlie to the Ministry to check in for the night shift, and Ron and Jayce to the Burrow to reunite with their respective women.

Upon their arrival, Taya and Hermione raced down the path to the Apparition point and leapt upon their grimy sweaty wizards. "Ron, we need to talk…right now," Hermione said, peppering his sweaty face with kisses.

"Uh…sure, 'Mione," Ron replied with a grin. "Anything you want, but could I get a shower first?"

"I suppose it can wait that long," she replied, staring into his sapphire pools, assuring herself that this beautiful man was indeed her Ron.

"Care to join me, Mrs Weasley," Ron whispered.

"Hmm…maybe I will," Hermione replied with a sly smile. "I'll wash your back…and anything else I find that might need a thorough cleaning."

"Minx," Ron chuckled and picked her up in his arms, carrying her to the house.

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"Jayce Silvercloud—bedroom, _now_," Taya ordered, dragging him by the hand into the house.

"Tay-O-Wee, I've smelled better fresh out of the sweat-lodge," Jayce protested. "Trust me—you don't want me in our bed like this."

"Who said anything about a bed," Taya giggled. "Can you say _floor?_ Besides, Ron's got dibs on the shower."

"You _are_ a horny little demon, aintcha," Jayce laughed as they approached the kitchen door. "But shouldn't we at least say hello to your aunt and uncle before we run upstairs and shag like rabbits?"

"Whatever, Silvercloud," Taya growled. "Just make it quick!" _Did this man just say "shag?" Looks like England's rubbing off on us._

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"Fleur, ma petite femme," Bill called from the back door. "Je suis à la maison. Ou est ma cherie?"

"Je suis ici, mon amour—dans la cuisine," she called in return. "Victoire fait la sieste. Souhaitez-vous un verre de vin?"

"Non, ma belle," Bill replied. "Pas maintenant. Ce que je voudrais vraiment est une douche chaude et ma sorcière sexy dans notre lit." He nuzzled his Fleur's swan-like neck, inhaling the intoxicating aroma of her silvery-blond tresses.

She giggled and pushed him away. "Ugh! Vous avez raison! Tu pues! Allez! Je vais vous répondre dans la chambre."

"Okay, okay. I'm going," Bill laughed, switching to English. He kissed her nose and ran up the stairs to their en suite to scrub the weekend's filth from his body.

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Harry, now clean and refreshed, had just placed the finishing touches on the pork loin roast with rosemary vegetables when Ginny stepped through the front door. He felt her presence as soon as she crossed the wards. "Welcome home, my heart."

Ginny dropped her gear by the door and sidled up behind him, hugging him from behind, relishing that woodsy-spicy scent she had come to adore on her husband. "Mmm, it's good to be home. And what smells so heavenly?"

"One of your favourites," Harry replied, leading her to the table. "Pork loin roast with rosemary vegetables. I've got strawberries and chocolate sauce for afters," he teased.

"Oh baby," she moaned. "You are definitely getting lucky tonight."

"Tuck in, then," Harry said helping her into her seat at the table. "The fuzzy rug in front of the fire awaits."

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Fiona sat by the single occupied bed in the hospital wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had just returned from her shift at St Mungo's to find young Joseph Pointer lying in the bed, covered with salves and dosed with a sleeping draught.

"_What happened, Miss Poppy," Fiona asked, aghast._

"_Mr Pointer got himself into a bit of a scuffle with a couple of Hufflepuffs," the matron replied._

"_Oh no, not again," Fiona groaned. "Those idiots just don't know when to quit, do they?"_

"_Apparently not," Poppy replied. "From what I understand, Joseph here came upon the two Hufflepuffs harassing the Prewett twins. He stepped in and well…"_

"_What about the two Hufflepuffs," Fiona asked angrily._

"_Well, Rupert Watson and Hagrid broke up the fight. Rupert brought Joseph here and Hagrid escorted the other two boys to Minerva's office. Pomona had to owl their parents. Minerva suspended them until after Easter."_

Once she examined Joseph and took his vitals for the second time that evening, she picked Mokey up and began to play softly, humming an old Welsh hymn she'd learned as a child. Once she was sure of the key, she began to sing.

_Sleep, my child and peace attend thee all through the night._

_Guardian angels God will send thee all through the night._

_Soft the drowsy hours are creeping; hill and vale in slumber steeping,_

_I, my loving vigil keeping all through the night._

She played a short interlude, but as she began the second verse, she heard a soft tenor harmony behind her. She smiled softly and continued to sing and play while the man she was sure she'd fallen in love with joined her.

_While the moon her watch is keeping all through the night,_

_While the weary world is sleeping all through the night,_

_O'er thy spirit gently stealing, visions of delight revealing_

_Breathes a pure and holy feeling all through the night._

"Dia duit, mo ghrá," Seamus said softly, kissing the top of her strawberry head.

"Dia duit," she replied. "Did you boys have fun?"

"Yeah, all things considered—it was fun enough," he replied. "How are the kids at St Mungo's?"

"Darlin's as always," she replied. "But when I got back here…" She gestured to the lone figure on the bed next to her.

"Merlin, is that Joseph Pointer," Seamus asked studying the boy's battered face.

Fiona sighed heavily. "Yeah, it's him. Poppy says he got into it with a couple of Hufflepuffs who were botherin' the twins."

"So…what happened?"

"Rupert and Hagrid broke up the fight. Rupert brought Joseph here while Hagrid dragged the other two up ta Miss Minerva's office. She called Miss Pomona in and then suspended the boys until after Easter. Their parents came for 'em just a bit ago."

"Joseph ain't suspended, is he?"

"No. In fact, Miss Pomona awarded him fifty points for defendin' Emma 'n' Erica," Fiona laughed. "Then Hagrid awarded him ten more for doin' what Harry would-a done."

"It's a ruddy good thing Creevey resurrected the DA, then," Seamus said, shaking his head. "There's no other way a second-year could've taken on two like that on his own."

"Yeah, I guess the Gryffs are pretty up-in-arms about the whole thing," Fiona said. "Dennis 'n' Jessie were here earlier to check on Joseph. I thought Dennis was gonna bust a gusset, he was so mad."

"Looks like I might have to sit in on a meetin' or two," Seamus surmised. "Maybe even get Harry and Ron and maybe Hermione to come along."

"Seamus, I don't want ya incitin' those kids ta war," Fiona said. "Circe knows we got enough to get on with already."

"I'm not gonna incite 'em ta war, Love," Seamus protested. "It's just that we can teach 'em better ways to defend themselves. Harry was talkin' about maybe startin' a self-defence class just for the girls."

"I'm all for that after what happened to poor Jessica," Fiona said just as Joseph began to stir and moan in his sleep. She stood quickly and rushed to his side to brush his hair off his brow and wipe the sweat away. "Poor darlin'. It's all right. Don't you fret none, now," she whispered. After a few moments, the boy quieted and fell back into a deep sleep.

For a moment, Seamus allowed his mind to wander as he watched his love care for the injured boy. In his mind's eye, he watched Fiona, as his wife, comfort their own ailing child—a sandy-haired boy with robin's egg-blue eyes and freckles across his nose. He was startled from his reverie by Fiona's voice calling him back from the fog.

"Seamus Finnegan," she hissed. "I'm talkin' ta you!"

"W-what? Sorry, darlin'," he answered sheepishly. "Me mind just took a little holiday without me for a minute, there."

"Obviously," she snickered. "Go on up ta my quarters and wait fer me there. Yer filthy and if Miss Poppy catches ya in here in that state, she'll have a conniption fit for sure!"

"What in blazes is a conniption fit anyway," Seamus grumbled halfway to the door.

"You don't wanna know. Now git; I'll be up in two shakes," she said, shooing him out the door. "And if yer a good boy, I'll wash yer back for ya."

Grumbing under his breath, Seamus left the hospital wing and headed for Fiona's quarters. As he walked, a smile stole across his lips that evolved into a Cheshire grin. _She might wash yer back, will she? We'll just see about that, won't we, mate? Oh indeed we shall, Finnegan, me b'y. Indeed we shall._

As promised, Fiona arrived soon after Seamus had stretched himself out on the floor in front of the fire he'd built in the grate. He truly needed a bath before he'd even think of planting himself on any stick of furniture in her rooms. His face broke into a wide grin when she stepped through the door in anticipation of just how she intended to wash his back and stay dry at the same time.

"All right, Finnegan," she barked, her hands firmly on her hips. "Git outta them dirty things while I draw yer bath."

"All of my dirty things," he asked snarkily.

"If yer man enough," she snarked back. "Otherwise you can leave yer skivvies on 'til you git in the tub."

"Oh, I'm man enough all right," he replied with an evil glint in his blue eyes. "The question is: _are you woman enough?_"

"Is that a challenge, Finnegan," she asked, giving as good as she got.

"It might be," he said, pulling his grimy tee shirt over his head, revealing his smooth muscular chest.

Fiona's breath caught as her eyes raked across her boyfriend's body. _Down, girl. Hang tough. Make him come to you._

"See somethin' ya like, Miss Prewett," Seamus said silkily. "There's more where that came from, ya know."

Seamus' suggestive comment brought the Apprentice Healer to her senses. "Is that so," perfectly mimicking her mother's accent. "Just bring it on then, Mavourneen, 'n' let the games begin!"

"Ye've done it now, woman," Seamus laughed, dropping his jeans before her. "There's but one layer left. Think ya c'n handle it?"

"Meet me in the loo and we'll find out," she giggled and hustled in to run his bath.

"Are ya ready yet, Miss Prewett," Seamus called from the sitting room.

"In a minute," she called. _Ooh, are you in for a surprise, Seamus Patrick Finnegan_. "Okay, yer bath's ready!"

With a triumphant guffaw, Seamus sprinted to the bathroom and skidded to an abrupt stop. His eyes opened wider than ever before when he saw the vision of loveliness waiting for him in a bubbly tub. "Why Fiona Prewett! Ye've left me speechless."

"Are ya comin' or not," she asked him with her arms crossed over her chest. "I'll be a prune if I have ta wait fer ya much longer!"

_Not yet, Love, but at this rate I will be_. "Ye're sure ya want me in there with ya," he asked, turning red as beet-root.

"If I wasn't, would I be in here," she snapped. "Now git outta them drawers and git in here before the waters goes cold!"

"Now wait just a minute, Fiona," Seamus said, taking a step back. "We've never been naked together before and I just wanna be sure there's no misunderstandin's. Are you naked in there?"

Fiona huffed. "Do you bathe in your duds?"

"O-okay…just so we've got an understandin'," he said, slipping out of his boxers.

_Great Merlin!_ Fiona had seen her share of specimens of male virility, but this one took the cake. Perhaps it was the fact that it was attached to Seamus Finnegan that drew her attention, but whatever it was, she liked what she saw.

Seamus stepped into the tub and settled himself next to Fiona in the circular tub. In a daze, she handed him the soap and a flannel. "Oh no ya don't, Miss," he said, emboldened by her expression. "_You're _washin' me, remember?"

"Your back," she squeaked. "I said I'd wash yer back."

"Yeah, but that was before you joined me in this tub," he argued. "Tell ya what—you wash me and I'll wash you. Deal?"

"Um…" _Welcome to the new millennium, Fiona! You're in love with this man, right? Right. So go for it! _"All right, then. Hand me the shampoo and wet your head."

Seamus dunked himself under and came up shaking his head, flinging water all over Fiona. "Wet enough for ya, Love?"

"Shut it you," she snarled through a grin, as she began to work the shampoo into his sandy blond locks.

Seamus moaned with pleasure as she scraped the filth from his hair with her nails and massaged his scalp. "Oh that's nice, darlin'," he whimpered. "Ya got three hours ta stop that."

"Dream on," she said. "Rinse."

Obediently, Seamus ducked his head underwater again and swished it around to release the shampoo. When he surfaced, Fiona dumped another glob of shampoo onto his head and repeated the massage. "Do ya like that, baby?"

"Ya know I do," he moaned.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," she promised. "Rinse."

Seamus ducked down again, but when he surfaced this time, he turned and took Fiona in his arms, crushing his lips to hers. With a whimper, she relaxed into his kiss with abandon, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her bare breasts into his chest.

"Onie, Love," he groaned into her mouth. "I want you so bad and your body next to mine is drivin' me mad."

_Am I ready for this?_ "Seamus, I…I've never…"

"Shh, mo ghrá," he whispered. "We don't have ta do anything if ye're not ready. Let's just finish our bath 'n' go from there, yeah?"

Burying her face in his shoulder, she nodded. Reluctantly pulling away from his embrace, she picked up the soap and flannel. Tentatively and gently, she washed his face and neck and then moved on to his chest. Her hands began to shake as she approached his lower abdomen.

"It's all right, Love. We haven't done me back yet," he whispered, taking a soapy hand and kissing it, all the time gazing straight into her eyes. He turned around so she could finish the job she'd originally promised to do. Then, to his surprise, she soaped up the flannel again and washed his bum.

"Turn around, Seamus," she said softly. "I'm not done yet."

He turned around to face her once again. His eyes closed and his heart pounded as she cleaned his now-hardening member. He fought back a groan of pleasure so as not to frighten her. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt Fiona or scare her in any way.

"My turn," she said, locking onto his gaze and handing over a clean flannel.

"Shampoo first," he smiled, sending her under to wet her thick strawberry locks. As she had done for him, Seamus washed her hair twice and then her face, neck, and body. As soon as his flannel touched her right breast, she sighed and tipped her head back to drown in the sensations his hands brought to her body.

When he finished, he gently took her into his arms again and kissed her deeply. "I love you, Fiona Prewett. I never thought I could ever feel like this, but here it is. I want to marry you someday, my girl. I can never love another, and that I promise you from the bottom of my heart."

"Seamus," Fiona began. "Are you sure I'm the one? I mean, I'm nothing special. I—"

"Oh but ya are special, Love," he countered. "Ya bring comfort to the sufferin' and a song into their hearts. Ye've made my life worth livin'. There isn't a moment I'm not thinkin' on ya, Fiona. The instant I laid eyes on ya, I knew ya were the one. That makes ya special enough."

"Seamus?"

"Yeah, Love?"

"I think I'm ready."

"Are ya sure," he asked her. "Because once it's done, it can't be undone. Ya know that."

"I'm sure," she confessed. "Make love ta me, Seamus. Please. I love you."

Seamus gently lifted her in his arms and carried her out of the tub to the bedroom. He summoned a pair of towels and handed one to Fiona. They gently dried one another off before the fire and then he carried her to the bed. He laid her down and lay down beside her. He could see the apprehension in her eyes—she knew there was going to be pain and he knew she knew it.

"I know it's gonna hurt a little," she whispered. "But I know ya won't hurt me on purpose."

"Never, my love," he said, kissing her tears away. He slipped his hand between her thighs to touch her centre. "Relax and just let go." As she parted her thighs to grant him easier access, he pressed his lips to hers, his tongue begging entrance.

As soon as she climaxed, he positioned himself between her legs and ever so slowly, pushed himself into her. Once he broke through her barrier, he stopped, allowing her to adjust to his length and girth. "All right, Onie?"

She nodded and blinked a tear away. "All right," she replied. She then wrapped her creamy legs around his slender hips and pulled him further into her.

Together, they rode out their passion until both their bodies exploded in sexual bliss. Seamus rolled off her and took her into his embrace. She rested her head on his chest and wrapped her right arm around his waist. "I love you, Seamus Finnegan. And the answer's yes."


	50. Chapter 50 The Last Straw

**Chapter 50 – The Last Straw**

Harry, Ron, Susan, Cho and Lavender sat around a table in the Ministry cafeteria eating lunch. The Lunch Bunch hadn't met for quite awhile, since Hermione tended to take hers in her cubicle with Selma. _Dobby's Law_ was just about ready to be introduced to the Wizengamot and she wanted to be absolutely sure it was water-tight before she allowed those vultures to attempt to pollute it with a load of traditional dung. Seamus had also joined them, since he had to be at the Ministry that day for a debriefing with the Board of Governors regarding the recent activity at Hogwarts.

Their lunch was interrupted by a boar-Patronus making its way through the tables toward the Aurors. It attracted a lot of attention, since it was such an advanced piece of magic and very difficult to cast. Most wizards and witches weren't able to produce a corporeal one, let alone a silvery mist that couldn't hold off a stampeding Pygmy Puff. Surely Harry was confident any witch or wizard had the ability, but lacked proper training and ample practice. Boggart infestations may be common, but they don't turn into Dementors for just anybody.

"Isn't that Ernie's boar," Susan asked, studying the glowing porker.

"Looks like it," Lavender agreed. "It's not like him to use his Patronus to message people. He prefers standard Owl Post." The boar stopped in front of them and seemed to want to deliver a message when it vanished into a silvery mist.

"I don't think Ernie knows how to send spoken message through his Patronus. I think we'd better pay him a visit," Harry thought out loud. Something seemed to click in his mind and caused him to stand abruptly, knocking his chair over backward. "The six of us move out immediately! I'll alert Jock to have reinforcements ready! Move it!" With a flick of his wand, Prongs sprung forth and awaited his master's pleasure. Harry whispered to the great stag, it nodded, and then bounded across the cafeteria and through the far wall.

Aurors routinely carried their wands in wrist holsters strapped to their forearms, each of them having purchased spare ones once they'd established themselves at the Ministry. The Elite had hung their Auror robes casually over their chairs, and summoned to their bodies as they sprinted for the doors. Ron took his plate with him, continuing to shovel steak and potatoes into his mouth, grumbling about people not showing proper respect for the lunch hour. Harry joined the others with less than two minutes having passed from the moment the boar-Patronus had appeared in the cafeteria to the soft popping sound as the six of them spun as one and Disapparated away.

Other ministry employees watched the Aurors in awe as they switched from sitting comfortably enjoying their lunch to battle mode and were, ready to leave at a moment's notice. Percy, sharing his lunch hour with Audrey, had to admit to himself that his brothers and their subordinates surely made the Aurors of past-administrations look like clods. Ron truly surprised him more and more these days.

He'd once thought of his youngest brother as a gorilla, but no gorilla moved like Ron did. Such grace and style. And Harry! What a presence! Percy remembered when Harry Potter first arrived at Hogwarts with his ratty clothes and shoes, taped-together glasses and scrawny little body, shy as any eleven-year-old could be. To his shame, Percy once believed the Potter scion to be deranged and even tried to break up his friendship with Ron. But now, he held his brother-in-law in only the highest regard.

"They're truly amazing, aren't they," Audrey said, breaking Percy from his thoughts.

"What? I'm sorry, Audrey. I missed that," Percy said, his ears turning red as beet-root.

"I said they're truly amazing aren't they," she repeated. "Honestly, Percy, where are you today?"

"I…I was just thinking about something, that's all," Percy confessed, turning redder still.

"About…?"

"Harry and Ronald," he replied. "They're quite something. And the Aurors they command. They're just…awesome."

"That's called _teamwork_, Perce," she giggled. "Did you notice how they moved as one? Her Majesty's finest train for hours every day to achieve that. I believe your brothers are turning our Auror force from a load of glorified policemen into a formidable fighting-force. They're becoming an army."

"An…army," Percy repeated. "You mean like the Muggle army?" Percy wasn't completely oblivious to all things Muggle.

"I do," she affirmed. "And if the tournament is any indication, I can assure you that any dark factions lurking about Wizarding Britain are in for a rude awakening."

"Indeed," Percy agreed thoughtfully. _And Gumboil and his lot sit at the top of my brothers' hit list_.

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The Aurors appeared at a point just outside the MacMillan estate, where the air screamed with the sounds of battle. "Bloody hell, they're under attack," Ron snapped.

"Yes, but unlike the Slytherins, Ernie's DA and knew how to call for help when this all started. Now, you lot, remember your training—we've handled situations like this before in the Den," Harry reminded his team. "You know what to do. Let's do this, people!" With enough said, they moved in with military precision. Harry realised there was no time to come up with an elaborate plan, so he trusted that the others and the countless hours spent training would win the day for them.

"Wards are down," Cho noted as they approached the house. Windows flashed with the multi-coloured lights of wild spellfire and the noise of furniture and glass splintering and shattering with the impact. Just outside the entrance, they found Ernie leading the defence of the grand house against a group of cloaked attackers. His parents followed his lead, aware of their son's superior battle training. From the back of the house, smoke billowed upward, and they suspected more assailants might be lurking there.

"We Apparate in and surround them," Harry shouted above the melee. "We use the element of surprise, but just stun them; nothing potentially lethal unless it's absolutely necessary. Anyone left standing after that we take out however we need to." The other five nodded their understanding. Just as the cloaked group began to advance on them, several pops rent the air around them, immediately followed by a flash of red as several stunners were shot in rapid succession. All but one of the attackers fell, but the one standing was disorientated and made a move indicating that he meant to continue the fight.

"_Expulso_," Cho barked, shooting a powerful spell at the ground under the cloaked figure. The explosion that followed tossed him several metres into the air. Since what goes up must come down, the unfortunate fellow landed with a sickening crunch and lay panting and moaning on the ground, his head spinning and his pain-fogged mind trying to remind him why he was there. Susan followed up with a merciful stunner, rendering the fool unconscious. Not that he posed any further threat, but it would be less painful for him until a Healer could sort him out.

The entire counter-offensive had lasted less than ten seconds, so Harry turned his full attention to the corners of the manor in case more attackers should arrive. He was happy with the speed and precision of their attack. Although it was considered honourable to give the enemy the chance to surrender, his choice to go in and hit fast and hard netted them several prisoners that otherwise might have escaped. He hoped these thugs would talk without the effects of Veritaserum, but he didn't count on it. Either way, the Aurors' training and lack of hesitation paid off, putting a few more idiots out of commission. _Serves the gits right._

Faint pops of Disapparition revealed that the rest of the attackers had fled. "Bonesy, LB, Check on those berks over there," Harry ordered pointing to the fallen ones. _I don't dare hope one of these tossers is Gumboil. That'd be just too damned easy._ "Lotus, Irish, you're with me to the back. Red, you tend to the MacMillans and alert Jock to get some Healers here."

"Right, sir," Ron replied with the utmost professionalism. He closed his eyes and allowed the picture of a bikini-clad Hermione on a Barbados beach fill his mind. "_Expecto Patronum!_" A very playful Jack Russell Terrier-Patronus leapt forth from his wand, silently barking and dancing around Ron's legs before it settled and sat, tail wagging, to receive his message.

As he suspected, Harry, Seamus and Cho found no trace of anyone in the back. They put out the fire and assessed the damage, which wasn't extensive, but it would take some serious spellwork to put it right. After making sure the perimeter was secure, the three Aurors returned to the front of the manor, where they found Ron was talking to Ernie and his parents. Their attackers had all been un-cloaked and bound with magical ropes, except for the one who'd suffered several fractures. He remained stunned and motionless without the need for bindings.

"All right. LB, Bonesy, please escort this lot to their accommodations on Level Ten. Lotus, give me a hand with some temporary wards until the MacMillans can re-establish their own," Harry directed.

"It would be our pleasure, Chief," Lavender said with a wink. "Come along, gentlemen. It's your lucky day. We have plenty of vacancies with no crowding."

Harry and Cho snickered and turned to their work around the grounds of the estate. While they worked, they were able to truly appreciate the simple beauty of the place and the fine ironwork of the gates and fencing that surrounded the property. Two great cairns supported the gates that were festooned with the MacMillan Clan crest. It depicted two hands, right over left, gripping a broadsword, all contained within a traditional Scottish buckle-and-strap device bearing the motto, _Miseris Succurrere Disco._

"It means _I learn to succor the wretched_," Cho told him, noticing Harry's confusion as to the meaning of the Latin. "They were known for their charity and as champions of the poor and lowly."

"True Hufflepuffs then," Harry said, raising his wand to add another layer to the wards.

"None truer," she replied. "But their history shows that they've got a bit of Gryffindor in them as well. There. That should hold them for a bit."

While Harry, Cho and Seamus investigated the rear of the property, Ron took a preliminary statement from the MacMillans. There was nothing much to say other than they had been gathered for lunch when all Hell broke loose outside the house. Timing the attack during lunch had meant that no one would have paid any attention to what was going on outside as the wards were breached. _You're obviously going to need better wards than these standard ones._ Ron was so used to Hermione's and Bill's outstanding wards that he hadn't considered the fact that breaching wards without causing a proper alert was actually possible.

"Ernie, great work, mate," Ron said, slapping his former classmate on the back. "Sending your Patronus paid, but I'd suggest you learn how to make it talk. Maybe you could come down to the Ministry sometime and we'll have a go in the Den. We'll teach you then."

"The Den," Ernie replied. "What the bloody hell is that?"

"It's our training facility," Harry replied, striding up from the back. "It's loads of fun. Just give us a heads-up and we'll work you in. Jock loves to give us a work out."

"Jock?"

"Aurrorr Serrgeant Andrroo Thompson," Ron replied with a grossly-overdone Scottish brogue. "He comes up with some of the best scenarios. We actually stage war-games in there! It's brilliant! Meanwhile, you might want to consider contacting Gringotts for some Warders to come out and set some new wards."

"Mr and Mrs MacMillan, Lieutenant Chang and I set some temporary ones with an alarm, but they're not the best," Harry suggested pointedly. "I agree with Captain Weasley."

"We certainly shall," Mr MacMillan replied with a brogue more reminiscent of Minerva McGonagall's. "And thank ye for coming oot here to help us. Ernie's told us soo much about ye and I can see none of it's exaggerated."

"Ernie's a strong wand, sir," Harry replied with a nod at the man's son. "He was one of our best in the DA. He fought like a badger alongside Neville Longbottom and Lieutenant Finnegan, here, to help keep the students safe at Hogwarts during the war."

Ernie beamed with pride. He and many other DA members worked tirelessly with Neville and Seamus to rescue students from detention, and had been instrumental in saving Ginny from the Carrows before her parents pulled her out of school and went into hiding. "Thanks, Harry, but we couldn't have done it without you teaching us that stuff."

"But you put it to practical use and that's what was really important," Harry countered. "Now, we need to get back to the Ministry. Mr and Mrs MacMillan, glad to have met you. I just wish it could've been under better circumstances. Ernie, great work," Harry declared, offering his hand.

"Thanks again, Chief Potter," Mrs MacMillan said, tears filling her eyes. The magnitude of what might have happened had finally sunk in. "Thanks for everything." She leaned into her husband as tears began to streak down her face.

"Not at all, ma'am," Harry replied. "All right, people. Let's move out." The four Aurors still at the scene strode swiftly through the gates, which closed behind them. They turned toward the house once more to wave farewell and then turned once again as one and vanished.

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Harry sat up half the night brooding while Ginny slept. He didn't have the heart to wake her, since the playoffs were set to begin and she'd need all the rest she could get. He had to concentrate very hard to keep from disturbing her through their bond without shutting it down completely.

It wasn't enough that they had been wreaking havoc on the dark Pureblood families, they had to attack a light family now too. And the MacMillans, of all families! Well, this was the proverbial last straw for Auror Commander Harry James Potter. This insanity had to end, proof or not proof. He knew who was behind it and so did his entire team. It was time to take matters in hand and put an end to ELF's reign of terror. But how?

Harry stood from the sofa and began to pace. In the process, he woke Lady Dorothea. "What is it, Milord? You seem troubled."

Harry spun into a crouch, summoning both wands from their holsters. "Who's there," he demanded.

"Take care, my descendant," the painting replied softly. "It is only I, Lady Dorothea Potter."

"Oh," Harry sighed, flicking his wrists to retract his wands. "You startled me. And yes, I'm at least troubled."

"Perhaps I might be able to help," the painting suggested.

"What do you know about stopping a madman, Milady," Harry replied, not really expecting advice of that sort from an eighteenth-century grande dame of the Most-noble House of Potter.

"A madman, you say," she said thoughtfully. "Perhaps you might explain this madman and his activities?"

Harry decided he really had nothing to lose by talking to his several-times-great grandmother, so he started at the beginning with the Prewett trial, the outbursts, and the birth of ELF. He went on to explain how things had deteriorated to attacks on Pureblood homes, mostly dark, with the latest against the MacMillans.

"The MacMillans! My goodness! A light family if there ever was one! Why on earth would anyone wish to harm them," Lady Potter asked rhetorically. "Why, our two families have been allied since before the Renaissance!"

"Yeah, Ernie's a good sort," Harry agreed. "He was in the DA with me in fifth year at Hogwarts. He's a fast wand; he defended his family as well as he could until we could arrive. If not for that little bit of training, we'd have found a massacre."

"I think I have a suggestion for you, although you might have to adapt it to your time and circumstances," she said, gazing straight into her descendant's emerald eyes. "And it might serve you later on as well."

"Your Ladyship, I'd welcome any suggestion you can offer because Merlin knows, I'm not sure what to do," Harry told her. "We've been playing by Ministry rules thus far, but we've gotten nowhere. A young man is sitting in Azkaban for ten years because of these people and another nearly died. Several estates have been all but decimated and dammit, I've had enough!"

"Then sit down, my grandson, and listen well, for I am about to give you a history of our people." She waited for Harry to take a seat before she began to speak.

"For centuries before my time and up until the disaster at the Battle of Culloden in 1745, our Scottish ancestors were called to war many times. Scotland was mostly feudal until the reign of William and Mary, so the powerful lairds ruled the land, even though Scotland had a king. I'm sure you've heard of King Robert the Bruce."

"Yes, I have," Harry replied. "But what does that—"

"Patience, my child," she interrupted. "You shall understand when my tale is through."

"Sorry. Go on, please," Harry said apologetically.

"Very well. As you know, the Bruce took the throne before the war against the Plantagenet was eventually won. Edward the First, known as Longshanks, was called _The Hammer of the Scots_ because of his ruthlessness," she explained. "He ravaged Scotland and her people, torturing and imprisoning those who would dare oppose his rule."

"Yes, I remember learning that in Muggle primary school," Harry said.

"Very good, then you understand," she said. "There was a warrior—a lesser noble—who sought to defend Scotland from Longshanks' tyranny. His own family had been decimated, with almost nothing left of his clan. You may have heard of this warrior—a fellow known as William Wallace."

"I think so. He was a big bloke, right? Went barking because some soldier killed his wife or something," Harry said, remembering his history.

"The same, but the tales I'm sure you heard about him were probably exaggerated," Lady Dorothea replied. "Wallace did, however, manage to unite many of Scotland's clans to the cause of freedom for Scotland and her people and would join his forces with those of the Bruce. The way it was done is what's important for you at this point, not just what was done."

"Okay…"

"Messages were carried by couriers in those days, often on foot, but sometimes one might be lucky enough to own a horse. It was slow-going and not the best means to pass information or alert remote hamlets to danger, but it generally worked. However, when the fights became intense and skirmishes became bloody battles, drastic measures had to be taken. Wallace wasn't above using those measures and soon taught the Bruce the same thing. They called the clans to war."

"War? Clans? But—"

"Now, Harry, please listen. I told you that you would need to adapt this method to your time and your circumstances, so hear my words and heed them carefully," she continued. "As word passed through the countryside, Muggle Christian crosses would be erected in the town centres and then burned for all to see. The burning cross was a rallying point for every able-bodied man to join the fight with anything they could use as a weapon—pikes, pitchforks, crude swords, daggers, axes—whatever they could find, since most of these people were farmers, artisans and craftsmen."

"The great clan chiefs and lairds were slow to enter the fray, since they stood to lose their lands and fortunes should Scotland ultimately fall. But eventually, they had to choose sides or lose anyway. Some chose to follow their king, but others chose to side with the Plantagenets. By the time Scotland won her freedom in 1314, Wallace had been cruelly executed for a traitor by Longshanks, who died not too long afterward. His son, Edward the Second was a bit of a fop and not near the leader his father was. His forces were decimated at Bannockburn by the united clans, but England did not recognise Scotland's independence and sovereignty until 1328. "

"But Lady Dorothea, how do you know so much about Muggle history," Harry asked.

"Simple, my child. All of this took place many years before the adoption of the Secrecy Act. Many of the mighty clan chiefs of the day were wizards, as were their agents," she explained. "They just kept their activities and contributions to the war in the background because of the murderous superstitions perpetuated by the Muggle Church."

"But charms—"

"Yes, I'm sure you know the story of Wendelin the Weird," Dorothea chuckled. "But even though the chances of a real witch of wizard ever being caught, let alone burned, were slim, the lairds still feared losing their money and prestige…and power."

"That sounds familiar," Harry muttered. "That's the kind of thing we fought against in the war—Pureblood supremacy and prejudice. Voldemort used that to try to take over our world and so many people died needlessly because of it. Now we have a madman on the loose doing much the same thing, but against the Purebloods just because they're Purebloods! It's madness, Lady Dorothea! It's got to stop and the only way to do it is to take the fight to ELF!

"Yes, and that is precisely why I told you this tale," Lady Potter said. "When Sir William Wallace and King Robert the Bruce finally took the fight to the English, as you so aptly stated, Scotland won her freedom. What _you_ must do is adapt their methods to _your_ fight against this madman and his people."

"Start small, right," Harry said, now staring directly at his ancestor's image.

"Correct. Start with those you trust the most—your family and your comrades-in-arms. This is their fight too, young Harry. The Weasleys are an ancient Pureblood warrior clan—Celts, to be exact," Dorothea explained. "From what I have seen of young Ronald, he is the very embodiment of that proud heritage and he and his brethren would serve the cause well."

Harry's mind raced with new and interesting thoughts. He had the cause and now he had the method. All that was left was the means and he knew his family and closest lieutenants among the Auror Corps would help him suss that part out. He leapt from the sofa and rushed to the portrait, kissing the image of Lady Dorothea on the cheek. "Thank you, Gran," he grinned. "I know just what to do now. You're the best!"

"I am gratified, my grandson," she replied with a slight blush. "Now you must rest, for you have careful plans to lay. Sleep well, Lord Potter."

"Thank you, Lady Potter. I shall take my leave. Good night," Harry said with a slight bow. He turned and padded through the dining room to the stairs.

He crept into the master bedroom where Ginny lay on her left side, her flaming hair fanned out over the pillow and a slight smile across her full pink lips. He ignored the twinge of arousal as he stripped off and slipped into bed behind her, taking extreme care not to wake her. He slowly placed his right arm around her waist and slipped his left under her pillow. He placed a loving kiss on her bare shoulder before he settled his raven head on his own fluffy pillow.

"All right, Love," her sleepy voice asked in the dark.

"You're awake," Harry said. "How long?"

"Not long. Just a few minutes. Are you okay," she asked, turning over to face him.

"I am now," he replied, kissing her nose. "I'll tell you about it over breakfast, because right now, I'm knackered and need to get some sleep."

"Mm-kay. Good night, Gorgeous Guy," she sighed, snuggling into his embrace.

"Good night, Gorgeous Girl. I love you," he murmured.

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Several hours later, Harry related his chat with Lady Dorothea to Ginny over a continental brunch of pastries, coffee, and fruit. Neither of them felt much like cooking in any capacity and Harry was entirely too worked-up again to even think about handling fire. By the time they finished eating, Harry was in high dudgeon again, and with Ginny's encouragement, he sent Prongs to Seamus in Hogsmeade and Flooed Ron at the Burrow.

"IB, my office, one hour! Get on the Chain and call Bill and Charlie. When you come, bring Jayce and Dad! Seamus is on his way! This is effing _war!_"

"Do you want me to go to the Burrow," she asked, levitating the dishes to the sink to wash.

"Gin, I really wish you would. I don't mean to exclude you, but…" Harry felt a twinge of guilt for not allowing her to stay, but he wanted this initial meeting to be wizards-only. Besides, she hadn't had much time to devote to her mother or her sisters lately, so it was a perfect opportunity for her to do so.

"I know, my love. I understand," she said, kissing his cheek. "Just keep me posted anyway."

Answering Harry's summons to what amounted to a preliminary war council, the Weasley men, Jayce and Seamus gathered at Ionúin Bhaille. Harry transfigured his desk into a round table and duplicated his fine leather office chair so they could all sit comfortably. Authority radiated from him as he eyed each of his guests individually. Even Arthur sat up and took notice. He'd seen Harry command men and women many times, but the power rolling off him at this moment was truly breathtaking.

Arthur observed Harry on the job and noted proudly how his son-in-law's leadership skill had developed and advanced the Auror office greatly. The young man's very presence and legend alone were enough to earn the respect of any room in any event. But this was something different. Harry had an almost Dumbledore-like quality this day, though he was a century of experience and achievement short of that of the venerated former headmaster and leader of the Light.

"We have to Stop. Gumboil. Now," Harry's stated in introduction. "The way we've been working thus far hasn't done much to that end. All we've managed to do is play by the rules while a load of good people have landed in St Mungo's, with a couple more sent on to the next great adventure before their effing time! That mad bastard knows our rules and tactics inside and out, and can avoid a direct confrontation with us and continue to slip into the shadows at every turn."

"Harry, are you talkin' Black Ops," Jayce assumed.

"Black," Harry snarled. "I'll take blue, orange, purple…even _pink!_ Marshall, I don't give a Nargle's fart what colour they are! We're going after ELF, but we're not playing by Ministry rules anymore!"

"Son, if something happens, we can't acknowledge that we know anything; Kingsley—" Arthur began.

"Dad," Ron interrupted. "I think Harry means that the only ones who will know about this mission are either in this room or members of our immediate family."

"That's exactly what I mean. I don't want Kingsley involved in this at all. It'd be political suicide for him," Harry added. "Look, I know this could mean losing our jobs if it all goes pear-shaped—at least those of us employed by the ministry—so I won't think less of any of you who don't care to come along. Hell, it's not like I really need a job anyway. I'm an Auror because I want to make a difference, not because I like to dress up in maroon and black. But I'd rather lose my job than see criminals get away with murder and destruction while innocent people are injured or killed. We've seen far too much of that for far too long! So are you with me?"

"I'm in, Harry," Ron said with conviction. "You know I've always got your back."

"Thanks, mate," Harry replied, grasping his brother-in-law's shoulder. "I could never do this without you—you know that."

"Hell yes, I'm in too," Jayce said forcefully. "You got my wand, my hardware, and anything else you need."

"Thanks, man," Harry said, acknowledging his quasi-cousin.

"Count me in," Charlie declared with a grin. "If I'm sacked, I can always go back to Romania, and if Gumboil prevails, that's probably a far better place to be than Britain, anyway."

"I expected _you_ would," Harry smirked. "Thanks, Charlie."

"I told ya in our first Auror class I'm here ta fight the dark arts anywhere they show their ugly heads, and that the Auror Corps is a good place ta do it from," Seamus declared, reaffirming that pledge. "Gumboil might not qualify as a traditional dark wizard, but he's close enough to it fer me. I couldn't face meself in a mirror or show meself ta Fiona if I hide behind Ministry rules while this _dÚsachtach_ is left to wander about. I'm in, Harry."

"A what," Jayce asked, having absolutely no experience with Irish Gaelic.

"_dÚsachtach_. Nutter, lunatic, mad man," Seamus translated.

"_Witko Tko Ke_. Crazy. Got it," the Lakota affirmed in his own native tongue.

"Anything you need that involves curses or curse breaking, count me in," Bill offered. "And if there's a call to battle, you know I'm there, little brother."

"Thanks, Bill," Harry replied. "I knew I could count on you."

"You'll need me," Arthur said with mischievous glee. "If we're going to keep this hidden from the Ministry in general, the Head of DMLE has ways to ensure that. I'm in, Son, but I'll need some time to think about how to tell Mum."

"Dad, she'll be all for it," Bill assured the eldest Weasley. "She's always been right chuffed about how you always stand up for your principles…and then once she's finished fussing, she'll snog you silly."

"Really? You think so," Arthur asked in surprise with a slight blush. He hadn't much considered that his sons might be aware of his and Molly's still-healthy and active intimacy.

"Yeah, Dad," Ron assured him with a snicker. "She might be a bit worried at first, but once she sees the big picture, you'll get lucky."

"Well then..." Arthur said, clearing his throat. "As I said, I'm in." The boys exchanged a few amused looks, but silently agreed to let Arthur off the hook—this time.

"Thank you," Harry said humbly, acknowledging their commitment to take Gumboil down. He never harboured any doubts that they'd support him, but it was only right to give them an opt-out in case they'd had enough of fighting for one lifetime. "Longbottom. I want Neville...and Dean."

"What for," Ron asked.

"Wands, manpower and eyes and ears we can trust," Harry explained. "Dean and Neville were top duellers in the DA, you know that. _And_ they've got battle experience. Neville can help Seamus to keep Hogwarts safe and Dean can move more freely in public than we can. He can pick up any rumours in Diagon Alley and report in."

"We've got Dung too, mate," Ron reminded him. "He's hopelessly devoted you and you know he'll fall all over himself to cooperate if it means a few Galleons in exchange for information."

"Noted," Harry said. "Thanks. I'd almost forgotten about that old scoundrel."

"Are you sure you can trust him," Arthur cautioned.

"Dad, the man loves Harry," Ron said with a shudder. "I don't know why, but he does."

"Shut it, you," Harry smirked. "Anyway, I don't want any slip-ups and I know Dean and Dung can be trusted."

"Harry, are you declarin' open war on these people," Jayce asked. He hadn't realised how much he missed a good fight until the promise of one stared him right in his brown-black eyes.

"I don't plan to announce it in _The Daily Prophet_, so maybe it's not an _open_ declaration, but for all intents and purposes, you're godsdamned right I am and I'll spend every last Knut in my vaults to put an end to this madness," Harry said sternly.

"Harry, you don't mean that," Arthur said. "You're talking mil—"

"Yes, Dad, I do. I can't live with having the resources, the training, the opportunity and the manpower to end this and not take full-advantage of it. I've had _enough_ of this blood-prejudice bullshit! First Voldemort, then Mafalda and now Gumboil! We've won the bloody war, but we're losing the _peace_," Harry shouted.

"Right, then," Jayce said, hoping to head off an explosion. "If you don't mind a little tactical help courtesy of Uncle Sam augmented with a bit of Mundane technology, we can make this short, sweet and to the point."

"I think we'll take all the help we can get. Harry?"

"Right you are, Ron. Seamus?" Harry's near-shouts had reduced themselves to low growls.

"I'll see Neville tonight at Hogwarts, and I c'n drop in on Dean on the way up. What should I tell 'em?"

"First of all, you and Dean are going to have to leave ELF officially; there's nothing more you can do there anyway," Harry reasoned. "Tell Neville I want to see him. No, wait. Ginny's going to be in Kenmare this week. We'll have a Trogs' night—just the guys. Tell him to keep an eye out for an owl from me. We'll go from there."

"Done. Dean and I will owl Gumponce and tender our official resignation tonight." Seamus confirmed his commander's directive as though it were official Auror business.

"Harry, are you planning to include the girls," Ron asked. "I ask because you know Hermione will go ballistic if we ask her to sit this one out, and quite frankly we need her brilliant mind. Not to mention Ginny. You'll have your hands full with her, mate..."

"I know. And we'll need them," Harry said. "But I wanted to talk to you first. I don't want them on the front lines if we can avoid it."

"Harry, I've already said I can't officially sanction this mission of yours, but you'll have the family's full support," Arthur promised. "House Weasley stands with the Houses of Potter and Black."

"George is going to want a piece of this," Ron claimed. Harry shot a look at his best mate, silently slapping himself in the forehead for not including George in _this_ meeting.

"He's right, Chief. George has all kinds of interesting prank-weapons...or stuff we can _use_ as weapons," Jayce agreed. "The element of surprise. Arthur, do you think he could tweak a few of his products for Auror use?"

"His Stun-bombs are certainly effective and I'm sure he'd be more than happy to put more of his inventions to practical use, but you'll still have to talk to him," the Weasley patriarch replied.

"He's an official Trog..." Harry concluded, certain of George's delight at the prospect of coming up with some havoc.

"Harry, what about Hogwarts? Joseph Pointer..." Seamus said.

"Yeah, I know about that. We'll need to post a Squad at the school 'round the clock, headed up by a pair of Aurors. They can rotate duty every few days. Dad, can we make _that_ official?

"I was thinkin' o' Dennis Creevey, actually," Seamus continued. "If we're goin' Black Ops, let's use unofficial channels. He's resurrected the DA and they could use our support. I'll be there officially as Auror Liaison in a tick if they need me, but unofficially we could provide 'em some trainin."

Harry thought about Seamus' suggestion and it made a lot of sense. He nodded his consent. "Yeah. All right, but nothing too destructive. Maybe a few stronger hexes than we worked with in fifth year, but nothing lethal. They're still kids and I want them to _be_ kids the way we couldn't."

"But what about the ELF members in DMLE," Ron asked. "Last I knew there were a load of them."

"There aren't as many as ya think, mate," Seamus assured him. "After Gumboil took Hermione apart at that tent meetin', a lot of 'em left and haven't returned. I can give ya's a list of who's still active—there's only about a dozen or so."

"Then it'll be _status quo_ for that lot and if they're found to be involved in ELF's less-than-savoury activities, they're gone," Arthur promised. "No questions asked."

"Good. I'll send out the invites in a couple of days. Until then, this meeting never happened," Harry stated flatly, adjourning the meeting until Trog Night.

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George sat in his office at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley, poring over the books for March 2000. Sales at both locations had been brisk, what with the new-and-improved products he and Verity had been working on. The glitches in the Farting Fudge and the Ape-arition Bombs had been discovered and put right, so that each item worked like it was supposed to without anyone becoming indisposed for more than a few minutes or actually suffering injury. Lots of insult, but no injury.

The best-selling items after the Skiving Snackboxes in Hogsmeade were the prank makeup items that Verity had invented, especially the Lip-locker Lipsticks. Madame Puddifoot's had seen more snogging couples since the release of that particular product that ever before. Many a Hogwarts wizard found himself stuck to the lips of his girlfriend for long kisses until the spell detected a need for oxygen and released. This was an improvement George suggested to avoid lawsuits…and a sound scolding from Fiona and Madame Pomfrey. It would be a cold day in the Dry Tortugas when George forgot the dressing-down he received from the two Medi-witches after the monkey and fudge debacles.

In Diagon Alley, the big sellers were still the classics—You-No-Poo, Daydreaming Disks, Dung Bombs, Perfumes imbued with a very mild Amortentia-like potion and other favourites. George was thrilled to know that even though Fred was gone from this earth physically, he lived on in his twin's heart and in WWW. Even he hadn't dreamed that his and Fred's business would grow from a little mail-order thing to two massive shops—and it all started with the 1,000 Galleons (minus the cost of a new set of dress robes for Ron) Harry had given them for having won the Triwizard Tournament. To Harry, it was blood-money and he wanted nothing to do with it.

Fred and George reluctantly accepted it and turned the taint of tragedy into the joy of laughter, never forgetting that Cedric Diggory died in pursuit of that gold. As much as Harry hated it, they insisted upon making him a one-third-share partner and made monthly deposits into his erstwhile trust vault, even throughout the war until they had to join their family in hiding at Aunt Muriel's. Now, with Harry having topped off and signed that vault over to Teddy Lupin with his grandmother as trustee, Harry's share of the profits went to his godson. He'd have a tight little nest-egg once he finished Hogwarts.

Taking a break from the columns of numbers, he opened one of the side desk drawers he kept under strict lock and key; no one but him or Fred could ever get into it, and since Fred had passed on to the next great adventure, George had sole access. With a giddy grin stealing across his lips, he slid the drawer open. He looked longingly at the item inside knowing the time was soon for that item to leave that drawer forever and that made George a very happy wizard, indeed.

He'd just turned his attention back to his work when Verity knocked on the door. "George, an owl came with a letter for you from Harry—at least it _looks_ like Harry's handwriting. I checked it for hexes and charms and found a privacy one on it," she said, handing him a bit of parchment.

"Thanks, Ver," George replied. "How's that inventory coming along?"

"Good. I've just re-stocked and counted all but the Skiving Snackboxes. That shouldn't take more than an hour, since there aren't many left. We'll need to replenish those before school lets out for Spring Break," she reported.

"Bloody hell, that's right! Damn, how times flies," George chuckled. "So what's left then?"

"Well, once Angie arrives, we'll count the storeroom, which should take about two hours," she replied. "If we finish up the books by tomorrow night, that'll leave us plenty of time to set up some more Snackboxes," Verity said.

"Great. Ang can run the store while we work, then," George agreed. He took a quick look at his watch and noted the time. "Angie should be here in a few minutes. Go ahead and re-stock the Snackboxes and count them. By the time you're done with that, you girls can go count the storeroom. We might finish up even tonight—that is, if you don't mind hanging around for a little bit of overtime?"

"Hey, I have no life," Verity laughed. "Seriously, no problem. I didn't have anything planned."

"Great! Supper's on me! What'll it be," George asked.

"Ooh, Hannah's got shepherd's pie and treacle tart on the menu tonight," Verity suggested. "She calls it The Potter Platter. He'd scream if he saw that."

George laughed out loud. "Yeah, he would! But those are his favourites. She must read Mum's column in _Witch Weekly_."

"Probably the one that introduced her. It was a whole spread on your family and their favourite foods," Verity said. "Yes, I read it and I've done a few of the recipes—they're wonderful!"

"Of course they are! They're my mum's," George announced.

"With that, I'm going back to my stocking," Verity said haughtily and spun on her heel to return to the shop proper.

"Now, oh exalted brother-in-law of mine, what have you sent me today," George thought out loud as he broke the seal.

_Rapier,_

"Clever, mate, but that was Fred."

_You are hereby invited to a Trogs' Night at IB on 20__th__ April. Arrive by 6:00 PM and tell no one where you are or what you are doing. Please bring this invitation with you as it is the only way you'll be able to enter._

"A secret Trogs' Night? Hm…interesting."

_Please RSVP._

_Rook_

"_Rook?_ What is he on about," George asked himself. _Oh what the hell! Sounds like fun_. He picked up his quill, inked it and penned his reply on the original message: _I'm there_.

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After a proper—and for a Saturday, early—breakfast at the Burrow, Ron left for his shift at the Auror Office. It was his weekend in the rotation, since Cho had worked two in a row while he and the others had another Weekend Warriors' session. This time, they took no MREs and no tents; they had to build shelters again and forage. Ron had told her about having had to kill the rabbit and clean the trout with downcast eyes and a remorseful heart. She assured him that he hadn't been cruel to animals and that hunting for food and hunting for sport were two different things. When they returned from their second outing, he'd extolled the virtues of fire-roasted squirrel, but like rabbit, it shouldn't be overcooked.

Hermione had followed him to the Apparition point, but rather than accompanying him to the Ministry as per usual, she Disapparated to another location, a hidden spot behind some bushes in the Oxford street where her parents lived.

"8:30. Mum and Dad ought to be having breakfast about now," Hermione mumbled to herself. Checking the surrounding area, she found no one in sight, so she stepped out from the bushes and walked the half-block to her childhood home. Like Harry, Hermione realised some time ago that she was now a guest in the Muggle world. She had firmly-ensconced herself in the Wizarding world, as she saw no other place for herself. Her entire life existed there, and the only real link she had remaining in the Muggle world was her parents.

She approached the front door and grasped the brass knocker, giving four sharp raps against the plate. She heard footsteps from inside, and based on the sound of them she identified them as her mother's. Sure enough, Helen Granger opened the door to find her daughter standing there. Before either of them spoke, Richard's voice called from the kitchen. "Who is it? Not a ruddy salesman, I hope."

After entering and closing the door behind her, Hermione smiled at her mother and replied, "It's just a witch."

A chair scraped loudly against the floor and in seconds, Richard Granger appeared in the short hallway between the kitchen and the lounge. "Hermione, what a pleasant surprise!"

"How is our favourite Mrs Weasley, today," Helen asked, cupping Hermione's face with her right hand.

"She's fine, thank you," Hermione replied and then grinned evilly. "And so am I." She stepped away from her mother and into her father's waiting embrace.

"I think the Weasley name is rubbing off on you, Hermione Jean," Richard chuckled. There had been a time when Hermione wouldn't even think about cracking a joke, but that was very obviously in the past—and Richard Granger couldn't be happier.

"Oh, you mean me and not Molly or Fleur as your favourite Mrs Weasley," Hermione asked in mock surprise.

"Well…" Richard began tentatively. "Come to think of it, neither of the other two has messed up our minds with magic…"

Helen just shook her head. "Enough already, you great prat!" He shrank away in mock pain as she slapped her husband on the back of his head. Hermione stifled a giggle, since she had done the same thing to Harry and Ron more times than she cared to count, and usually with a book or stack of parchment in her hand.

"Molly truly is a remarkable person. How she raised seven children without going stark raving mad, I'll never know. As for Fleur, I don't really know her, but she seems nice—but of course you're our favourite. It's just that oaf over there trying to be funny."

Helen gave Hermione a hug, followed by another one from Richard. "Did you have breakfast, Pumpkin," Richard asked.

"Do you honestly think it's possible to leave the Burrow without eating," Hermione asked. "Molly would have to be on her death-bed before she'd allow that to happen."

"You might still like a cuppa," Helen offered.

"Always, Mum, thank you," Hermione smiled, following her parents into the kitchen. Helen was about to put on the kettle when Hermione stopped her. "Mum, relax. I can fix it. Sit," she said and flicked her wand, summoning the teapot. With a few more spells poured out the way her mother had taught her growing up.

"That's so amazing. How do you do it," Richard asked.

"Oh, it's very simple, really, Daddy," Hermione explained. "I conjured some water with a spell called _Aguamenti_, and since I know where the tea is stored, I used another spell to add it to the teapot. After that, it's just a matter of applying a simple heating charm. I cast a preservation charm of sorts on it, so the tea will stay hot and fresh for a couple of hours. In all honesty, Daddy, it's very basic magic—nothing a Hogwarts first-year couldn't do with a little practice." Hermione tucked away her wand and sipped her tea.

"What brings you out here this morning," Richard asked. "And where's that crime-fighting husband of yours?"

"Ron's working, keeping Wizarding Britain safe," Hermione replied with not a little pride. "But I'm here to deliver an invitation."

Hermione handed her father the invitation, which was ordinary parchment, addressed to _Mr and Mrs R Granger, DDS_ in Molly's neat script. He opened the letter and began to read.

"_Dear Richard and Helen,_

_You are hereby invited to the Burrow for an Easter celebration on Easter Sunday beginning at noon. I know you've already accepted, but I wanted to make it official. Besides, it gave Hermione an excuse to visit._

_All my best wishes,_

_Molly Weasley"_

"Do you celebrate Easter," Helen asked her daughter. "I mean I know you used to do with us, but I mean Wizarding people in general."

Hermione looked at her mother with a smile at the prospect of giving a short lecture on Wizarding traditions. "Wizarding families celebrate the same holidays Muggles do for the most part, but often for other reasons. Muggle religion isn't unheard of because there are so many of us who grew up in the Muggle world, but we don't really have any organised religion. Think about it: The Magical Anglican Church? The Church of Wizarding England? It would be contradictory, especially given the history of the church in relation to witchcraft." Hermione had only just begun her diatribe.

"Easter is, for the most part, is a spring feast—much like the Celtic Beltaine—celebrating the renewal of life with the lighting of fires all over Ireland. That's held on the first of May, though. The Muggle Easter is also a celebration of the renewal life, but in the Christian sense as the Resurrection of Jesus Christ."

The Grangers weren't exactly the most pious of folk, but they liked to attend church at least on Easter and Christmas. "Of course we'll come," Helen said and Richard nodded in agreement. "I'd already accepted Molly's unofficial invitation. I'm sure she told you that."

"She did," Hermione confirmed. "But she thought I needed to get out of the house after…you know…and this was her way of accomplishing that."

"Anything we need to bring," Richard asked.

"Floss and tooth brushes to go with those Easter baskets Mum wants to fix for everyone," Hermione said.

Helen giggled at Hermione's comment. "Are you saying there'll be a lot of sweets," she asked. "You know I was going to—"

"Yes there will," Hermione assured her. "And relax about it. You won't destroy your teeth if you indulge in some of it on Sunday, so don't go slipping that family a load of maltodextrins and heaven forbid, _aspartame_. There's only one loo."

"I'll admit we are a bit fussy about sugar," Richard confessed, laughing. "And I suppose sugar-substitutes _can_ have a laxative effect."

"Fuzzy," Hermione repeated, turning Freudian. "You're perfectly _anal_ about it! Besides, to people who eat sugar regularly, artificial sweeteners wouldn't taste very nice."

"I prefer to say that I'm _oral_ about it," Richard replied after a few moments and soon all three of them burst into laughter.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to forgo the fuss for Easter," Helen agreed with a grin. "Cadbury Crème Eggs® and toothbrushes for everyone!"

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Trog Thursday brought nine Wizards to Ionúin Bhaille. Lady Dorothea, not wishing to watch so much testosterone at play, left her portrait to visit her husband, Lord Charles, in his portrait back in the Potter family vault. She thought she would petition Harry to bring him out at some point, provided she could convince the old fool that he could have peace and quiet outside the vault as well as inside.

Harry had returned to the pizza parlour he had visited before and purchased a dozen assorted pies to feed the troops, with a couple of cases of Butterbeer to wash it down. No alcohol would be served this night, for all heads needed to be clear and tempers even for what was to transpire.

At 5:45, Ron arrived with his invitation in hand. "Rook."

"Knight," Harry replied. "Come in." There's pizza and Butterbeer in the dining room.

"Thanks, mate," Ron replied, making straight for the food.

A few minutes later, Bill and Charlie appeared. "Rook," they greeted in unison.

"Edge," he answered Bill. "Napalm," he answered Charlie. "There's food in the dining room. Ron's already here." They both nodded and headed for the dining room before their youngest brother decimated everything remotely edible.

Harry stood by the front window watching for the others to arrive. Arthur and Jayce arrived next. "Rook," they greeted.

"Bishop," he answered his father-in-law. "Mustang," Harry answered Jayce and sent them to join the others.

Three more figures appeared outside the gates that Harry recognised as Seamus, Neville, and Dean. He opened the door for them and escorted them through. "Rook," Seamus greeted him.

"Laser," he replied. "Welcome, Hammer," Harry said to Neville. "Razor, please join the others in the dining room," he said, nodding to Dean.

Almost immediately, George arrived, clutching his invitation tightly in his fist. All this cloak-and-wand stuff reminded him of their activities during the war on _Potterwatch_. "Rook."

"Rapier," Harry replied. "I know that was Fred's code name, but your wit is as sharp as his was."

"I'm sure he won't mind, little brother," George replied with a sad smile. "Is that pizza I smell?"

"It is. Dining room. The others are there," Harry confirmed. "We're just waiting for one more and we can begin."

George strode away toward the dining room, still curious as the others as to why all the secrecy. Back in the lounge, Harry waited for the last Trog to arrive. At precisely 6:00, a lone figure appeared at the gates and passed through. _Perfect Punctual Prefect Percy_.

"Rook, I presume," Percy asked in greeting.

"Indeed. Welcome, Stargazer," Harry replied. "You're the last one, so let's go to get some food before those other gits hog it all."

"Harry, what is this about," Percy asked. "Why the secrecy?"

"You'll see, Perce, but let's eat first," Harry said, guiding him to the table. "I'm starved."

After the Trogs had been fed and watered, so to speak, Harry ushered them into his study, which he had transfigured into a rather impressive conference room with a round table large enough to seat them all and soft leather chairs. A pitcher of chilled pumpkin juice and a chilled glass sat at each place, with Muggle notepads and biros to take notes.

"Welcome, gentlemen," Harry began officiously. "While I invited you here under the pretence of engaging in a Trogs' Night, I assure you there will be none of that kind of activity tonight." He waited for the groans to subside. "However, I called you here because I need your help."

Arthur, Jayce, Seamus, Ron, Bill and Charlie stole glances at each other, knowing what this meeting was really all about, but Neville, Dean, George and Percy hadn't a clue. "Harry, you know you can count on me, whatever it is," Neville said, almost sympathetically.

"Yeah, mate," Dean added. "I'm here for you."

"You're family," George said. "You know I'm in."

"Of course you may count on me. As George said—you're family," Percy said. "Is everything all right?"

"Thanks, but maybe you should hear me out first," Harry said with a slight chuckle. He began to outline what had been said in the previous meeting. "So…are you still with us?"

Every voice in the room replied with a resounding "Aye."

"Then let's get down to business," Harry continued. "Laser, Razor, did you…"

"Yeah," Seamus replied. "Gumboil wasn't happy."

"He even tried to pay me off to stay on," Dean said. "But I refused, since I had my orders."

"Harry, what's with all the code-names," Percy asked.

Jayce rose and distributed several sheets of parchment to each wizard at the table. "The code-names are for security, so we can communicate without giving away our identities."

"We need River," George interjected.

"Who?" Jayce hadn't been filled-in on much about the secret underground activities during the war.

"River," George repeated. "Lee Jordan. He's Harry's, Ron's, Ginny's and Hermione's press-secretary. He ran an underground radio programme during the war called _Potterwatch_."

"_Potterwatch_," Jayce said, turning to Harry. "What, pray tell, is that?"

Arthur cleared his throat to explain. "Lee set up a pirate radio programme designed for those who opposed Voldemort. One had to know the password to access it, or if one didn't one needed to guess it or receive it from someone close to the broadcast crew."

"_The Prophet_ was loaded with pro-Death Eater and Voldemort propaganda and was controlled by a corrupt Ministry," Percy added, to the surprise of the others. "Yes, I listened!"

"Hey, no problem, mate," Charlie said. "You must have had a helluva time keeping that quiet."

"It wasn't easy, that's for sure," Percy said. "Anyway, several people contributed to the broadcasts, including our current Minister, who was an Auror at the time, Fred and George, and a late friend of our family's, Remus Lupin. All of them had code-names for the broadcast."

"How did you know who was who, Percy," Bill asked curiously.

"I recognised the voices," the bespectacled Weasley revealed. "Lee was _River_, Minister Shacklebolt was _Royal_, Fred was _Rodent_ and then _Rapier_, George—who knows, and Remus was _Romulus_."

"I was supposed to be _Rapier_, but Fred…well, you know Fred," George said, blushing. The others chuckled in memory of their fallen brother.

"Well, you're _Rapier_ now, mate," Harry said with a twinkle in his emerald orbs. "So…_Mustang_, would you care to continue?"

"Certainly, _Rook_," he replied. "We need to remember to use our code when we communicate, whether it be by Owl, Patronus, or simple memo. What you have there is a list of all the code Harry and I have come up with for each of us, members of our family, certain officials, and several places. Please study and learn them, but do not, under any circumstances, mislay this list or show it to anyone who is not listed on it. Understood?" They all muttered their assent.

"_Edge_, I believe you're next," Harry said.

Bill stood and crossed his arms over his chest. "Thanks, _Mustang_, _Rook_. Some time ago, I mentioned to the family the possible need to learn the _Adfero_ charm. _Stargazer_, how did you and _Hotflash _do on your research?"

Consulting his list, Percy discovered that Hotflash was Hermione. "Um…well, it was slow-going at first and then with everything going on with the trial and the tournament—and with Hermione's work on her legislation—the research kind of fell by the wayside. However, we did find out that it's a relatively simple charm to perform, but takes a lot of practice to perfect."

"How so," Charlie asked.

"Well, er…_Napalm_, the incantation is _Adfero_. The caster forms the message into his mind, concentrating on the recipient," Percy explained. "He then aims his wand in the direction he believes the recipient to be and casts the spell."

"Seems simple enough," Charlie said.

"Ah, but the simplicity ends there," Percy replied. "You see, a very bright light streaks away from the caster and arrives with the message at the recipient's location. If one wishes to keep the communiqué secret, one must learn to cast it non-verbally, wandless, and without creating the light. That is where the practice comes in."

"And there also needs to be a certain amount of Occlumency involved to be able to cast and receive these messages, am I right," Harry asked.

"Yes," Percy said. "That about sums it up."

"Well, then," Bill said. "We only have three relatively-accomplished Occlumensa here."

"Yeah, but Bi…er…_Edge_, I…it's not something that can be taught," Harry said. "I had to pretty-much learn on my own, since my lessons with the greasy git didn't do much good."

"Then how did ya teach us," Seamus protested.

"_Laser_, I simply told you guys you needed to meditate and find your centre," Harry reminded the Irishman. "And then once you did, I told you to order your thoughts in whichever way worked best for you and then build wall around them. That's all there is to it, really. It just takes a lot of time and practice to master."

"What about the Patil twins," Ron suggested. "Didn't we talk about approaching them for meditation lessons?"

"Yeah, we did, _Knight_," Harry recalled. "Good one, mate. I'll memo _River_ for a private meeting in his office and see about re-assigning Padma and Parvati to train you. I'm also a pretty-fair Legilimens, so I can test you once you get to the Occlumency part."

"So is _River_ in," George asked hopefully.

"If he wants to be. We could use his communication skills for sure," Harry replied. "Is everyone okay with that?" Again, Harry's question was answered with a resounding "Aye."

"All right, I think that's enough for tonight," Harry said. "There's pizza and Butterbeer left, so feel free to indulge. Thank you for coming, gentlemen, and thank you for your support."

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Easter Sunday dawned bright and warm. The apple trees down in the Burrow's orchard had budded out by the middle of April and now bore fragrant blossoms on their branches among the rich green leaves that converted sunlight to food to nourish them. Harry and Ginny had arrived early that morning to help with the cooking and arranging of space.

"Mum, we could have done this at our house," Ginny said, shoving a tray of pastries into the oven. "There's loads more room."

"I know, dear, and I appreciate that, but we'll be having Thanksgiving there again this year," Molly replied softly, checking the enormous hams in the roasting pan. "We'll manage." She patted Ginny's cheeks the way she had done when she was a little girl.

Harry slyly flicked his wand and expanded the scrubbed oak table by a metre on either end and transfigured some of the more extraneous furniture into chairs enough to seat the huge crowd Molly had invited to Easter dinner, including Seamus, Kingsley, Andromeda Tonks and Teddy, Richard and Helen Granger and Angelina's parents, Decatur and Roxanne Johnson. In all, including children, a full two-dozen people would crowd around the table at the Burrow, with a very proud Arthur presiding over it all.

Helen had fashioned twenty-two beautiful sugar-laden Easter baskets, which had to be transported in pairs by Kreacher, whom Molly had enlisted to help with preparations and even invited to join them at the table for dinner. The ancient House-elf declined the dinner invitation, content to help serve Master Harry's family and friends. Molly insisted that if he were to serve, then he must eat before the family to make sure he didn't run himself down. After some weak argument, Kreacher caved and fixed a plate for himself during the final preparations on the meal.

Fiona and Taya set themselves to baking biscuits and Ron's favourite corn muffins, Molly's hot-cross buns—traditionally eaten on Good Friday—and then helped Hermione, Fleur and Ginny with the other fare. Roxanne and Helen insisted upon helping Molly with the hams while Andy and Angelina busied themselves with Teddy and Victoire. For all the chaos, the meal preparation came along quite smoothly.

Once all the food had been sliced, kneaded, mixed, and set to bake, boil, or roast, Molly produced a perfectly massive silk tablecloth that had been in her family for generations. Lovingly and carefully, the witches spread the cloth over the table and smoothed it out the best they could. Molly drew her wand and cast a de-creasing charm on it followed by an anti-stain charm. She then summoned her great-grandmother Prewett's fine china and silver service, duplicated it, and then directed the setting of the table. At each place, she set a beautifully-decorated chocolate Easter Egg, each filled with varying crèmes that changed with every bite.

"Molly, how lovely," Helen gasped, admiring each one.

"Did you decorate these yourself," Roxanne asked, interested in the artistic presentation. "These tiny flowers are just exquisite."

Molly blushed deeply. She knew her work was very good, but to have it exclaimed over by persons other than members of her family thrilled her to the core. "Why, yes, I did; I decorate cakes, too."

"You should go into business," Roxanne suggested."

"Oh, nothing doing, Roxanne," Helen interjected. "I've already suggested that and was summarily shot down."

"But why not," Roxanne argued. "You could make a fortune, especially in the Muggle world!"

"Thanks, but no. I have my column in _Witch Weekly_ and that's quite enough," Molly stated unequivocally. "Besides, I enjoy decorating cakes and things. If I turned it into a business, it would become work and I wouldn't enjoy it so much anymore. Deadlines, minds changing—no thank you."

The three younger witches had managed to slip away to play with Teddy and Victoire, giving Angelina and Andy a break from the men's banter about the impending Quidditch championships and other wizardly nonsense. Harry staunchly defended the Harpies and firmly reasserted his determination that not only would Ginny win Rookie of the Year, but that the Harpies would emerge victorious in the final against the Kestrals, with Ron and Seamus agreeing wholeheartedly.

Finally, Molly's voice cut through the chatter, calling everyone to dinner. Each person sought out their place at the table that was clearly marked with a card leaning against a chocolate egg. Teddy and Victoire were relegated to high-chairs between Ginny and Andy and Fleur and Bill, respectively. The table groaned under the weight of two 10-kilo hams, scored and dotted with whole cloves with tinned pineapple rings with cherries in the centre. Bowls loaded down with green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, sweet corn pudding, and fruit salad sat alongside platters of biscuits, rolls, and corn muffins with fresh honey-butter. Litres of pumpkin juice, milk, and Butterbeer squeezed between the bowls and platters to complete the meal.

"Molly, dis is amazin'," Decatur declared, making a sort of sandwich with a biscuit and a slice of ham. "Dese scones ah delicious!"

"Thanks, Mr Johnson," Fiona replied. "But they're not scones, they're biscuits." She and her sister began to giggle because they knew what was coming next.

"Oh not this again," Hermione moaned. "Don't any of you reprobates start."

"Start what," Ron said, stuffing a corn muffin into his mouth and chewing.

"Never mind," she huffed, returning to her meal.

George sat next to Angelina and across from her parents. The day had finally come for the item in his desk drawer to be freed forever and his nerves began to get the best of him. He kept stealing furtive glances at Angelina's father, who knew what was supposed to happen. He only hoped the family would be pleased.

Once everyone had stuffed themselves and pudding put on hold for a couple of hours, Kreacher set to clearing the table and serving tea and coffee. George took a few deep breaths and opened his mouth to speak. "Hey, Ang. Let's get married!"

Angelina dropped the spoon she'd been using to stir her tea and turned to look at her boyfriend. Sizing him up, she locked eyes with him and smiled. "Yeah, all right." She then returned to her tea and engaged her mother in conversation.

The only one at the table to notice that little joke may have backfired was Decatur. With a weak smile, George resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to do this the traditional way. With another deep breath, he tapped his empty glass with his spoon. "Could I have everyone's attention, please?" The noise level hadn't dropped, so George tried again. "Oi! Can you lot shut it for a tick?"

The room fell silent. Even Kreacher stopped what he was doing to watch the goings-on at the table. "Thanks," George began. "Um…well, now that I have your ears…" Titters of laughter passed around the room. "I've been thinking about something…or someone…for a while now and it's time I stopped thinking and did something about it."

"George, what are you on about," Angelina asked, looking up at him in complete bewilderment. Her hands flew to her mouth when George slid his chair back and dropped to one knee beside her.

"Angelina, we've been friends for a very long time—since we first started Hogwarts. We've been through a lot together and…well, there was a lot of unpleasant stuff that happened. We held each other and cried for Fred. You put a foot in my arse when I needed it and helped rebuild Weasley's Wizard Wheezes into what it is now. Having you by my side filled the emptiness Fred left, but more than that, you've shown me the immense power of love. Angelina Felicia Johnson, will you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?"

The silence was deafening. Angelina's mocha eyes filled with tears that coursed down her brown cheeks. She gazed softly into George hopeful blue eyes, searching for the sincerity, hoping this wasn't a joke. "George, are you…do you mean it?"

George reached into his pocket and pulled out the black-velvet box, opening it to her eyes. Inside lay a two-carat solitaire marquis-cut diamond in a white-gold setting, near-flawless, sparkling brightly in the ambient light. "Angie, I mean it with every beat of my heart. Please say you'll marry me."

A radiant smile broke across her lips as she began to nod eagerly. "Oh George! Yes! A thousand times yes! I'll marry you," she cried, launching herself into his arms. "I love you so much!"

George let out a long breath in relief, not realising he had been holding it at all. He pressed his lips to hers in a passionate kiss that drew whistles and catcalls from his brothers. The women at the table cried tears of joy for the newly-engaged couple. They broke the kiss and George slipped the ring on Angelina's left hand. "Perfect…just like you, my angel. I love you, baby."

While the witches oohed and ahhed over the ring, the men shook George's hand and slapped him on the back. "I knew you had it in yah, Jawge," his future-father-in-law declared. "Good on ya, Son. You've made mah our angel very happy. Very happy indeed."

"Thank you, sir," George replied.

Congratulations rang throughout the room until Arthur announced that the occasion called for a toast. He summoned two brand-new bottles of Old Ogden's and duplicated enough shot-glasses to go around. "I'd like to propose a toast to our new couple. George, Angelina, congratulations! _Sláinte mhath!_" The others, having stood and raised their glasses in accord, repeated the toast and downed their drinks.

Magically refilling the glasses, Arthur continued. "I'd also like to welcome Decatur and Roxanne Johnson to our ever-expanding family. _Sláinte mhath!_"

Once again, the company replied heartily and threw back their drinks. "_Sláinte mhath!_"

They'd all just sat down at the table again to engage in wedding-related discussion when two dozen Easter baskets floated down the stairs at the prompting of Hermione's wand, each one settling before a recipient. The two largest, containing tall plush rabbits in pink and blue, settled before Victoire and Teddy, respectively. Since they were too small to eat too many sweets, their baskets consisted mostly of varying types of plush and bath toys, with a few crème eggs to be given sparingly.

"Compliments of the Grangers," Molly announced, smiling brightly. "Oh look! A new toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss too!"

"The Grangers are dentists," Angelina explained to her parents.

"Ah," Decatur replied with a chuckle. "No rotten teeth among dis lot."

Thank-yous filled the air as each one inspected their baskets. Harry, Hermione, Seamus and Angelina were more than familiar with the various Muggle chocolates contained therein, but the Weasleys were intrigued with the new tastes. Fiona, Taya, and Jayce had certainly had loads of Muggle sweets, but mostly American-made, which were full of wax and too much sugar.

"I may never eat another Hershey® bar again," Taya moaned, taking a bite of Dairy Milk®. "Onie, have you had this stuff before?"

"Yep," she replied. "Seamus brings it to me all the time. Check out the crème eggs—they're fantastic!"

Hermione leaned into Ron's shoulder and sighed contentedly, thrilled that her parents took her advice and left the sugar-substitutes at home. "I guess pudding may be cancelled."

"No way," Ron muttered, popping a Jelly Belly® into his mouth. "Hey, this is actually good!"

"They're not Bertie Botts," Hermione reminded him. "They're Jelly Bellies from America. They come in dozens of flavours, including some rather unusual ones like jalapeño, buttered popcorn, and toasted marshmallow. Their former president, Ronald Reagan, kept a jar of them on his desk in the Oval Office."

"Blimey," Ron said in awe. "Your parents sure went all out, didn't they?"

"They almost never do anything by half, my love," Hermione replied, nipping his earlobe. "And neither do I."

"I'll say," he growled. "Is that a promise for things yet to come?"

"Or wizards yet to come," she giggled, kissing his cheek.

Ron's face turned bright red, but a smile lit his face. "You're on, Mrs Weasley."

_A/N: Okay, since Chapter 49 was so long, we couldn't add an Authors' Note to tell you how grateful we are that you all stuck with us through the long wait. Thank you for your kind thoughts while JAM worked through a very difficult time. The hymn Fiona sang to Joseph is entitled, "All Through the Night" or "Ar Hyd y Nos," in the Welsh. It's sung as a lullaby and as a folk-song as well as a devotional hymn. Also, the Adfero is not our invention; GC picked it up from another fic, so I order to give credit where credit is due, would the inventor please stand up?_


	51. Chapter 51 Modus Operandi Part I

**Chapter 51 – Modus Operandi Part I**

It had become more than evident that after such a scrumptious meal and the consumption of entirely too many Easter sweets, that pudding would have to wait a while. Molly and Ginny served coffee and tea in the sitting room, which had been temporarily expanded to accommodate the holiday crowd.

Conversation had turned from Quidditch and weddings to current events, mostly among the men, while the women discussed Molly's column, gardening and how much the babies had grown. Teddy would turn two years old in a less than a week, while Victoire would turn one year old on the second of May.

Hermione stole glances at Ron across the room as he and Harry recounted the events at the MacMillan estate. Seamus reported that the man who had been seriously injured would recover, but the Ministry had been unsuccessful in garnering any information from him or his fellow miscreants. "They're just a lot o' mindless hacks," Seamus said. "They don't know nothin' other than they were sent to do a job. They don't even know who gave the orders; they came by owl."

"We know who gave the orders, Irish," Ron huffed. "We just can't prove it."

"That's it," Harry said. "Our hands are tied on this one; meanwhile, innocent people are hurt or killed and homes destroyed—or nearly."

Sensing that the conversation was turning dark, Hermione stood and nudged Ron, cocking her head toward the stairs. Ron smiled evilly, but she just scowled at him. "The quilt," she hissed. "Randy bugger."

"What can I say," he whispered back. "A sexy witch gestures toward the stairs…"

"Git," she smirked. "I need help with the quilt for my parents."

"Oh. Right," Ron snickered. "Let's go, then." Ron begged pardon of the other men and followed his wife out of the room.

Without disturbing the witches' conversation, Hermione and Ron sneaked up the stairs to their bedroom, where Hermione had hidden the quilts. She opened the closet door and pointed her wand at a back corner. "_Revelio_," she muttered, and the disillusioned items appeared. "Theirs is the one on top, Love."

Ron reached in and lifted it out of the closet. Hermione had wrapped the gift in wedding paper left over from their nuptials in December. The two of them descended the stairs again with Hermione in the lead. Conversation buzzed away as it had when they'd left the room as they swept back into the sitting room.

"Excuse me," Hermione said in her most-polite tone. "Excuse me?"

Ron, knowing that Hermione's politeness wasn't near loud enough to be heard, took the initiative. "Oi! You lot! Shut it!" His booming baritone silenced all conversation immediately. "Hermione has something to say."

"Um…well, twenty-five years ago—well, that plus a couple of weeks—my parents, Richard and Helen Granger, married. In honour of this milestone in their marriage, Ron and I ordered something special for their silver anniversary. Mum, Dad, this is for you."

Ron set the package on Helen's lap and returned to his wife. He embraced her from behind and rested his chin atop her wild curls. He couldn't help himself; he took every opportunity to hold her or touch her in some way, as if the contact could make her even more his than she already was. For her part, Hermione, ever the worry-wort, bit her bottom lip and prayed her parents would love and cherish their new quilt as much as she and Ron loved and cherished theirs.

"Go ahead, dear," Helen said, deferring to her husband. "Unwrap it."

"Let's do it together," Richard suggested, taking hold of one end. "It's _our_ anniversary gift, not mine or yours exclusively."

"On three, then. One…two… three," she counted. With one single tug on the wrapping, the paper and ribbons fell away to reveal the massive quilt. Helen's eyes filled with tears as she took in the sight. Having seen Hermione's and Ron's at the shower, she understood the significance and began to search for specific things she might find in the design. "Oh look, Richard—her favourite pajamas…and satin from my wedding gown!"

"Oh, Hermione! Ron, thank you! This is just…priceless," Helen gushed, leaving her husband's side to hug the stuffing out of her daughter and her husband.

"Hey, what's this blinding orange," Richard asked, pointing to one of the flowers in the basket.

Hermione rolled her eyes while Ron smirked. "That, Daddy, is a bit of one of Ron's old Chudley Cannons jerseys. He wore the thing until it was little more than rags."

"Chudley—isn't that the Quidditch team that got relegated," Richard asked, while the wizards laughed.

"That's the one," Charlie chuckled. "Ron's been a fan since he could talk, although we can't imagine why. The last time they won a championship was1892, and they haven't made the playoffs since the turn of the century at least."

"Hey! They've won twenty-one championships," Ron protested. "They've just had a bit of a slump, that's all."

"A slump," Percy snorted. "They haven't won a game since the 1950s or 60s! It's a jolly good thing Ginny plays for the Harpies."

"Ginny couldn't play for the Cannons," Ron argued. "The Cannons are all and all-wizard team. You watch—someday the Cannons will rise to glory again!"

"Oh yeah," George snickered. "This is a team who changed their club motto from _We Shall Conquer_ to _Let's All Just Keep Our Fingers Crossed and Hope for the Best!_ That's optimism with a touch of wishful thinking."

"Nothing wrong with optimism, hey mate," Harry said in support of his best friend.

"That's right," Ron agreed. "They're optimistic."

"That's about all they've got going for them," Ginny added. "Honestly, I don't understand why they don't just shut down and re-structure the whole organisation and hire some real players. Most of their current team members are has-beens and almost always…have been." The room burst into laughter and even Ron had to chuckle; Ginny's play on words was rather clever.

"That's enough now," Arthur interjected. "This is about Helen and Richard, not the Chudley Cannons."

Time passed quickly as Richard and Helen pointed out certain bits of fabric and told the stories about each one. The men in the room actually listened as they related memories of their courtship and marriage, Hermione's birth and childhood and all of those things that bring families together. By the time they had told half the quilt's stories, Molly and Andromeda served dessert, which was a massive crème-filled yellow Easter egg cake, covered in shredded coconut and surrounded by more of Molly's beautiful hand-decorated eggs.

As they savoured the delicious cake, they continued to discuss the Grangers' new quilt and how it tied in with Ron's and Hermione's. Americans had such interesting traditions, but so did Great Britain. Since the two nations considered one another cousins, why not take it a step further and actually _act_ like cousins? Molly could see the beginnings of a new Weasley family tradition and considered including a bit of quilt-lore in her column.

Molly's articles about food always included family traditions and anecdotes, so what better way to further colour them than to feature a quilt once a month or so? She would start with Ron's and Hermione's and then the Grangers'. Fiona and Gallatea had each brought one of their own from the States, so she had four months' worth until Harry and Ginny would receive their new quilt at the end of June and she and Arthur would receive their own in August.

In the meantime, she would send a letter to Granny Tyree asking for patterns and instructions, should British witches care to start their own quilting bees. Each month, her column would include patterns and instructions for a different design—and according to Taya, there were dozens. In return, she would make sure the old dear would receive a free subscription to _Witch Weekly_ to share with the other witches in Rook Holler. _Family and community—that's truly what quilting is all about_.

That night, Richard and Helen Granger climbed into bed and made love under the beautiful quilt that would grace their bed for many years to come. Helen would tell their grandchildren over and over the stories the fabrics contained and how she and Granny Weasley established their own quilting bee, which would fashion many more treasures to be passed down generation-to-generation.

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"See you tomorrow, Ginny," Gwenog called to the red-haired witch as she left the Harpies club house.

"Absolutely! Tonight, I'd better have Harry give me a massage or I'll be pretty stiff tomorrow," Ginny replied cheerily. "This one was a killer!"

"He'll give you more than a massage, Love," Gwenog grinned. "And I daresay you won't be the only one who's _pretty stiff_."

"Ha-ha. Very funny. But that's for me to know and for you to dream about," Ginny smirked and shook her head in mock disgust. With a final wave, she turned and left through the tunnel.

Harry, Jayce and Ron were waiting for her at the main entrance to the stadium, which Ginny sensed through the bond. It struck her how the bond had become so natural to her—a real comfort most of the time. Having a constant link to another person—even the man she loved beyond words, reason or mortal understanding—might seem uncomfortable at times for someone not involved, but for Ginny it was as much a part of her as her heart or the very blood that flowed through her veins.

Ginny had made her way about halfway to the entrance through the passageway inside the stands when a shady fellow stepped out in front of her with his wand drawn. Ginny's senses went on alert immediately. She could feel Harry nudging her gently, silently telling her he'd noticed her tensing up.

"_What's going on, Gin?"_

"_Nothing yet. I'm okay."_

"You Pureblood bint. You're nothing but Potter's whore," a male voice hissed. He made a move as if to cast a spell. Ginny reacted with her Quidditch-honed reflexes and rolled away while drawing her own wand, which also agitated, had begun to hiss. It acted as though it were eager to unleash its powers at the wand threatening its mistress.

"_Stupefy_," Ginny snapped, assuming a crouching position she had also learned from Tonks back before her fourth year. If she were honest, she would have to say that she was uncertain whether she was actually using her own athletic skills at that moment, or if she had somehow tapped into Harry's Auror training and power.

A blinding red flash erupted from Ginny's wand, but her assailant managed to raise a shield just before impact. The force in Ginny's stunner was tremendous, shattering the shield and sending her opponent arse over teakettle in a perfect arc through the air onto the pitch. Evidently, though, his shield had absorbed enough of the power in Ginny's stunner to keep him conscious. With a surprising display of self control, he landed on his feet and held his balance.

Ginny walked slowly after him, her wand raised and eyes flashing Hell-fire. She followed up her initial attack and soon the two were involved in a fierce duel. A minute later Harry, Ron and Jayce approached carefully, guided by Harry and the light of the spells the duellers cast at one another.

Jayce reached for his wand intending to draw fire off Ginny and take the attacker down, but Harry stayed his hand with a firm grip on the American's arm. "Don't, or you'll be the next one at the receiving end of Ginny's wand," Harry warned.

"And trust me," Ron assured him. "You don't want that."

"Aren't we going to help her," Jayce asked incredulously. "That guy's twice her size!"

"She's got this under control, honestly," Harry smiled, beaming proudly as he watched Ginny pin her opponent down and limiting his ability to keep up his defence.

"But..." Jayce protested.

"She beat Seamus in a duel _twice_, mate," Ron revealed. "The first time he underestimated her and held back, but the second time, she really and truly kicked his arse."

"And that was with her grandmother's wand," Harry added. "This one's hers exclusively. Just relax and enjoy the show."

Jayce took his pseudo-cousins' advice and watched the spectacle with interest. Very quickly, he had to admit that Ginny had this jackass under complete control. Ginny, for her part, had gone easy on her attacker since this was her first real duel with the Whomping Willow wand. She knew the power contained within it and how it complimented her own. She had no desire to kill the man, but she did want to incapacitate him. With that thought, she decided it was time to end the duel.

A double stunner was quickly followed by a series of flashes of different colours. With his shield blasted to smithereens, he couldn't do a thing to stop or even hope to counter the magic about to engulf him. Mercifully enough, the first one was the second stunner, because what followed was something that could have been a Transfiguration exercise gone horribly wrong. The still basically-hominid body fell limp to the ground, with huge bats emerging from his face and encircling him.

The three law-enforcement wizards stood in awe bordering on disbelief for what they had just witnessed, uncertain as to whether or not they could achieve the kind of results Ginny had. She approached them, eyes still flashing and fiery locks flying, her Whomping Willow wand purring loudly in her hand as if satisfied with its work.

"What..." Ron began.

"...the..." Jayce continued.

But Harry said nothing; he only smiled and held his arms open, inviting his wife into a warm embrace and a mind-blowing Harry kiss. They seemed oblivious to the world and had all but forgotten their companions as they snogged one another right there outside the stadium.

Jayce turned to Ron. "Captain Weasley, while those two suck face, we might wanna send for a Healer to sort out that piece of dungeon dirt."

"Good idea, Marshall Silvercloud," Ron agreed. "I've yet to figure out how to fix that kind of damage."

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Leo Wyatt and Gus Pye arrived at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries in a rush. They had been called to duty because of an urgent case who'd just arrived. The two veteran Healers stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of the..._was it a man?_

"What in the name of Merlin's tie-dyed toga happened to this man," Pye asked.

"He seems to have been hexed…a lot," Wyatt noted. "Ooh, that looks right nasty, doesn't it?"

The two Healers took a closer look at the man-shaped figure with gooey bats circling over him. "I say, are those Bat-bogeys," Pye asked rhetorically. "I've never seen any quite this large before. Extraordinary!"

"I've only read about that hex, but I believe it is the Bat-bogey Hex and from what I recall, they _should_ be a much smaller," Wyatt concurred. The two men stood scratching their heads, both without a clue as to where to start, in order to counter the hexes in the most efficient and least painful way.

"Oh, dear. There are _more_ bats coming out of his nose." Pye observed.

"If that _is_ the nose," Wyatt said dubiously.

"Well, it appears to be in the general vicinity," Pye concluded.

A bit of head-scratching later, the two Healers reluctantly had to admit their defeat with this one. Their diagnostic spells gave no real clue as to what had happened to the man and because of that, they didn't dare try to reverse or counter any spells or hexes for fear of the unknown. Anti-Hex and anti-Jinx spells, designed to heal, might cause more trouble for a multiple-hex patient if they weren't cast in the right order according to the layers. It was at this point, Fiona Prewett entered the room.

"Gus, Leo, I heard y'all got a fella in here with slimy bats flyin' around him," she greeted them brightly.

The two Healers welcomed the level-headed American witch and any advice she might offer.

"We're at a loss here, Fiona," Gus admitted. "Your timing is impeccable. Perhaps you could help with your canticumagic?"

"I can do _better'n_ that," Fiona said after looking at the man. She flinched and shook her head. "This is Cousin Ginny's handiwork—I'd know it anywhere."

"_Ginny Potter_," Leo asked for clarification. "As in Holyhead Harpies Chaser?"

"The same," Fiona confirmed. "But she seems to have gone crazier'n an inbred hillbilly drunk as a skunk on rot-gut moonshine on this poor sucker."

"But our diagnostic spells don't register anything in particular," Leo said. "Quite frankly, we're stumped."

Fiona looked at the man with raised eyebrows. "Then use your eyes, brainiacs. I'd recognise these spells any day o' the week and twice on a Sunday. They're common prank-Hexes, guys. We treat them every week at Hogwarts. Kids're always pullin' stuff like this on each other."

"Common," the two Healers asked. "What's common about this," Leo snapped, pointing at the wretch lying on the gurney whimpering and slapping at his own face as he writhed on the mattress. "He's hexed beyond all recognition!"

Fiona sighed. "I'm tellin' ya these Hexes are common; however, the witch who cast them _isn't_."

"Can you help us sort him out then," Gus pleaded. "We're at a complete loss and the bats coming out of this man's face have grown to the size of flying foxes!"

"Well, there ain't much _I_ can do because we need a specialist to lift this particular Bat-bogey Hex. After that, we can sort out the rest."

"A specialist? Who then?" Leo couldn't imagine why they would need to call in a specialist for a _common_ Bat-bogey Hex.

"Let me Floo Bill Weasley," Fiona suggested. "He's Ginny's oldest brother."

"Wait, Gringotts' lead _Curse Breaker?_ It's a ruddy _hex, _Fiona," Gus protested. "Not some ancient Egyptian Mummy's curse!"

"Again, the witch who cast them is quite something," Fiona persisted. "She can whoop most of her husband's elite Auror Corps."

Leo and Gus had to agree to the consultation simply because they found themselves at a loss and criminal or not, the man on the stretcher before them was in severe discomfort if not a load of pain and they were sworn to heal and comfort the sick and afflicted.

As it turned out, Leo, Gus and Fiona could identify each and every hex, curse and jinx Ginny had cast at the man. Once Bill banished the Bat-bogeys, the three Healers stunned the patient and lifted the hexes. Next, they set to healing the damage to the man's face and then restored his ruined nose. A medical report was sent to DMLE, along with a written complaint from the man accusing Ginny Potter of the criminal use of illegal magic. _The Daily Prophet_ had a field day as soon as they learned that Ginny had used nothing but prank-hexes and suggested that the fool she'd hexed cast a permanent glamour charm on himself, since he had become the laughing-stock of Wizarding Britain.

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Harry was immensely proud of his wife. As soon as they left the Ministry, he escorted her home to a hot meal of fresh spring-greens salad, four-layer lasagne, garlic-cheese bread and white wine. Afterwards, he ran a warm bubbly bath and then joined her in it.

"Harry, I had a shower at the stadium," she moaned as he scrubbed her back with a soft loofah sponge. She had discovered them in a hotel on one of the Harpies' road trips and found she loved how they gently exfoliated her creamy skin. On one of several shopping trips into Muggle London with Fleur and Hermione, she picked up a few more loofahs at a trendy little boutique that sold quality personal-care products, many of which she had also fallen in love with. She rarely used anything but The Body Shop® on her skin anymore, but she never strayed from her stand-by favourite shampoo because it did a good job and Harry liked it so much.

"I know, Love, but I wasn't there to scrub your back now, was I," Harry replied, turning her to face him. "Or your front, or…"

"Harry James Potter, you are a certifiable perv," Ginny laughed, luxuriating in his touch. She closed her eyes and threw her head back so he could wash her neck. She'd pinned her hair up, but as soon as Harry finished washing her, he took it down.

"That's better," he intimated into her ear. "Fire on water. Beautiful."

"Hey, don't go all mushy on me, Auror," Ginny groaned. "You promised me a massage and you're going to deliver."

Harry nipped at the pulse-point on the left side of her neck. "Oh I intend to deliver, Mrs Potter. One full-body massage coming up." He stood and left the tub and then offered her hand up and out and into a warm fluffy towel to dry her off with. As soon as neither of them threatened to drip all over the floor, he carried her to their bad and gently laid her on the duvet. "Roll onto your stomach, Love."

Ginny rolled over and tucked her arms under her pillow. "I'm ready now."

Harry gently and carefully straddled Ginny's thighs and covered his hands in warming body oil. Starting at her shoulders, he massaged it into her skin, replenishing as needed. As he worked, he could feel the tension leave her strained muscles. Her breathing began to even out with her moans of appreciation, spurring him to continue his work down her back, over her obliques, and over her bum.

"Baby, that feels so good," she whispered. "It's like we're back in our room at Hogwarts. Remember?"

A contented smile stole across Harry's lips. He certainly did remember those nights before the fire in that room. The furry rug in their lounge came from there, a gift from the headmistress as a sort of souvenir of that eventful last year at school. Almost every massage culminated in a lovemaking session that neither of them could ever forget.

"I remember, Love," Harry answered, covering his hands with more oil. "If it wasn't for your hands, my shoulder would never have healed properly."

"It still hasn't, Harry, and I'm sorry for that. We need to keep working it," she replied apologetically.

"Actually, it's pretty good," Harry said. "I work out with Ron and he massages it if it gets stiff or painful. He's not as good at it as you, mind, but he's pretty good just the same."

Ginny sighed dramatically. "I've been replaced by a red-haired ape. Oh, the shame! Oh, that feels good!" Harry had begun some rather deep manipulation of her gluteus muscles, which took a lot of abuse from extended periods astride a broomstick. "Oh, right there! Right there!"

Harry continued to work those muscles until Ginny's breathing evened out again. "Better?"

"Mm-hmm…" she sighed. "You spoil me, did you know that?"

"That's my job, my heart," Harry replied. "Roll over now."

"Am I to be ravaged, Sir Knight," she asked slyly, gazing into his emerald-green eyes.

"Does Milady wish to be," he asked just as slyly. "It would only be my pleasure."

"If thou shouldst finish thy current exertions, I would be most pleased to receive thee," Ginny replied, her chocolate eyes warm and shining in the dim light.

"Then, Milady, allow me to complete my quest so that I may fulfill thy pleasure," Harry smirked and rubbed more massage oil into his palms. He started at her collarbones and worked his way around her breasts so as not to get any of the oil on them. He then worked down her belly and across her abdominals, eliciting giggles; it tickled when he passed his hands over her sides and over her hips.

Harry worked Ginny's thigh and calf muscles along both legs and then massaged both of her feet. She'd fought most of her duel on her toes, so the balls of her feet took a lot of the force from her leaps and rolls. By the time he'd finished, she was putty in his hands.

He set the bottle of oil on the bedside table and then moved carefully up Ginny's body to hover over her. "You looked so hot out there this afternoon, Gin. I had all I could do to keep from taking you right there in the stadium in front of Jayce and Ron."

"I noticed," she replied silkily. "I thought you were going to run me through with that thing when you hugged me."

"The night is young, my sweet," Harry murmured into her neck. "Thou hast my sword at thy command."

Ginny reached down to grasp his member in her tiny hands. "'Tis a stout and wieldy weapon, Good Sir Knight. Use it well, for it may avail thee everything thou desirest."

"As you wish," he murmured again, taking her lips with his own. His tongue traced her bottom lip, begging admittance. She parted her lips and bade him enter. As their tongues battled for dominance, he sheathed his sword inside her and began the timeless waltz of love. "Ginny, my heart, my own. I love you so much."

Ginny's heart was too full to reply; all she could do was to wrap her legs around his waist and pull him deeper inside her. Tears of love and joy coursed down her face as her husband made love to her, assuring her that she was safe and loved, because in all honesty, she was terrified under all the bravado against her assailant. The one thing that kept her from panicking was knowing that Harry knew what was happening and could Apparate to her side in an instant if she were in trouble.

As their passion began to build, they locked onto one another's gaze. In an instant, they had delved into one another's consciousness and each could see the other through the other's eyes and feel one another's pleasure. Like a tidal wave, the sensations washed over them, drowning them in a sea of desire. Harry picked up the rhythm, which Ginny matched flawlessly. Minutes later, the tidal surge buried them in their climax and carried them away to Paradise.

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Harry, Ron and Jayce had gathered at IB to set the preliminary plans for their self-imposed mission. They reminded themselves again of the necessity for utter secrecy and even toyed with the idea of placing everyone under an oath that would prevent them from accidentally disclosing their plan. Almost as soon as Harry suggested it, Jayce and Ron talked him out of it; it was just too risky and not a secret worth one of them dying for. Still, the enormity of the task before them kept the grounded and focused.

"Essentially we'll have to break the law to uphold it," Jayce told them. "This means if we fail or get caught, we might end up in Azkaban. I want you to be perfectly clear about that before we go any further."

"So that's it? No room for failure," Ron stated rather than asked.

"None. It's do or die, Auror," Jayce said gravely. "Now: Do you think that brilliant wife of yours might be able create viable unauthorized International Portkeys?"

"I guess so. If she can't now, she'll find out how and then obsess over learning and perfecting it," Ron replied confidently.

"I ask because if we're to do this right, we'll need an escape route just in case. I'm thinkin' we Apparate into Scotland, and then using a series of Portkeys, we continue on to the Orkney Islands, over to Iceland, then Greenland, then Newfoundland in Canada and finally, south into the States. We can then Apparate down the coast to the Carolinas. We'll always find shelter in the Holler and Uncle Sam wouldn't send you back to Britain because you'd be with me and I can talk us out of anything."

Harry listened to Jayce's plan and asked a spontaneous question. "Why did you arrive on a Muggle plane if it's possible to Portkey across the Atlantic?"

"A series of International Portkeys would take some doing to arrange, legally. The Inuit Wizarding community on Greenland is very isolated and likes it that way. Wizarding Iceland would demand a hefty pile of Galleons before becoming a transit point for trans-Atlantic Portkey travel," Jayce explained. "All in all, it's cheaper and faster to travel the Mundane way. Besides, you can sleep on the plane."

Harry and Ron considered Jayce points. Neither of them had ever travelled by air—at least on a Muggle airliner—so they really had no appreciation for trans-Atlantic flight. "But as an escape route, an unauthorized set of Portkeys would take us to Rook Holler inside an hour, is that right," Ron concluded.

"Right in one," Jayce confirmed. "And Ron, ask Hermione to find out if those Portkeys can be made untraceable by the Ministry. It's better for Kingsley if we simply disappear should we screw this up."

"But we won't," Harry said determinedly. "We can't."

"Too right, we won't," Ron agreed. "But I agree with Jayce; we'll need an escape route, because I won't go to Azkaban because of that sodding wanker, Gumblebutt."

"Gumblebutt," Harry snorted. "No wonder that man's gone off; he's battling a severe bout of identity crisis!" The three wizards allowed themselves a bit of a laugh at Gumboil's expense, but then got right back down to business.

"All right then. Hermione works on the escape route." Jayce concluded. "Now, we need a _modus operandi_—a mode of operation, a detailed plan of attack."

"We can't just hit and run, though, mate," Ron said. "We need to catch them red-handed and drag their sorry arses before the Wizengamot and expose them for the buggerers they are."

"Too right," Harry agreed. "If we simply take out Gumboil without exposing him, he'll become a martyr and add fuel to an already out-of-control anarchistic fire."

"He focuses his attacks mostly on Pureblood families—that we know. First it was the Snakes, but now it appears any Pureblood family is game if the MacMillans are any indication," Ron speculated. "It's just a matter of time before they strike again."

Harry asked "The Bones, the Changs, the Prewetts..." Harry speculated. "But what we _don't_ know is who's next and there aren't enough of us to cover them all 'round the clock."

"Bloody hell, Harry, you're right," Ron exclaimed. "There's no way in bloody Hell we can guard them!"

"What are you talkin' about?"

"The Prewetts," Ron repeated.

"Taya and Onie," Jayce asked.

"No. Another branch of the family," Ron explained. "You see, the Prewetts are related to us, but they're also linked to the Dark Tosser through our cousin, Mafalda."

Harry thought about it. "They're not likely to hit Hogwarts. Fiona, Emma and Erica should be fine, but what about the twins' parents?"

"There's no chance we can observe every possible target, but the Prewetts are a very likely one. Let's talk to Des and Heather, Ron. If they'll allow it, we can set a trap for ELF there in case of an attack," Ron reasoned.

"Maybe we can provoke them into attacking the Prewetts by disrupting an ELF meeting disguised as some of Mafalda's rag-tag followers," Jayce thought out loud.

"That's really sneaky," Harry commented.

"That's part of what Black Ops is all about, and if it gets the job done…" Jayce shrugged.

Harry nodded reluctantly. "Dung can probably find out when and where the next ELF meeting is," he said. "And we'll need to play this carefully, because we can't fight using our too-recognisable techniques. They'd peg us as Aurors in a heartbeat."

"You got that right," Jayce agreed. "Nothing fancy. Get in, make some racket, leave a note singin' Mafalda's praises and get out before a fight starts."

"That should be simple enough," Ron agreed. "But the first order of business will be to pay a visit to the Prewetts in Somerset. They're the ones putting their home on the line in case this goes pear-shaped."

"Right," Harry said. "But we can't go out there like a load of commandos. We have to make this look like a purely social call. You and I and Hermione and Ginny…and maybe Mum should go. You know Mum'll insist on sending a care package, whether she goes with us or not."

"Yeah, that's true," Ron said, nodding and snickering.

"Then that's what we'll do. You four go visit the Prewetts, since you know them so well, and I'll get with your Dad and your brothers and fill them in," Jayce suggested. "Work for you?"

"Works for me," Harry agreed.

"Me too," Ron said.

"Then we're done here for now," Jayce declared. "Let's get some supper!"

With that, the meeting ended. It was decided that Harry and Ron would talk to the Prewetts about security for the Prewett home, while the rest of the planning would centre on provoking an attack at the Prewett house, where there would be a team of Aurors waiting to apprehend them, thereby taking another few wands out of the struggle.

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Joseph and Emma walked into their Defence class with Erica and Patricia right behind them. Lisa Bradford and Dalton Townsend had assigned Prefects from each House to accompany students under fourth year to their classes to discourage further incidents like the one between Joseph Pointer and the twins' would-be tormentors. Oddly enough, it was the two fifth-year Hufflepuff Prefects who saw to this group.

"Don't any of you lot leave this room until your next escort arrives to take you to lunch," the first one, Kelly Olson, said. She was the one who offered apologies for Ryan Stiles' behaviour on the Hogwarts Express in September.

"That's right," the other, Spencer Agnew, agreed. "Do not, under any circumstances, leave Professor Watson's sight until the Gryffs come for you. Got it?"

"Spence, they do understand English," Kelly giggled. "Get over yourself, already." She grabbed hold of his robes and dragged him off to the Dungeons for their Potions lesson with Professor Slughorn.

"Mental," Joseph said, taking Emma's hand and leading her and his other two friends to two tables across the front.

"The Puffs have taken a beating this year, Joseph," Patricia sighed, dropping her book-bag on the table next to Erica. "They're just trying to do their job well—they want to be trusted again."

"Hey, I got no problem with Puffs," Joseph protested. "Most of 'em're a' right. It's just Stiles and his lot what causes trouble."

Patricia was about to say more, but Professor Watson had appeared at the front of the room and called class to order. "Good morning, Gryffindors! Good morning, Slytherins!"

"Good morning, sir," they all chorused.

"All right, so today we're going to have a little review and then a quick quiz," he announced. "I want to be sure you have all mastered the disarming charm and the simple shield we've been working on."

For the Spawn, these spells were almost second nature; with a little more work, they would be. Their inclusion in the resurrected DA, now known as the Defence Association, had taught them well. Not only could they disarm, but they could incapacitate an opponent without doing any real physical harm. Emma's and Erica's favourite was _Rictumsempra_, which was a simple tickling charm. It would be rather difficult to fight if one were rolling on the floor laughing hysterically.

Dennis, Jessica, Romilda and Jimmy had taken over the group originally begun by the renowned Golden Trio, teaching mostly prank-spells to the younger students which would at least be able to put off an attacker long enough for them to escape and find help. Fourth years and above learned more difficult and relatively-destructive jinxes and hexes under the watchful eyes of Aurors Finnegan and Bones, both former DA members. But most-importantly, they were not allowed to practise any spell that would put any one of them in the infirmary for more than one night.

After some rigorous review and practise, Professor Watson quizzed the class on the theory behind the _Expelliarmus_ and _Protego_ spells, their uses and their weaknesses. The entire class scored well, but Joseph earned top marks, as did Patricia. Emma and Erica still had a little trouble with their shield charms, but they could work further on those during the DA.

"I heard Auror Finnegan tell Onie that Harry and Ron were coming to the next meeting," Erica said, over lunch. "I wonder why, though."

"I'll bet you Galleons to Goblets that they're coming to teach us the Patronus Charm," Patricia replied.

"That Patronus," Erica gasped. "That's supposed to be really hard!"

"It is," Patricia confirmed. "I did a little reading and found out that in order to cast it, you need a really happy memory—the best you've got. Then you have to let it fill you up before you say the incantation."

"Woss the incantation, Pats," Joseph asked, stuffing a bite of grilled cheese sandwich into his mouth.

"_Expecto Patronum_," Patricia told him. "And you have to be sure you say it right or it won't work."

"Takes loads o' practice, dunnit," Joseph guess, grabbing another sandwich and dunking it into his tomato soup."

"I should say so," Patricia confirmed, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "It might not be a bad idea to think about the happier stuff that's happened to us and decide on a few of the best memories, so we're ready when Harry and Ron get here."

"It probably wouldn't hurt to practise saying it," Emma suggested. "Ex-expec…"

"_Eks-PEK-toh Pah-TROH-nuhm_," Patricia repeated slowly. "We'll work on that later, too."

"Knowing you, Pats, you'll get it on the first try," Emma snickered. "I'll bet Hermione did."

"Actually, she didn't," a voice said from behind them.

"HERMIONE! When did you get here," Patricia asked, jumping up to give her idol a hug. "Didn't you have to work today?"

"Yes, but a summons from Amelia Bones in any capacity overrides any order RCMC could give me," she said. "May I join you? I'm famished!"

"Professor Bones," Joseph asked. "Does she need help with Transfiggeration or somethin'?"

"No, of course not," Hermione giggled, serving herself some soup and half a grilled-cheese. "It's about the law-essays."

"Oh that," Patricia said. "I turned mine in ages ago."

"Of course you did," Erica snorted. Patricia gave her friend a mild glare and turned her attention back to her food.

"So you didn't get the Pa-patronus thingy the first time," Emma asked Hermione.

"Goodness, no! Nobody does—not even Harry," she assured them. "It takes just the right memory and a fair bit of practise to put it together with the charm itself. Most wizards and witches never get it."

"Really," Joseph gasped. "But…don't ya 'afta do it ta be an Auror?"

"Yes, you do," Hermione said. "But you don't have to be able to do it to enter the training. They teach it in the curriculum. But if you never get it, you can still join the DMLE Squads."

"No way," Joseph declared with a determined look on his face. "I'm gonna learn that charm so I can be and Auror like Harry."

"Of course you will, Joey," Emma whispered into his ear. "I know you will." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and returned to her own meal while Joseph blushed scarlet. They'd snogged a bit, but any show of that kind of affection in front of others still embarrassed him a little. Not that he was embarrassed about Emma; no, not at all. To him, she was the most-beautiful witch at Hogwarts—right up there with Miss Ginny and Miss Hermione.

"So…" Hermione began. "I heard you got into a bit of a skirmish, Joseph. Care to fill me in?"

"Uh…well…I…" Joseph stuttered. "I did what I 'ad ta do, didn't I?"

"Care to elaborate," Hermione prodded. She knew the gist of what happened from Ron, but she really wanted to hear it from Joseph himself.

With a nudge from his girlfriend, Joseph launched into the tale of how Emma and Erica and Patricia had been cornered by a couple of third-year Puffs trying to assert themselves, when he stepped in. His face had turned bright red by the time he finished.

"Our hero," Patricia declared. "Who knows what those two might have done if Joseph hadn't stepped in?"

"You were wonderful," Emma said, kissing him again.

"Yeah, you held them until Hagrid and Professor Watson arrived to sort them out," Erica said, further praising her sister's boyfriend.

Hermione had to hide a smirk as she watched her four favourite Hogwarts students interact. They reminded her so much of herself, Harry and Ron at their age—standing up for one another, keeping one another's spirits up—especially Harry's—and just doing the things best friends do. She also realised that Joseph truly emulated his idol more than he knew.

He had an innate sense of justice and fair play and a rather heroic streak to go with it—Harry's _saving people-thing_. Joseph Pointer was also shy and a bit unsure, and uncomfortable with praise for his deeds…just like Harry. He did what was right rather than what was easy to rescue his friends. He could have run off to find a teacher rather than step in, but in his heart, he knew that if he'd done that, something terrible may have happened in the interim.

Yes, Joseph definitely did a Harry—head off the problem first and seek help later…and like Harry, he spent time in the hospital wing for his trouble. Still and all, Hermione heaved a sigh of relief to know that help did arrive when he most-needed it in the form of Hagrid and Rupert Watson, much the same way as Albus Dumbledore and the Order came to Harry's aid in a crisis.

"You'll make a fine Auror, Joseph," Hermione assured him. "You've got a lot of Harry in you."

"Thanks, Miss 'Ermione," Joseph replied shyly. "I won't let ya down."

"I know you won't, Joseph, but this isn't about me or Harry or even Emma—it's about _you_," she chided. "You won't fail because deep down, you know you've got the right stuff make the grade and the drive to make it happen."

"Too right you do," Emma agreed. "And I'll be right here by your side to cheer you on!"

They all continued to chat and catch up on the news until their sixth-year Slytherin escort called for the second-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs to gather to him and his companion for their nap…er…History of Magic class. Hermione heart warmed to the evidence that the House rivalries, while still in effect on the Quidditch pitch, were no longer as hateful and cruel as the ones that existed in her time at Hogwarts—at least the one between Slytherin and Gryffindor. The group broke into giggles at the Snake's joke and proceeded to follow him out of the Great Hall, with the Spawn turning to wave at Hermione as they passed through the great oak doors and out of sight.

When they were gone, she turned and approached the staff table to join Amelia Bones in Minerva's office to go over the essays and select the top three to fashion into proposals to present to the Wizengamot. While Patricia's proposal was good, it just didn't make the cut over the ones one Sixth-year and two Seventh-years presented. The clincher was that those students had seen pre-war and wartime strife in their world and at school and were better-able to put their ideas into greater perspective than younger students, especially a Muggleborn who hadn't experienced any of it. However, if it would be of any comfort to Patricia, Hermione could assure her that the ones they chose each contained elements of her own proposal, so in a way, her ideas would find their way into legislation after all.

"I seriously think the best of the lot is this one," Hermione said, pulling the parchment on top that had been presented by one of the Seventh-years. "It addresses the incident involving the sexual assault on Jessica Spinnet."

"Yes, I have to agree, Mrs Weasley," Amelia said, adjusting her signature monocle and taking another look at it. "Our laws really need a boost there. Minerva, what do you think?"

"Oh most assuredly," the headmistress concurred. "We cannot let a thing like this go un-legislated. It's time we realise that our old practises and traditions just don't fit our needs as a community anymore. With more and more Mug—er—how did this student say it? Ah, yes. First-generation witches and wizards entering our world, we need to better be able to meet their needs and concerns."

"_First-generation_," Hermione repeated quietly. "I like that. Perhaps if we keep using that term instead of _Muggleborn_, it'll catch on and wear away at the Blood-prejudice that nearly destroyed our world."

"It's settled then," Amelia said. "This one is the one we'll present first and then later on, we'll present one of the other two, and so on. As you so eloquently asserted in the chambers, Mrs Weasley, gradual change is safe change."

Hermione left the meeting feeling as though something really special happened in the headmistress' office today. If this bit of legislation is well-received, perhaps Dobby's Law would be too and Wizarding Britain could truly claim it was on track for real change. _I'll need to make an appointment with Undersecretary Greengrass as soon as I get back to the Ministry_. With a squeal and little happy-dance, Hermione passed through the gates and Disapparated to London.

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The following week, about twenty sixth- and seventh-year students gathered in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Professor McGonagall presided over the gathering, keeping one eye on the students and the other on the clock. At ten o'clock sharp, this Saturday morning, the doors swung open and student chatter ceased immediately. Four familiar faces passed through the doors dressed in their black fatigues and maroon robes. Their Auror badges shone and flashed on their chests as they marched through the hall and executed a precise about-face, coming to a halt before the dais and assuming the parade-rest position. Head Auror Harry Potter, Auror Captain Ronald Weasley, Auror Lieutenant Seamus Finnegan and Auror Lieutenant Cho Chang surveyed the assembled students, speaking not a word nor betraying any emotion on their faces whatsoever.

Professor McGonagall stood and gave the four Aurors one of her rare smiles with pride in her eyes. She couldn't be prouder of these four Aurors, three of which were former Gryffindors and war-heroes. "Sixth- and Seventh-years, as you know, the Auror Training Programme will begin here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, next September the first. This programme is a cooperative effort between the school and the Auror Office…er…Auror _Corps_. All of you are already attending your NEWT-level classes, but to be admitted into the Auror Training Programme, you must pass an entrance exam and it is ultimately the decision of the Head Auror, Harry Potter, and his team and not the Board of Governors or the Board of Examiners. I shall now turn the time over to the Head Auror." Amid raucous applause, Professor McGonagall returned to her seat, eager to find out what her former students had in mind for the hopeful applicants.

Harry took a step forward and re-assumed the parade-rest stance. "Thank you, Headmistress," he began in a rather commanding tone, winning everyone's undivided attention. Any ideas any of them may have had about a relaxed atmosphere evaporated the instant Harry began to speak.

"The exams you are about to take today are quite different from your OWLs or your NEWTs. The goal of those exams is to find out how much you've learned and retained and to earn your grades. The goal of these tests is to evaluate your aptitude and to aid us in determining if you are Auror material. This involves more than good grades. You will be presented with scenarios that will require you to make difficult decisions in a split-second, knowing that the wrong one could get you or someone else seriously injured or killed. Captain Weasley?"

Harry stepped back to join the others while Ron stepped forward, keeping his body at parade-rest. "Thank you, sir. We will test your individual skills in several subjects, as well as your ability to work in a team configuration," Ron continued. "This will include duelling skills and physical agility. Do not be concerned that you cannot perform acrobatics or that you haven't the stamina of a fully-trained Auror. We are not looking for that today—we seek only to test your aptitude—that is your ability to learn that. Lieutenant Finnegan?"

Ron stepped back with Harry and Cho, while Seamus stepped forward. "Thank you, Sir. You'll be facin' both pitched duels and individual and team defensive capabilities. Again, don't worry if ye're not perfect—we don't expect ya ta be today. We just expect ya to do yer best with what ya know. Lieutentant Chang?"

Seamus stepped back to join Harry and Ron while Cho stepped forward. "Thank you, Lieutenant Finnegan. Finally, those of you applying for the Broomborne Unit will have your flying skills tested to the limit. I expect any Quidditch players to show us all your best moves and not to hold back, no matter how fancy or original they might be. We wish to form a crack flying unit and any manoeuvres new cadets may be able to show us will earn you consideration points." Cho finished and stepped back, allowing her commanding officer to take over once again.

"Any questions so far," Harry asked the assembly. The students shook their heads, even though their heads were full of questions. These Aurors were not anything like the Aurors they'd heard about from their parents. There was no mindless barking of instructions and no foolishness in their demeanour—these people meant business and no slothfulness or slack would be tolerated.

"_Membrana__divide__examinum_," Harry called, waving his wand across the room. "A stack of seven parchments appeared before each applicant with a charmed quill and a bottle of indelible ink. "You have one hour. Begin!" Harry conjured a metre-tall hourglass and turned it over.

The hour passed rather quickly, at least the applicants thought so. When the sand in the hourglass ran out, Cho conjured a gong and struck it hard. The students, who had been concentrating so deeply after several interruptions, jumped at the sound and dropped their quills. In a flash, their examination parchments, quills and ink vanished to the front of the room and re-appeared before Professor McGonagall.

Mentally exhausted, the applicants' heads spun. The basic theory questions weren't so tough, but the scenarios they had to work through in essay form were nothing short of terrifying. Each one found themselves second-guessing their instincts out of fear of losing a teammate, but quickly found out that sometimes, good people get hurt and sometimes good people die. Many of them learned that from the war, but it didn't make that part of the exam any easier. Best case scenario won out and in almost every instance, someone would get hurt.

Following a 15-minute break, the duelling portion of the exam began. Ron thought it would be a good idea to place everyone's names in a hat and pair the students off by drawing names, much like the Goblet of Fire did. He charmed the hat to spew out two names at once to form the pairs. The last one standing would face off against Ron himself.

Harry had to admit that he was impressed. The students proved to be adept if not perfect in their stances, casting and shielding. He expected this had much to do with the resurrection of the DA. He was especially impressed with the way Dennis comported himself in a duel, and wondering if he had been doing some practise on his own, independent of core study or the DA itself. He and Jessica Spinnet appeared to be the best duellers in the room, followed very closely by Jimmy Peakes and a few of the Ravenclaws.

Harry was very pleased to see one Slytherin in the group, one he'd actually hoped would apply—Seventh-year Jason Felton. This was the young wizard who nearly died to protect a few First-years during a riot at a school Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Harry wondered what kind of person Jason had been as an underclassman when he was a student. He would have been two years behind Harry, but since Gryffindor and Slytherin got on like oil and water, he never got to know the boy or even noticed him.

Jason Felton seemed rather unassuming, unlike the Slytherins he knew, and must have rather kept to himself. But what Harry saw now was a confident young man who was well-liked and rather bright. It was obvious Jason didn't hold with the old Pureblood status quo and wondered if the boy was a Pureblood at all. _Stop it, Potter; he's a good kid and if this is any indication, he'll make a fine Auror_.

When the contest was over, it was Mr Felton who remained standing after a rather exciting duel against none other than Dennis Creevey. The two young wizards shook hands and congratulated one another for a job well done and a duel well-fought. Both students' bodies ached with the exertion, as did those of the others in the group. Sweat poured off their bodies and soaked their robes through, but none of them complained. In truth, for all the hard work and dedication, the applicants were having the time of their lives.

"Nice work, gentlemen," Ron stated to the final pair with military composure. "Mr Creevey, you lead the DA now, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir," Dennis replied, showing the utmost respect for a man he hoped would be one of his commanding officers. "And may I say, sir, that Mr Felton is one of our top wands. He's also one of our instructors, working mostly with the Fourth-years during training meetings."

"Indeed," Ron agreed. "Thank you, Mr Creevey. You may join the others." Ron watched Dennis walk away with his signature half-grin. _That young man has a bright future in DMLE_. He turned to Jason, who stood quietly and respectfully, not moving or speaking until he was spoken to. "Mr Felton, would you care to get a drink of water or something before we face off?"

"No, sir," Jason replied. "I'm fine, sir." If he were honest, he was parched, but he didn't want to show the slightest weakness to his examiners. He knew Slytherin House had a poor reputation for turning out dark wizards and witches, most of them wealthy and spoiled. He intended to do anything he could to dispel any preconceived notions about himself, especially in the faces of three formidable Gryffindors and one equally-formidable Ravenclaw.

"Felton, there's one thing you need to know and keep in mind," Ron began. "_Never_ abuse your body! You can push it to its limits and build it up, but you must never do it injury if you can help it. As you are obviously dehydrated, you will see Lieutenant Finnegan for some fluids and report back to me in five minutes. Understood?"

"Understood, sir," Jason replied, trying to hide a grin. These Aurors may be hard-arses, but they're not sadists. With a crisp DA salute, he turned on his heel and made his way to carry out the first order he'd been given by an Auror—one of many, many more he hoped to receive.

Ron and Jason faced off with Seamus acting as judge and referee. "The rules are the same—you may use Transfiguration, diversion, illusion and any curse short of the Unforgivables or anything deadly. The first man to become disarmed or incapacitated is eliminated. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Jason replied.

"Yes, Lieutenant," Ron replied.

"Very well. Take your places and bow to one another," Seamus barked. "Begin!"

Ron and Jason threw hex after spell after jinx at one another, neither intending to injure their opponent in any way. The intensity of their duel almost matched that of the early matches of the tournament a few months before. Jason did a fine job of holding his own against Red Ron Weasley, having watched him closely during the tournament, but in the end, experience and repertoire won out. With a powerful _Expelliarmus_ following a blasting hex to the stone floor which caught the Seventh-year off-guard, Jason flew backward and onto his arse. When he shook his brains back into place, he found Ron standing in front of him with his wand in one hand and the other extended to give him a hand up.

"Why Captain Weasley," Harry chuckled, stepping forward to congratulate the finalists. "It appears you've taken a page from my book then?"

"Hey, it took down Moldyshorts," Ron snickered. "Felton, well done. Thanks for the workout."

"My pleasure, sir," Jason replied, rubbing his sore backside. "So it's true that Commander Potter beat the Dark Lord with a simple disarming spell?"

"Uh…well," Harry began. "It was a bit more complicated than that, but in the end, my _Expelliarmus_ met his AK and sent it back at him, killing him instantly."

"Awesome," Jason grinned. "Uh…sir."

"It's amazing sometimes that simplicity is best," Harry agreed. "Now, Mr Felton, join your peers. It's time for a very well-deserved lunch. Lieutenant Finnegan?"

"LUNCH," the Irish Auror called. "Afterwards, Broomborne people report to Lieutenant Chang on the Quidditch pitch! Dismissed!"

Following a hearty lunch of open-face roast beef sandwiches with mash and green beans, those interested in the Broomborne Unit assembled on the Quidditch pitch for the flying portion of the exam. Jessica Spinnet, Dennis Creevey, and Jimmy Peakes from the Gryffindor Quidditch team were among the five who arrived at the pitch, brooms in hand; the Ravenclaw Seeker and the Hufflepuff Left Chaser were the other two. Harry noted the lack of applicants from all four houses. _Damn!_ _I was hoping for a Slytherin in this group. At least we've got a potential Slytherin Auror in Jason Felton._

"Unlike the other exams, this portion is for a brand new unit in the Aurors Corps," Cho told the quintet. "If accepted into the Broomborne Unit, you will take part in the building-up of a force never before seen in Magical Law-enforcement. You will be pioneers in this work, which will include the development of broomborne duelling, reconnaissance and ground support."

"Admittance for the Auror Training Programme will be formally approved by me," Harry added. "But Broomborne cadets are approved by its commander, Lieutenant Chang."

"For the first part of this exercise, we will evaluate your flying talents and abilities," Cho continued. "Chief Potter, Captain Weasley and Lieutenant Finnegan have charmed Bludgers that will attack you mercilessly. Make no mistake, they will attempt to knock you off your brooms the same way they do in a Quidditch match. Professors Flitwick, Sprout and McGonagall are standing by to prevent anyone from falling to their deaths. Miss Prewett and Madame Pomfrey are here to provide any necessary healing should any of the Bludgers hit their targets—you. Anyone not comfortable with the danger involved in this test may leave the pitch now."

There was an air of apprehension among the group, but none of them walked away. Fiona didn't feel comfortable with it, but she understood that the difference between the House Quidditch Cup and Auror work was vast and if the Broomborne Unit was to be remotely successful, it had to have competent fliers, and in spite of her own apprehension, she was pleased to see that no one left the field.

"Mount your brooms and fly. NOW," Cho commanded. In the next moment, the former Ravenclaw Seeker mounted her own broom and shot aloft to observe the action from the air. Soon, the Bludgers swooped out of nowhere and began to harass the hopefuls. Harry had taken a leaf from Dobby's book and submitted the applicants for the same treatment he'd been subjected to during his second year; however, this time no one would have the bones in their arms vanished away.

The Aurors on the ground manipulated their Bludgers to chase the applicants relentlessly, forcing them to fly at top speed, doing sharp turns, and sudden breaks in order to avoid them and one another. Dennis summoned all the skill he had, including every trick Harry had taught him the year before. Still, he caught a Bludger to the belly, but with tremendous effort, he stayed on his broom. He had no idea how any of the others fared because all his focus was on mere survival for himself. He understood immediately that this was a very different sort of flying compared to Quidditch. This was potentially-lethal manoeuvring, and without the Professors ready to levitate them or the Healers ready to put them back together should they fall and break something, it would be a truly deadly test of his mettle and that of his fellows.

After what felt like hours of gruelling racing, dodging and rolling, Dennis heard a whistle blow. Slowing his momentum, he turned his broom toward the pitch to land. In reality, the test lasted a whole ten minutes and not the hours he imagined. He joined the others at the centre of the pitch and glanced at his fellow applicants—each one of them looked as pale and frightened as he felt. Dennis imagined he looked very much like them.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by the voice of his potential-commander. "Next you'll do some target practice," Cho ordered.

_Bloody hell, we've got to fly some more? _Dennis' legs could hardly hold him up, but somehow he mounted his broom again and ascended to meet the next challenge. This test wasn't as intense, but required unmitigated focus. Targets appeared in front of the goal rings and on the ground, while moving targets appeared around the field. Each applicant flew a defined route while firing _Impedimenta_ at the targets. If the spell hit, the target would stop and register the magical signature of the caster and then reanimate until the end of the test period.

The next portion of the evaluation process included an applicant interview. Each one lasted about fifteen minutes and Dennis' nerves were stretched to the limit as he anxiously awaited his turn. He had no idea how he'd fared so far, except that he lost the duelling contest to Felton, but he also knew that wasn't what the duelling portion of the exams was about. Still, not knowing his scored unsettled him. Dennis jumped a little when Seamus entered the Great Hall where the applicants were gathered and called out the next name.

"Creevey, Dennis!"

Dennis stood on slightly-shaking legs and followed Seamus into a classroom on the first floor. Seamus gestured to an armchair standing by itself, with four armchairs opposite occupied by Harry, Ron and Cho; Seamus took a seat in the empty one. "Welcome to this interview, Mr Creevey," Harry said with a warm glint in his eyes designed to help Dennis relax a little.

"Thank you, sir," Dennis replied.

"We have tested your magical and academic skills, and now we want to learn a little bit more about _you_, and your motivation for applying to the Auror Training Programme," Harry continued. "Why do you want to be an Auror?"

Dennis had thought a lot about this before he had decided to apply. "I've thought about it a lot since that year the Carrows terrorized Hogwarts," Dennis began. "And Colin's death strengthened my resolve to fight the dark arts. But my biggest motivation is to put my flying skills to good use and help develop the Broomborne Unit."

Harry nodded and wrote something on a parchment.

"Are you a team player," Ron asked.

"Yes, sir. I believe I am. I'm the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and we're doing rather well this year. I think the rest of the team respects me and I respect them," Dennis replied confidently, his nerves settling.

"What can you, if admitted, contribute to the Auror Corps," Seamus asked without the slightest hint of emotion.

"I…um…I can contribute knowledge of both the Muggle and the Magical worlds. I guess Muggle knowledge can come in handy if dark creatures come too close to Muggle neighbourhoods. I mean, I could help those less-familiar with Muggle attitudes to understand them and their concerns. I'm a fair flyer and I'd like to be able to develop my existing skills under Lieutenant Chang's command.

Harry had to smile to himself. He had assessed his own flying abilities in a likewise manner in fourth year during a chat with the fake Moody about the first task in the Triwizard Tournament that led him to learn the summoning charm that brought his Firebolt to his side in the face of an angry Hungarian Horntail.

"Will you follow orders," Cho asked. "Orders that might put your life in jeopardy?"

Dennis gave the question a moment's thought. "Of course, but I would hope we're allowed to voice an opinion if there's missing information or other circumstances that might mean unnecessary risk or decrease the chance of success." The interview continued and Dennis answered the panel's questions honestly to the best of his ability.

At the conclusion of the battery of exams and interviews, the applicants were ready to drop after the mental and physical workout. Before they were dismissed for the day, they gathered in the Great Hall for a final address from the wizard they all hoped would become their commander. Harry stepped up to address them, again standing at parade-rest. "We will review the exam results and the answers you gave us during your interviews. At supper on Monday, we will return and present those of you who will comprise the first new class of Auror Cadets. Well done, everyone."

Dennis and Jessica held on to each other for support as they left the Great Hall to return to Gryffindor Tower. Jimmy Peakes followed behind, thinking only of collapsing in Demelza's arms and allowing her to pet and coo over him to her heart's content. She gave the best back rubs.

"Those tests were tough," Dennis commented sadly. "I'll never be admitted."

"Oh come on, Denny. You were wonderful," Jessica said to encourage him. "Don't underestimate yourself—you're original DA and one hell of a dueller. And you fly like the wind. Remember who trained you."

"And you _lead_ the resurrected Defence Association, mate," Jimmy filled in. "I think you'll make it, no trouble at all."

Dennis gave his friend and his girlfriend an appreciative look. "How did you do, Jess?"

"I have no idea. Those Auror exams were nothing like school ones. Several interruptions, physical challenges, return to the written exam until we were interrupted by a surprise attack and had to duel, hoping a stray hex wouldn't incinerate our parchments…unreal!"

"They want to find out if we can meet the challenges of the unexpected," Jimmy mused.

"I'd guess so, too," Dennis agreed.

"We'll see on Monday if any of us are deemed worthy of the Auror Training Programme," Jessica said. "Mum was a bit worried about my pursuing a career with the Aurors, and I haven't even told her I've applied for the Broombornes."

"There's one good thing with being Muggleborn: My parents don't really know what an Auror is," Dennis chuckled. The other two joined him in his mirth, which helped lift their spirits a little bit. Laughing and talking, they reached the portrait guarding the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, where they witness an awful sight. The Pink Lady had somehow managed to coerce a few other portrait subjects to visit hers for a cultural experience. She was singing—or was that howling—part of a song telling the epic story of the medieval wizard Reginald Runt and his persistent courtship of Cornelia the Chaste of Caithness.

The Pink Lady's off-key rendition of the tale had just begun to tell of Reginald's ordeal to reach Cornelia's home by foot in the middle of winter, without using magic, to prove his love and resolve. The visiting portraits stayed grudgingly awake due only to the deafening screeching and caterwauling of their hostess. With smiles of relief, they noticed the arrival of the Gryffs and quickly made the Pink Lady aware of their presence.

"You interrupted me," she said with an annoyed voice. The visiting portraiture covertly placed fingers in their ears as if to clear the noise from their eardrums, some of them even slapping themselves upside the head in hopes of removing the horrid memory from their oil and canvas brains.

"I'm sorry, madam, but we're so tired, we just want to go inside," Dennis said, trying to sound as apologetic and respectful as he could. "Mischief and Mayhem!"

"That truly is a ridiculous password," the Pink Lady huffed as she bowed her head and opened the portrait. Once her charges stepped inside and closed the portrait hole, the Pink Lady discovered much to her chagrin that her guests had used the interruption as an opportunity to retreat to their respective frames. "But you haven't heard the end of the story of Reginald and Cornelia!"

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Ron stepped through the door of the Burrow to the smells of his mother's cooking. "Mum, that smells glorious," he boomed, bending down to kiss her cheek. "Is that Beef Wellington?"

"You're in a fine mood this evening," Molly chuckled, reaching up to cup her youngest son's cheek. "Supper will be ready in a few minutes. Why don't you call your father? Hermione's upstairs working on that law the Hogwarts students drew up."

"Right, Mum." Ron replied. "But shouldn't she have at least helped you with supper?"

"Oh, she did her part, dear," Molly said. "She baked you a lovely chocolate cake all by herself…with a little bit of supervision, of course."

"Mum, you'll make a gourmet out of her yet," he grinned. He strode from the kitchen into the sitting room to find his father asleep in his chair next to the wireless, his chin on his chest. "Dad? Dad!"

"Huh? Wha— Is someone hurt," Arthur cried with a start. "Oh, it's you, Ronnie."

"Yeah, Dad. It's me. Supper's almost ready," the red-haired Auror replied, still grinning. "Mum says to get washed up. I still need to tear my lovely bookworm from her work."

"Run along then," Arthur said, rising from his chair with a groan and a few pops of his joints. _Not quite the dashing chevalier you once were, are you, Weasley, old chap?_

"'Mione," Ron called as he mounted the stairs. "Supper!" He continued his climb to the fifth floor, where he found his wife spread out across their bed with parchments and books scattered hither and yon.

"Hello, handsome," she beamed. "How went the exams?"

"I'll tell you later," Ron replied, helping her off the bed. "Supper first…and then I thought we'd take a ride on the old Harley."

"Ooh, that sounds like fun," she purred. As much as she fussed about the dangers of motorcycle travel, she had to admit that she loved to sit on the back of Ron's bike and wrap herself around his hard muscular body as they flew down the road…or over it, as the case may be.

Talk around the table touched on the examinations at Hogwarts, but Ron refused to say anything other than they went well and they had a strong group of applicants to choose from. Unfortunately, they could take only twelve, so there would be eight disappointed students; however, the new Auror Corps couldn't afford to put inept people in the field under any circumstances. Physical agility and duelling skills were only part of the package; anyone not able to endure the rigours of snap decision-making or even the remotest aptitude to learn to lead could not enter the tough training programme they had conceived of.

After supper, Hermione and Ron cleared away and then bade the elder Weasleys good night, as they weren't sure when or if they'd be back. Hermione quickly packed an overnight bag just in case they did decide to spend the night at a country bed and breakfast inn. While the evening air was pleasant in southwest England in May, it still got a bit chilly at night, so there would be no sleeping under the stars for a while yet.

Hermione's heart leapt when Ron mounted the Shovelhead-powered chopper and slammed his weight down on the starter. The bike roared to life and then idled at a steady growl. "Come on, Love! Hop on!"

Shrinking the overnight bag and stuffing it in the pocket of her fringed leather jacket, she swung a denim-clad leg over the elevated section of the seat, wrapped her arms around her husband's torso and set her booted feet on the rests. "Ready," she shouted over the engine noise. She squealed as Ron gunned the engine and they took off toward the main road leading into the village of Ottery St-Catchpole and beyond.

As they passed Ionúin Bhaille, they noticed only faint light glowing through the oddly-shaped windows of Harry's study. Ron was sure Harry was poring over the pages of notes he'd taken during applicant interviews. The exam scores were pretty straightforward, but it was the interviews that Harry was most concerned with. The applicants' answers to the questions would be the most-telling as to who would actually make it as an Auror.

It was rather difficult to talk over the engine and the wind blowing past them, so Ron and Hermione Weasley were content to just ride in silence, just revelling in one another's presence and touch. They'd ridden for about two hours when Ron pulled into a roadhouse of sorts with a sign that indicated they had rooms to let for the night.

"You need to dismount first, Love," Ron instructed. "Then I'll cut the engine and set the stand."

Hermione swung herself off the bike and waited for Ron to secure it for the night. He'd no sooner than set the kickstand when Hermione leapt into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. "I want you now, Ronald Weasley," she growled. "Naked and in a bed. You have ten minutes, and then I tear that leather jacket off you and shred your clothes!"

"All right, Love," Ron chuckled as she tried to unbuckle his belt. "Can we at least _hire_ the bed first?"

"Make it quick or we're going to put on quite a show for the clientèle of the pub," she giggled. "I climaxed twice on the way here." Ron closed his eyes and groaned at the possibilities.

_Thanks to Phillip for his contribution to the list of nicknames for Alastor Gumboil-Gumblebutt. Another gem!_


	52. Chapter 52 Unexpected News

**Chapter 52 – Unexpected news**

_A/N Dear readers._

_This short chapter will consist of only an Author's Note._

_It's with great sadness I have to tell you that my co-author Ghostchicken has passed away May 26th. We got to know each other through fanfic when she reviewed the first story I wrote, Death Eaters Quest. And we became friends. When we thought about a sequel to DEQ we merged my post-DH world with the characters Fiona, Gallatea, Jayce and Rook Holler that GC had created, but not yet included in a story. We decided to co-write the sequel, this story. In January this year I went to the States for the first time in my life to visit her and her husband. She became like a sister to me._

_I know how much GC hated abandoned stories, so to avoid her coming back to haunt me I'll finish this story, and most likely I will continue writing the 19 year saga we've begun since I absolutely love writing these stories. The final part of Right of Justice will be the story as we planned it, but it will lose the unique writing she added to our story. I think that those of you who have followed our story will see exactly what's not there. I hope you'll appreciate the story anyway. I also hope you'll have understanding that it might take some time yet before the next chapter is finished._

_Warmest regards to you all_

_Justanothermuggle_


	53. Chapter 53 Modus Operandi Part II

_A/N Here it is finally, the next chapter of Harry Potter and the Right of Justice. It's been a very difficult chapter for me to write. The first two months after GC's passing I didn't even try, even if I knew I would finish the story. After that I tried for a couple of times without much success. This story has been truly co-written and losing GC has been like having one leg cut off and trying to keep walking. Those who have followed this story will probably notice what's not there anymore—the unique writing and the spirit GC added to this story. The rest of this story will follow the synopsis GC and I created as we set out to write this story. But much of the details and side plots happen as a chapter is written._

_I want to thank all of you who posted words of encouragement, sent condolences and offered to help. I know I haven't been responding all of you but I have read them all, and I've really appreciated it._

_I also want to thank Theelderwand for editing this chapter and for his invaluable thoughts, ideas and feedback. Without him this chapter wouldn't have been finished._

_One thing I am looking for is someone who would be willing to help me with everything related to Rook Holler. I'm an British English speaking Swede and couldn't even begin to write anything credible about Rook Holler, or even proper Fiona-speech. This was totally GC's terratory. So if you're someone who knows the Appalachian culture and can help me with translating Fiona's (and other Rook Holler residents') dialogue from British English to Fiona-speech, please send me a PM._

_I hope you'll enjoy the chapter. And since I'm unlikely to finish another chapter before Christmas I wish you all a very Harry Christmas in advance._

_JAM_

**Chapter 53 – Modus Operandi Part II**

With a soft "pop", four people appeared out of thin air, right next to a field of barley in Somerset. Holding hands, Harry and Ginny and Ron and Hermione, took in their surroundings. The landscape was breathtakingly beautiful, as was The Prewetts' home. It was a timber-framed wattle and daub house with a water reed thatched roof. In the back was Heather's rose garden, all surrounded by a dry stone wall. A cat rested peacefully on the steps by the entrance, casually observing the hens.

"This place is amazing!" Ginny said.

"And there's smoke coming out of the chimney, I think I smell scones," Ron noted.

"I smell the roses," Hermione huffed. "But your nose is probably selective, only perceiving the smell of food."

It was still early spring, but with a few gardening spells Heather made sure there were roses blooming in her garden every season except winter.

"C'mon, let's go and see the Prewetts," Harry urged them. "If we're lucky we can enjoy the scones in the rose garden."

Ginny smiled at her husband. _Very diplomatic, Love._

_Occasionally, I can pull that off_, he responded through their bond.

Harry was probably right. It was a beautiful spring day and it wasn't necessary to cast a heating charm on their clothes to enjoy tea in the garden. The Quartet approached the porch just as Desmond appeared in the doorway. He knew the famous guests were close friends with his daughters and he'd met them before, but he still felt a bit in awe at the thought of seeing the country's four most famous witches and wizards on his doorstep.

"Welcome," he greeted. "Heather is just about ready in the kitchen. It'll be some tea and scones in the garden."

Ron grinned at his wife, once his sense of smell was proven infallible, even at such a great distance. Hermione just rolled her eyes.

"Thank you Mr Prewett," Harry said.

"Desmond, please."

"Good," Harry replied. "There are times and places for formalities and titles, but I personally prefer if they're as short and few as possible."

"Really Chief Baron Lord Potter?" Ron grinned sarcastically.

"You're just jealous because you're the only one of us without a fancy title," Ginny said.

"He can have mine for all I care," Harry huffed.

"It's a pleasure to see you again Desmond," Hermione said, ignoring the banter.

"We're very happy to have you here. You mean so much to our girls."

Desmond directed them to the rose garden where Heather had set a table. When she appeared from the kitchen, she met them all with a warm smile.

"Please be seated," Heather told them and flicked her wand to summon scones, jam, clotted cream, milk and a steaming pot of tea. "Please help yourselves."

They all got seated and were soon enjoying everything Heather had prepared. The conversation covered the Prewett twins' success as Chasers, and Hermione told them about her recent visit to Hogwarts for the meeting with Professor Bones. Both Heather and Desmond expressed their gratitude for the friendship between the Golden Quartet and their daughters. It had, according to the Prewetts, greatly inspired Emma and Erica to do their best at Hogwarts.

"They're doing fine, of course they're not as academically gifted as Patricia, but they'll earn their OWLs and NEWTs, I'm sure of it," Desmond concluded. "And they've become very good Chasers for Gryffindor, much because of the inspiration you are to them Ginny."

"Dennis is doing a great job with the team," Ginny said. "Harry and I gave him a few pointers and encouragement. With Joseph, Emma and Erica joining the team this year they're a good mix of young enthusiasm and experience provided by Jimmy, Demelza, Jessica and Dennis."

"Too bad for Erica they're not eight in the team though, so she could get a boyfriend," Ron grinned "I mean, Emma and Joe, JP and Demelza, Dennis and Jess..."

"Erica tells us in her letters that both she and Patricia are quite happy about not having boyfriends," Heather assured them.

"So they can take the Mickey out of the others no doubt," Harry assumed.

"Definitely," Desmond agreed. "Breaking curfew to sneak out to the Astronomy Tower for a good snog session should result in some friendly but cheeky remarks."

"Speaking from experience, are we?" Ginny asked impishly.

"We were never caught and bruise remover took care of the love bites," Heather revealed with a nostalgic smile, as she thought back to the days of hers and Desmond's Hogwarts romance.

The pleasant chatting continued for a while until Harry decided they had to get down to business. Along with some pointers from Hermione he and Ron had planned how to present their plan to the Prewetts without actually telling them that it was all a plan—an unsanctioned and essentially illegal plan—to set up Gumboil. Ginny had been offering some on her non-Auror perspective but had otherwise little to do with the strategy . Nonetheless her opinions were valuable. She'd come along partially because she thought it was nice to meet the Prewetts again, but also to keep up appearances in case they were spotted. This was after all supposed to look like a social call rather than Auror business.

"I guess you must be curious why we asked to come here today," Harry stated.

"Well, to tell you the truth Harry, we suspect there's more to it than enjoying my wife's rose garden and scones."

"There is," Harry confirmed and carefully weighed his words. "As you know there've been several attacks against Pureblood families and not only the traditional Slytherin ones."

"Yes, we heard about the attack on the MacMillan's. Why on earth would someone attack them?" Heather asked. "I mean it's terrible and all, but I can understand why the anti-Pureblood activists would consider attacking the families that were close to Voldemort."

"There seems to be a shift among the activists from a general hostility toward the Slytherin Purebloods to Purebloods in general," Harry started.

"Yes, it's been coming for months," Hermione continued. "The demands of abolishing the inherited seats last autumn was directed at all Purebloods and since then anti-Pureblood speech has been put into violent action, not only in pub brawls, but outright attacks."

"What does this have to do with us," Desmond asked. "Specifically, I mean. Obviously we belong to an old wizarding family..."

"Both cousin Fiona and your daughters have over the course of this year heard comments about being Prewetts, referring to their relationship with Mafalda Prewett."

"Oh Merlin's stubborn old goat," Desmond sighed. "You're saying that since we've been spared thus far you think we sooner rather than later might be the targets for one of these attacks."

Harry was happy that Desmond came to this conclusion on his own; it made the whole deal easier.

"Yes, and we've had indications from friendly ears in the street that there are still those favouring Mafalda Prewett roaming about," Ron said. "But after her capture and trial they've been silent."

"But with these attacks they're likely to retaliate and that might make us a target in return, just because we're Prewetts," Desmond offered.

"We can't exclude that risk, and we'd like to keep your place under surveillance in an attempt to arrest these criminals," Harry said. "We can't have people posted around every Pureblood home in Britain, so we must try to pre-empt by concentrating our efforts in key locations."

"You have our permission," Desmond said after getting an approving nod form Heather.

"Good," Harry said. "Hermione has come up with something brilliant to keep you safe in case of an attack."

"Yes, I've devised a way to trigger a portkey in the event of an attempt at breaching your wards," Hermione said proudly. "We'll equip you with portkeys that you can wear like a necklace. In case of an attack the portkeys are activated, taking you to a safe location before any assailants can put up anti-portkey or anti-apparation spells."

"That's really something," Desmond said in awe.

Hermione had come up with the idea when she and Ron had watched reruns of Star Trek on telly at her parents. Beaming people out of trouble seemed like a good idea, and she'd set out to achieve the same result using magic. It may have sounded simple the way she'd described it, but in reality it was a very delicate piece of charms work. Mucking about with magic that transported people could have disastrous results. In fact Hermione's first attempt had been on a ham sandwich that ended up as a smouldering lump of ashes in the outer Hebrides. Hermione couldn't be sure if Ron was more disturbed by the spell's failure or the loss of the sandwich. It wasn't until she'd talked to Kreacher about the way House elves were able to apparate through wards that she was able to successfully trigger the port key without causing any destructive side effects. When Hermione had been praised for her success she'd simply pointed out that the only thing stopping anyone else from achieving it was the predominant view in the wizarding world that House elves were inferior, and the answer had been found in understanding a bit of elf magic. _Yeah, that and your natural talent for manipulating spells_, Ron had thought before snogging her silly that same evening. To avoid the lengthy process of making her magic officially approved of by the Ministry, Harry and Arthur had decided to make it part of the highly secretive arsenal available only to the Aurors. After the first successful test with a person, Kingsley had agreed; this was the first time it would be put to use.

"We'll talk to the Templetons," Heather said. "I'm sure they'd agree to let their home be our portkeys' destination in case of an attack."

"Hiding in the Muggle world is probably the last thing the Anti-purebloods would think you'd do," Ginny said.

"All right," Harry concluded, "as soon as you've checked with the Templetons, Hermione will equip you with the portkeys, which you'll wear at all times. We'll post Aurors around your properties, with the mission to guard the perimeter. You won't notice them—and if you do please let me know because then they need to improve their skills in concealment—and they won't invade your privacy."

After Ron had a few more scones while the others finished their tea it was time to say goodbye. Harry was pleased with the result of the meeting and felt confident they were on the way to revealing Gumboil for the criminal mastermind he was sure the old Hit-wizard was.

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Dennis entered the classroom he'd been given for the DA lessons. The students were already gathered, and looked at their leader with curious expressions since the Headmistress was accompanying him. Although Professor McGonagall had approved of the DA as a school club she had never before attended any of the sessions .

"All right you lot, listen up," Dennis said calling everyone to attention. "As you see, our Headmistress is here this evening. Professor McGonagall, please," Dennis stepped back and joined Jessica among the students.

"In this room we have all the students who took the test to join the Auror Training Programme in  
September. Today the Head Auror and the Assistant Head Auror are here to reveal who are admitted. Please welcome our guests."

The door swung open and the three wizards entered. They wore something never before seen  
in Wizarding Britain. It looked like a simplified version of dress robes. They were black with some of the Auror maroon colour in the details. On their chests Harry and Ron wore their Auror badges, and their Orders of Merlin in gold, denoting First Class. Harry also had a gold star insignia on his shoulder, collar and sleeve. Ron's insignia was a silver star. Behind them was Auror Thompson also dressed up in the impressive looking robes, with his Auror badge and two stylized wands in gold embroidery as his insignia. This marked his rank as a Senior Auror. The students jaws dropped at the sight and Professor McGonagall couldn't hold back one of her rare smiles. The classroom was dead silent as the Aurors reached the Headmistress.

"I have to say, you two never cease to amaze me," Professor McGonagall said. "Would you care to answer the unspoken question we all have on our minds?"

"Certainly, Madame Headmistress," Harry replied with a slight bow and turned to the students. "As you know we're making changes in the way Aurors work, train and organize. Today is the first admittance to this new Auror Corps, and we deemed it worthy of being the first time we wear our Auror Dress Robes. From now on we have one uniform in the field, and this one for formal occasions."

The idea came from Jayce of course, since the military had a long tradition of field uniforms and dress uniforms. And the idea of insignias wasn't new to the British wizards since badges were used to mark rank both at the Ministry and at Hogwarts. Along with Dean they'd created the Gold, Silver and Bronze stars for the Commander, Lieutenant Commander and Lieutenants. The two wands insignia stood for Senior Auror and one wand for a Junior. The Cadet insignia was a silver embroidered wand. Once the cadets advanced to the status of interns they'd get a two wand silver insignia. Broomborne Aurors would also wear their special badge just over their Auror badge, the crossed wand and broom. Cadet badges were silver and after the Auror exam the badge was upgraded to gold, stating name and rank. Auror Thompson carried a platter with silver badges, wand insignia and three Broomborne badges.

"Auror Thompson will now read the names of the twelve students admitted to the Auror Training  
Programme. Come forward when your name is called to accept your badge and insignia. In the event you have changed your mind about becoming an Auror, you will instead be presented a certificate confirming that you were found qualified for the training but honourably declined," Harry said, implying the seriousness of the rigorous training and commitment it meant to be an Auror.

Dennis felt nervous beads of sweat forming on his forehead. In fact, he was so apprehensive that he wasn't aware of the first names being called. His hand sought Jessica's and he instantly relaxed, feeling her hand in his.

"From the House of Slytherin, Jason Felton," Auror Thompson called. This was the first name Dennis had actually heard as he saw the seemingly stunned Slytherin approach Harry and Ron to accept his badge and insignia. Aurors from Slytherin weren't common, and the last one had been decades before the rise of Modern Dark Arts during the Grindelwald era.

A few names later Jessica whispered to Dennis that only three remained. "The Broombornes, it has to be, since no one so has been accepted as a Broomborne Cadet," she added.

"Our last three Cadets took an extra test for the Broomborne squadron. Apart from being accepted to the Auror Training Programme by Chief Potter, they've also been approved by Lieutenant Chang for this special unit," Andrew Thompson declared. "And the first one is Ravenclaw Seeker and Seventh year student Michael Ash." A proud looking wizard approached Harry and Ron.

"He's a great Seeker, almost as good as you Dennis," Jessica whispered while the Ravenclaw accepted his badges and insignia.

The classroom was dead silent as Auror Thompson spoke again. "The next member of the Broomborne Squad is also a Seeker, but for the House of Gryffindor. Dennis Creevey, please come forth."

Dennis squeezed Jessica's hand and walked the few steps to approach Harry and Ron.

"Congratulations Cadet Creevey," Harry said, handing him a silver badge. Dennis accepted it and the words _Dennis Creevey, Broomborne Auror Cadet _appeared.

"You may wear your badges on your Hogwarts Robes, Cadet Creevey," Ron told him and offered him the insignia and the Broombourne badge. "And once your Cadet robes are issued in September you'll attach the insignia to them."

"Yes sir, thank you sir," Dennis said looking at both Harry and Ron before returning to his place. He could hardly believe he was admitted, but the badges clutched in his hand reminded him that it was true.

"And for last, our final cadet and member of the Broomborne Squadron, another member of the House of Gryffindor, Jessica Spinnet," Auror Thompson announced.

Jessica felt a similar feeling as Dennis had approaching Harry and Ron. After the formalities, Harry leaned in and whispered to Jessica, "Alicia will be proud of you."

The ceremony ended to raucous applause for the Auror Cadets. Then Harry raised his hand to call for attention.

"After your normal warm up Ron and I will return to give you your first lesson in the Patronus Charm," Harry revealed. "Although its primary use is to protect against the former Azkaban guards, Dementors, who our Minister has banished from Wizarding Britain, it's also a very handy way of sending a message. Using your Patronus as messengers may come in handy for any wizard or witch, while using it against Dementors is something our future Aurors might have to do in order to defend our nation against Dark Arts. Dennis, please."

With this the Aurors left the classroom along with the Headmistress.

Two hours later the Spawn was gathered in the Gryffindor common room. They all felt emotionally drained, both from the happiness they all felt for Dennis and Jessica being admitted for Auror Training, but also from practising the Patronus Charm. The two Cadets proudly wore their new badges, Dennis next to the Quidditch Captain badge and Jessica next to her Prefect badge.

"Is anyone surprised that Patricia was the most successful, or should we say least miserable, at casting the Patronus?" Jimmy asked.

"That's stating the obvious," Dennis agreed.

"All I did was spraying mist with my wand," Patricia said with a factual tone in her voice.

"A mist taking an undefined creature-like form," Demelza added.

"The key word is _undefined_," Patricia claimed, trying to downplay her accomplishment.

"C'mon Templeton, you're ruddy brilliant. You can disillusion yourself, you did loads better than anyone else in DA with the Patronus and you're in second year," Dennis said, praising his gifted friend. "Not even Hermione could disillusion herself in her second year."

"Well, I couldn't even begin brewing Polyjuice potion," Patricia replied.

"I bet you could," Emma said

"If we broke into the restricted section to get the Potions book..." Erica continued.

"... and broke into Professor Slughorn's storage..." Emma went on.

"... and kept it all hidden from Peeves so he wouldn't announce it to everyone..."

"Well, there's no reason to put that theory to the test anyway," Patricia broke in and changed the subject. "Harry thought we all did great with the Patronus. Everyone at least managed to get vapours from their wands. And it was great to have lessons with Harry and Ron again."

"Yeah, I agree," Jessica said. "Professor Watson isn't a bad teacher in Defence, but he is a bit... poncey, isn't he?"

The others giggled at her remark. And true enough Professor Watson was the ponciest Professor since Gilderoy Lockhart, but he'd taught the year before Demelza and Jimmy had started at Hogwarts.

"I'm glad Fiona saw through his charm so quickly, she's way better off with Seamus," Emma concluded.

"Will you have to address Finnegan as _sir_ from now on?" Demelza asked Dennis and Jessica with a cheeky grin.

"Are you daft? He'd hex us on pure principle for doing that," Dennis replied. "Last year when he taught he managed to have the students call him Mr Finnegan, even if he'd preferred Seamus."

"But they seem to have increased discipline within the Auror Corps, and the use of titles," Patricia said.

"In Auror Training it's one thing, but there's not a snowballs' chance in a dragon's cave Seamus would have us call him _sir_ in the corridors outside training or Auror duty," Dennis said. "Now I have to write a letter to my parents, telling them the happy news that Jessica and I were admitted."

"Have you told them yet exactly what an Auror is?" Jessica smirked.

"Um, no, not really," Dennis said with a slight blush. "How do I explain to them I'll be trained to deal with Dark Arts, giants, trolls and various dark creatures they don't even believe exist?"

"Haven't you told them about our world?" Emma asked.

"Of course I have, but accepting that I'm a wizard is one thing and taking in that everything they grew up believing to be fairy tales actually being true is a hippogriff of another colour. Right Pats?"

"Oh yes, my mum knew about the wizarding world but just seeing Kreacher on Harry's and Ginny's wedding day took some explaining. And understanding that Murray is intelligent and understands her when she tells him to take a letter to me is hard for her to grasp. Imagine her seeing a dragon or a troll..." Patricia agreed stopping herself before she began lecturing about Muggle-Wizard relations.

"My problem is to tell my parents without worrying them too much since they know just the dangers involved with being an Auror," Jessica said. "I'll join you Dennis and I'll write my letter too."

"Don't snog too much." Jimmy smirked as the couple left. "Since that's what you end up doing despite all the pretence."

"No worries JP," Jessica said as she dragged Dennis off. "It's simply not possible to snog Dennis too much."

With a wide grin Dennis turned to the six remaining Spawns mouthing _That's my girl._

hphphphphphphphphphphphphphp 

It was Monday morning and the coming week would be a busy one. Ginny would play her last match in the regular season and a win would earn them a place in the final against the Kestrals. The Falmouth Falcons and the Magpies still had a chance to reach the final too. But after their penalties the Magpies hadn't performed as well as in the beginning of the season and they played against the Falcons in their last match. The odds favoured the Falcons, but they still wouldn't reach the final if the Harpies could beat the Caerphilly Catapults in a Welsh duel. The Catapults was in the middle of the league, but always eager to beat the Harpies.

Harry and Ron would be busy setting up the surveillance at the Prewetts and a few other locations and make plans for their fake Mafalda riot. Hermione would present Dobby's Law before the Wizengamot. The text she wanted legislated wasn't very long, but the research she'd added as an appendix to her resolution was, even by Hermione's standards, extensive. It involved both countless examples from Wizarding history and references to the declaration of Human Rights as well as animal protection laws in the Muggle world. All in all she'd tried to counter every conceivable argument against Dobby's Law in her research with practical examples and flawless logic. Still she thought there would be a heated debate and significant resistance in the Wizengamot before the vote.

Harry entered the Auror Office a few minutes before his shift started. A number of memos flew in while the door was open. _The ruddy things must have secret passageways to get around the Ministry, they can't rely just on the when doors happen to be open_. In the corridor he saw Chang, Bonesy and Lav giggling about something.

"Ladies," Harry greeted them.

"Chief," the trio replied.

"Any particular reason for being so cheerful this morning other than being back for another wonderful week at work?" Harry asked with an impish glee.

"Cho finally did it," Bonesy said, all too eager to share whatever they'd been talking about.

"What, pull out of the Wronski Feint without becoming a human plough?" Harry asked.

"No she told her boyfriend she's a witch," Lav said.

"Oh, so you're really serious about him?" Harry assumed turning to Cho.

"Yes, I am," Cho huffed, surrendering to the fact that her burgeoning relationship with her Muggle was all over the Auror grapevine. "And I can handle the Wronski Feint just fine."

"How did your Muggle take it?" Harry asked curiously. "Did he freak out?"

"He's very calm; he's an Analyst for crying out loud," Cho said.

"Bat those eyes of yours, some love potion, show him a Witch Weekly that boasts you're the second most beautiful witch in Britain and he's yours forever Lotus," Bonesy teased

"Or let him see you duel and tell him that's what you'll do to him if he ever would think of breaking up. After telling him you know Legilimency and can read his mind he'll be yours forever," Lavender grinned.

"If that's your approach to blokes it's no wonder you're both single," Cho replied.

Lavender and Susan looked at each other. Susan spoke first, "I've got nothing…"Lavender turned to Cho. "This round goes to you, Lotus."

"So, when are you inviting him for an After Wand at the Leaky so we get the chance to meet him?" Harry asked.

"Once I've properly warned him sufficiently about each one of you," Cho said.

Later that day Harry was happy about the result they'd accomplished. They'd scheduled Aurors and a few MLE Squads to keep their eyes open in several key locations, in the hopes of catching the Anti-Pureblood activists. Harry and Ron had talked about their strategy and conducting Auror work in such a way that they didn't depend on their black op. If possible Harry wanted to avoid it, even if Jayce reminded him that it existed in every government around the world. Harry could see the benefit, but in his eyes, at best it bordered on justifying dubious actions _for the greater good_. Dumbledore's worst mistake was definitely something Harry wanted to avoid. Even with their plans to provoke an attack, they might still get lucky by being in the right place at the right time. In any case they were still waiting for any word from old Dung about a meeting they could disrupt by mounting a fake attack praising Mafalda.

Harry leaned back in his chair, as he reflected on the day. Then he raised his eyes to Ron. "You were going to the Grangers this evening?" Harry asked.

"Yes, they know someone who's moving from London to York, and they have a flat Hermione and I might get." Ron explained.

Harry looked pleasantly surprised hearing this news. He knew Ron and Hermione had been looking for a place of their own, without much luck so far. _Everything seems to happen this week. I just hope we can catch Gumbutt red handed as well._

Harry cocked an eyebrow at his best mate. "You sure Hermione is up to flat hunting two

days before she has to present Dobby's Law to the Geezergamot? " Harry was only too familiar

with Hermione's habit of burying herself in books and parchments in order to prepare for something

like this.

"She's actually quite relaxed about presenting it. I think she's confident the work she's done won't be improved by going all _Hermione_ these last few days." Ron said.

"She's finally starting to show the same confidence in herself as we've done from our first year at Hogwarts then." Harry grinned "I know she'll be brilliant. You know she'll be brilliant and I'm glad she's not thinking she'll be the laughing stock of the Ministry."

"Yeah, she truly believed she'd get a T in her Ancient Runes NEWT," Ron remembered, smiling at the thought of his brilliant wife and her confidence dips.

"Where's the flat then?" Harry asked.

"You're asking me? It's a Muggle area, but I remember the name wasn't all that different from the Burrow."

Harry was thinking about different parts of London and which one Ron could be thinking of. "Borough? Barnet? Harrow?" Harry listed when Ron interrupted him.

"Harrow, that's it. The flat is in Harrow. Harrow, Burrow, that's pretty close, isn't it?" Ron said. "Anyway, it's almost time to go to Paradise and meet the Ministry's most beautiful witch."

"Hermione would be jealous if she knew you said that about Selma," Harry grinned.

"Prat," Ron snorted with a chuckle. "Anyway, what's your plans for today with Ginny gone and all?"

"I've invited mum and dad for supper at IB," Harry revealed "Kreacher is making a few preparations and then we'll cook together. He's teaching me cooking spells."

"Kreacher?" Ron asked in surprise.

"He's an excellent cook, you know that."

"I know, but I didn't know he was a good teacher though," Ron replied.

"He takes great pride in helping me Ron," Harry said.

"Well, it's nice of you to give mum a break. I'd better be off now or 'Mione'll have kittens. You know how she gets if I'm late."

"Yeah, and I know you if you're not fed in time. And I need to go home too."

The two Aurors left their office and Harry took the stairs to the Apparation point in the Atrium on level eight. With a pop he disapparated to Ionúin Bhaille. A few minutes later he entered the kitchen where Kreacher was busy preparing supper. Harry had decided to make his favourite Shepherd's pie and Treacle tart for dessert. After a quick shower Harry joined the house elf and carefully supervised by Kreacher Harry made the mashed potatoes for the pie and went on until everything was in the oven. With a flick of his wand he set the table. It was ten minutes until Molly and Arthur would arrive.

The fire place erupted in green flames and moments later Molly and Arthur stepped into Harry's and Ginny's kitchen. They'd had it built in a similar style as the Burrow, since they both felt that's the way a kitchen should look. Molly looked at her all-but-adopted eighth child and smiled. "Harry dear," she said and gave him one of her infamous hugs "I smell Shepherd's pie."

"Blimey mum, your nose is as fine-tuned as Ron's," Harry smiled.

"You're all right son?" Arthur asked, obviously referring to Ginny's absence.

"Yes, Ginny and I are comfortable with her being on the road by now. And Kreacher and I have had a great time. Didn't we Kreacher?"

"Harry is a fast learner, making Kreacher's task of teaching Harry cooking spells very easy," the elf replied.

"You're actually the first ones other than Ginny to try my cooking," Harry revealed to Arthur and Molly. "Cooking with magic that is, since I had to do it the Muggle way while I lived with the Durselys."

"Have you heard anything from that cousin of yours recently?" Arthur asked, knowing Harry had no contact at all with his aunt and uncle, but was on speaking terms with Dudley.

"I know he's busy training to become a police officer, but I haven't actually heard anything from him other than a Christmas card. Ginny and I sent one to him and Penny as well. Maybe I should invite him to watch Ginny's match? After all they really enjoyed Quidditch the last time."

"Sounds like a good idea," Molly agreed.

With a glance at the kitchen clock, which showed the time as well as Ginny's, Harry's and Teddy's whereabouts Harry realised the pie was ready "Now, please be seated and I'll serve you supper," Harry said.

"Do you need any help Harry?" Molly asked.

"Mum, you're a guest today. Sit down," Harry urged her with a friendly but commanding tone, and with a wave of his hand he opened the oven and levitated the pie to the table. He definitely needed his wand for cooking, but basic levitation and other simple spells he cast wandlessly without effort. As displayed during the Duelling Tournament his wandless magic also included stunners and a few other spells.

"C'mon Molly, let Harry pamper you. You constantly spoil us all and today it's your turn to be spoiled," Arthur grinned and Harry nodded in agreement. Kreacher pulled out the chair and offered Molly to sit down. "Our boys have jokes about the Burrow as the hive, and you being the Queen Bee after all."

Molly could only smile at Arthur's joke as she took her seat. Before long supper was served and Molly looked impressed. She had her first bite. "This is really good Harry. Delicious," she said thoroughly impressed.

"Thank you mum. It's just a simple supper, but I guess it's also one way for me to thank you."

"Thank me?" Molly asked "What for?"

"For all you and dad have done for me over the years," Harry said. "It felt like the right thing to do."

"There's no need to thank..."

"I know." Harry interrupted,"And it's when there's no need it really matters. You've told me dad how I've saved the Weasleys, but you also saved me and I've never really thanked you for that."

"A roof over your head, a bed crammed into Ron's room and some decent food," Molly argued "That's just common decency."

"There's nothing common about what you've given me mum. You gave me a home, Percy kept us in line even if we didn't appreciate it at the time, Fred and George always encouraged me to go on, Ron's simply the best and also saved me from drowning and Ginny is my life. I didn't get to know Bill and Charlie until later, but Charlie put his arse on the line to take care of Norberta by bringing her to Romania back in our first year and Bill has the scars to prove his willingness to fight for the family in which he includes me. He was the first of the Weasley brethren to call me _brother,_" Harry argued "You've given me much more than some place to sleep and some food mum."

"Ron saved you from drowning?" Arthur asked.

"Yes he did, during the war. Without Ron—and Hermione as well of course—Voldemort's dark magic would've killed me." Harry said. "You should've seen him standing up to..." Harry realised he'd almost told Molly and Arthur about the locket and the Horcrux Ron had killed. _I must be starting to move on since those terrible memories aren't haunting me as much as they used to do._ Looking at them he saw they were waiting for him to continue "Well, he stood up to Voldemort's dark arts, hell Voldemort himself, which pretty much meant facing a nightmare version of a boggart without the opportunity of simply using a Ridikkulus."

Molly and Arthur nodded in agreement. They didn't know what had happened during that year, but they'd seen the way Harry, Ron and Hermione had looked at Hogwarts, and they'd seen how that year had affected them.

"You know Harry, Kingsley gave the Order a briefing some time after the Battle, when we dissolved it in the hopes it wouldn't be needed again. He didn't go into any details, but he praised you three, and the Hogwarts resistance." Arthur said "When he told us you'd faced some of the darkest arts ever conceived he turned rather green in his face just thinking about it."

"Facing that must have made Ron the man he is today," Molly assumed "I mean, we saw him and Hermione standing alone in the centre of the Quidditch pitch last autumn facing that riot."

"I think you're right mum." Harry agreed.

The conversation soon drifted away from the war and soon Arthur and Harry were talking about the Quidditch championships and Ginny's chance to become rookie of the year. Molly preferred to trade household tips with Kreacher. She'd never thought it possible that she'd grow so fond of the old house elf, who'd been a grumpy bugger when they first met him at Grimmauld Place.

"By the way, what are yours and Harry's plans for the old house?" Molly asked.

"Harry is letting Kreacher remodel it. Harry wants the gloom gone, but preserving the old wizarding atmosphere," Kreacher revealed "Harry wants to keep the place, in case the Black family will emerge again, through young Teddy."

"That's very nice of him," Molly said.

After supper Harry and Kreacher served tea, and after that Molly and Arthur returned home. As it was such a nice evening, the Weasleys decided to walk the mile down the road to the Burrow. Once they left Kreacher told Harry to relax while he took care of the kitchen. Harry agreed, since he was rather stuffed and a bit tired.

hphphphphphphphphphphphphp

Harry and Hermione were waiting outside the Wizengamot chamber, dressed up in their plum robes. Inside in the spectators section Ron was sitting next to Helen and Richard. It was most unusual to have Muggles in the Chamber, but after checking with Madame Bones Ron had learned that Muggles who knew about the Wizarding world were indeed welcome to attend a Wizengamot session if they were in the company of a wizard or witch. Ron hadn't told Hermione that her parents were there and they were most thrilled to see their daughter presenting her proposed Dobby's Law. They were still learning about the wizarding world, and after their return from Australia they'd got somewhat used to Hermione doing magic in their home, and when they visited the Burrow. They were familiar with the way wizarding life was lived, but they knew very little about Hermione's position as a member of the Wizengamot. Next to the Grangers sat Molly and Arthur. Apart from the spectators there were only two people in the chamber so far. Percy was the usher and waited for the members of the Wizengamot to be let into the Chamber. Audrey Martin sat in the secretary's chair next to the podium where Chief Warlock Amelia Bones would preside over the session.

"Are you all right sis?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I think," Hermione said, clutching her beaded bag containing the research.

"Didn't Ron give you a new bag?" Harry asked.

"He did, but today the beaded bag felt right." Hermione said "I know it's worn, and rather ugly looking, but we've been through a lot together."

Harry chuckled. "So it's not because that bag is the only one sufficiently magically enlarged to contain all your research then?" he asked with a friendly grin, holding onto the parchment with the four-inch long text Hermione would be submitting, as well as the four-inch thick appendix that came along with it.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Have you actually read the work?"

"I'm voting in your favour anyway, you know that," Harry said.

"So you haven't read it," Hermione concluded, her brow furrowing in a mixture of scold and worry.

"Truthfully, I've browsed it," Harry revealed, and pointing to the parchment with the legal text he added "And I have read the actual proposed law. It's brilliant." He smiled, dropping her a wink.

She smiled back, a little nervously. As they'd queued up outside the Chamber, the snippets of

whispered conversation they overheard showed just how difficult the road to reform was going to

be.

"…bloody well treat my house elves as I choose…"

"…suppose we'll have to start serving our slaves tea and biscuits each day if this passes…"

"…shameful to befoul this Chamber with such a proposal…"

As Harry felt Hermione tense, he slipped his hand in hers and gave her a reassuring nod.

At the appointed time Percy gave his wand a wave and dimmed the light in the chamber, to create

a dramatic effect. The spectators were silent as the doors swung open. The witches and wizards of

the Wizengamot entered in good order. The last to take her place was the Chief Warlock herself,

Madame Bones. Reaching the podium she addressed the still standing members of the Wizengamot.

"Honoured witches and wizards, the Wizengamot is hereby in session. Please take your seats," She declared and struck the gavel. Everyone sat down and Madame Bones looked at her parchment listing the order of the day. "Our first speaker is Madame Black," she declared and looked at Hermione "You've already received a parchment titled Dobby's Law, and the appendix that goes with it. However, additional copies are available. Madame Black, please."

The members of the Wizengamot all put the parchment in front of them, and with a thud the

appendix next to it. All attention turned to Hermione as she stood up. She bit her lip overlooking

the crowd. Her eyes went first to the plum-clad members of the Chamber. More than a few faces

displayed open scorn, if not yet hostility. Many more looked apprehensive. But then she looked

to the spectators section, seeking Ron. The big redhead wasn't hard to spot and she smiled as she

saw him. Her smile grew wider when she saw her parents sitting next to her husband, as well as

Molly and Arthur. Then the tension she was feeling evaporated. _Ron, you deserve a good snog for_

_bringing my parents here today. _

Ron could see Hermione biting her lip and knew she was nervous. She'd put a tremendous amount

of work into Dobby's Law. It had all come down to this: a full-on challenge to ancient prejudices and Wizarding tradition. No matter the outcome Ron knew Hermione would be brilliant. She

always was.

"Honoured witches and wizards of the Wizengamot of Britain," Hermione began and turned to the spectators, "Gentlewizards, witches and non-magical spectators here present," Her last announcement caused the people in the Chamber to look curiously in the direction of the spectators,

but they kept their silence respecting the unwritten rules of conduct in the Wizengamot.

"The resolution before you today is called Dobby's Law, in honour of the brave house elf and dear friend who gave his life for our freedom." The tale of how Dobby had saved the Trio from certain death at Malfoy Manor was widely known, thanks to Hermione's efforts. But the details had never been fully brought to light. The Chamber's curiosity, if nothing else, helped to keep their undivided

attention.

"Dobby challenged his masters, he won his freedom, but he didn't turn from the Wizarding world that had enslaved him. He joined us when we ourselves were threatened by Tom Riddle's vision of Pureblood domination. Had Riddle succeeded many of us whom he deemed unworthy would have been made slaves or much worse. All of us here today can remember the horror of having friends and family members subjected to the evil of that vision."

That caused even the Pureblood members to shudder. Many of them who had kept their seats in the Wizengamot had cousins or friends who had disappeared or been imprisoned because of the Muggleborn Registration Commission.

"We all know how inherently wrong subservience and slavery are and we acknowledge that all of us, whether Pureblood or Muggleborn, are part of one magical family. But, even knowing that, we tend to be blind to our own prejudices." She took a breath as she continued. "From my fourth year at Hogwarts I've been an outspoken advocate for the better treatment, and the rights of magical creatures, primarily the house elves. As a society, we hail the term magical brethren, centaurs, goblins, house elves and Wizarding people, celebrating our shared magical roots. However, at the same time our society enslaves house elves and has fought several bloody wars against the goblins. While we've grudgingly acknowledged the intelligence of the centaurs, we still condescend to them as being little better than ferocious beasts, creatures that squander their nights looking at the stars and making no sense when they speak. If we truly—in good conscience—are to keep the phrase the magical brethren in our vocabulary it must mean something, or they're just empty words. Just as we fought against the enslavement of our friends and family, we should not allow the mistreatment of our magical brethren. What I propose here today is a law that would ensure the true vision of the magical brethren, by giving these sentient magical creatures rights in Wizarding law, making it possible to prosecute those who oppress, enslave, abuse or mistreat them."

Hermione made a short pause, taking time to look at the assembly. They were clearly listening, some were nodding in agreement with her introduction, others seemed to have a slight blush as if her speech so far had produced a feeling of bad conscience. The opposition she'd heard in the ante-

Chamber hadn't shown itself, yet.

For the next fifteen minutes, the chamber listened as Hermione spoke with power and enthusiasm. Her speech was one of flawless logic. She discussed how the Muggle world addressed equality and spoke eloquently of the various Muggle declarations concerning human rights as well as animal protection. Then, she gave historical examples of the treatment of centaurs, goblins and house elves, showing how Wizarding folk had treated them worse than their familiars or even their livestock. The fact that the Muggles showed more humanity in their laws was lost on no one although Hermione wisely never breathed a word comparing the two worlds.

"My goodness." Helen gasped in awe of her daughter's speech in a pause "She's... she..."

"She's brilliant," Richard filled in, lacking the proper words to express the pride he felt for

Hermione, but as soon her speech continued their attention was drawn back to the floor.

"In conclusion, as my appendix to this law clearly shows, I find it unworthy of a society claiming to be civilized to treat their brethren the way we have done in the past, and to a certain extent are still doing now." Then she paused slightly, her eyes glistening. "I want to return to where I began, with Dobby. I saw him die in Harry's arms, giving his life not only for his fellow house elves, but most directly for me, my husband Ron and my brother Harry."

Hermione caught Harry's eyes; tears were shining in the corners. He gave her a determined nod of support."Is the continued enslavement of house elves the thanks we're giving him? Centaurs and house elves fought alongside us at Hogwarts, and goblins played a crucial role in the defeat of Tom Riddle. Are we rewarding the efforts made and the blood spilt by our allies by allowing them to be mistreated, without any legal repercussions? Is that the society we want? Is that the society we fought for in the Second Wizarding War? Or do we strive to learn from past mistakes and wish to better ourselves? If so, that wish must be made into reality and this proposal must become part of British Wizarding Law. I appeal to you, honoured and distinguished witches and wizards of the Wizengamot to look beyond traditional views, and vote according to what you consider to be right." Hermione turned to Madame Bones with a nod, showing her speech was concluded. "Madame Chief Warlock." And with that she sat down.

Hermione was sitting on pins and needles, exhausted after delivering her speech, which she'd practised, honed, rewritten, rehearsed and revised over and over again. She tensed as she prepared to defend her position and fight for the votes needed to have Dobby's Law passed.

Madame Bones looked at the assembly, waiting for anyone to rise and request permission to speak. But the Chamber was silent. The members of the Wizengamot seemed to be thinking about how to respond to Hermione's speech, looking for a loophole in her logic, for a flaw in her law, for weaknesses in her references or argument. Nothing was said, and a full minute in complete silence passed. With every passing moment Hermione's anxiousness grew. _What have I done? They'll toss me into a cell in Azkaban and hide the key in the Department of Mysteries never to be found again._

At long last it was none other than Harry, nudged by Ginny through the bond, who took the initiative in the stunned silence that followed his adopted sister's speech. He raised his hand.

"I call for a vote. I say Dobby's Law should be passed as is." he declared after a nod from Madame Bones that he could speak.

Still no reaction from anyone. The Chamber was silent as a tomb. "As proposed by Lord Potter, since no one opposes his suggestion I call for a vote." Madame Bones declared. "Those in favour of Dobby's Law, please raise your hand." Hermione and Harry's hands were the first to shoot into the air, followed by Augusta Longbottom. Harry's Seeker-honed attention to detail noticed that the representatives from the traditional Slytherin families were looking at Virgil Greengrass, as if they waited for his approval. Lord Greengrass was fixed on Hermione, as if he was thinking about her speech and oblivious to the eyes set on him. Then, he raised his hand, the fourth one in the assembly. To Hermione hours seemed to have passed between seeing Mrs Longbottom raising her hand and Lord Greengrass his. In fact only a few seconds had passed. More hands were raised, both among the inherited seats and the elected ones. Percy did a prescribed but unnecessary count, because Hermione had won a qualified majority of the Wizengamot.

"Those opposing Dobby's Law" Madame Bones called out, and a few scattered hands were raised, but it seemed that most of the opposition abstained from voting. "I hereby find Dobby's Law passed. Wizarding families today owning house elves will have one month to provide them with proper clothes. House elves wishing to stay bonded to their wizarding families will be offered a contract detailing their work hours, their economical compensation and their right to be released from service. Abuse, mistreatment or oppression of centaurs, goblins or house elves or continued enslavement of the latter will henceforth be considered a crime and is to be reported to Magical Law Enforcement." With a strike of the gavel Dobby's Law was formally passed.

"She did it. Not a word of opposition. She silenced them all and crushed any conceivable opposition." Ron said with tears of pride in his eyes. "That's my witch!"

"She's amazing," Helen said "Has she given a lot of speeches?" She knew about her daughter being uncomfortable in the past standing in front of a large assembly, being much more comfortable on her own reading her books.

"She's given a few speeches in the Chamber, but this is the first time she's presented a law," Ron replied.

The Wizengamot seemed to be collectively stunned and Confunded, still grasping to understand what had just happened. They had taken a huge step into the third millennium and someone seemed to realise that and began applauding. It spread and soon the chamber was filled with a thundering applause and standing ovation, honouring Hermione, her speech and outstanding conduct. Madame Bones simply smiled, and ignored this formal breach of protocol while she waited for the homage to Hermione to fade off so the proceedings could continue.

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No one in the Weasley assemblage was surprised to be invited to the Burrow for a celebration that evening. The Weasleys didn't need much of an excuse for gathering to enjoy a good meal, a fair amount of ale, and a generally good time together. Hermione shutting up the collective Wizengamot and getting her first piece of legislation passed was more than enough excuse for a Weasley celebration. To spare Molly spending the entire afternoon preparing the feast Ron would bring a triple Dinner for six from Sam. Of course, Molly was still spending the entire afternoon in the kitchen making appetizers, desserts and a midnight snack.

The rest of the Wizengamot session was uneventful, but still lasted until lunch. Harry and Hermione joined the lunch bunch in the Ministry cafeteria, happy to be dressed in normal clothes again.

"Hermione, I think Amos was actually proud of you accomplishing something monumental for Care of Magical Creatures," Selma revealed.

"Really?" Hermione asked, since she'd been a bit worried about her boss' reaction to her activities in the Wizengamot.

"You know, you've increased the status of the magical brethren, which falls under his Office," Selma continued. "He's already working on a permit from Minister Shacklebolt to establish formal diplomatic relations with the centaurs, goblins and house elves. I think he's dreaming of adding something like _Supreme Ambassador for Magical Creatures _to his work title."

"I wonder if he'll be as thrilled when the house elves send a liaison he'll have to cooperate with," Harry said.

"Or when the centaur ambassador comes crashing through his door with a diplomatic complaint," Ron added with a chuckle.

"There's always a spot for you in DMLE if you're kicked out of Paradise Hermione," Arthur promised.

"Thank you Arthur." Hermione said, mostly ignoring Harry and Ron.

Lunch hour was soon over and Hermione had to go to the Atrium for a press conference before returning to her cubicle. She was happy with Dobby's Law, but the reactions were a bit overwhelming. During the afternoon Murray landed on her desk and stretched out his leg where a letter was attached.

"Have Patricia already heard something about Dobby's Law?" Hermione asked the owl, who hooted approvingly. "You wait here until I've read the letter, in case I need to send something back immediately." Hermione opened the letter.

_Hermione,_

_In Professor Bones absence we were given the opportunity to listen to the Wizengamot session on the wireless instead of having Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall said it would be good for us since she intends to include a basic orientation in Wizarding law in Hogwarts' curriculum. You were absolutely brilliant! Your speech, your arguments, everything was great._

_The Gryffindors are still very happy for our Auror Cadets. Two of the three Broomborne Cadets are Gryffindors. I guess you've seen Ron in his Auror Dress Robes. They're simply amazing. Both he and Harry looked very handsome. Dennis and Jessica can't wait to get their Cadet robes. _

_With DA progressing under Dennis' excellent leadership the corridors feel safer now. And last DA lesson Harry and Ron taught us the Patronus Charm, as you of course already know. I managed to get an undefined corporeal shape, but I still don't know what animal my Patronus is. I can't wait for the next lesson. It was so great to be taught by Harry and Ron again._

_All in all life at Hogwarts is good. The House Cup a toss-up for all four houses, even if Hufflepuff are a bit behind after the massive loss of points they suffered after the idiocy displayed by the gits attacking Jessica. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor are the main contenders for the Quidditch cup, but no house is completely out of the competition._

_I think I've managed to make some kind of impression on Professor Binns, if that is even possible. He called me Miss Wimbledon today, which is by far the closest he's ever been. If it's because of my interest in his subject or because I interrupt his droning with questions I don't know. Professor Slughorn gave me 10 points for my potion today. But poor Joe's cauldron vaporized after misreading the instructions. His potion turned into some repulsive goo that ate through the table and worked its way several inches into the dungeon stone floor before Professor Slughorn was able to banish it. No points were deducted but Joe has to write two feet of parchment on the hazards of bollixing up the instructions. I think I'll offer him some help with the most disastrous examples I've read about. At least Emma gave him a comforting snog during lunch._

_I could probably write a lot more, but I must go now to be in time for Professor Flitwick's lesson. I like him. We have Charms with Ravenclaw, but although he's the Head of Ravenclaw he's never showed favouritism. And he's a very good teacher._

_Hugs from Patricia_

"Poor Joe," Hermione sighed and looked at Murray "But at least he's better off than Neville who had a knack for making similar errors since he was so nervous about Professor Snape. I'll give you a short note Murray to bring back to Patricia."

A few minutes later the Tawny Owl took off leaving the Ministry going northward to Scotland and Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

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From five o'clock the Weasley clan began gathering at the Burrow. The first ones to arrive were Fiona and Gallatea with a widely grinning Seamus with one arm around each of the sisters.

"Chief Fullabull's not here yet?" Taya asked Molly, and seeing her aunt's inquisitive look she clarified. "That's Jayce. Sometimes I call him that, 'cause he is full of bull."

"Full of bull, Fullabull." I get it Molly replied and laughed. "No, I guess the ones at the Ministry will arrive together. What have you three been up to?"

"I've been in a meeting with Professor McGonagall this morning, detailing the cooperation between the Auror Office and Hogwarts for launching the Auror Training Programme,"Seamus revealed "The afternoon was spent writing a report about said meeting for the Chief."

"And I've had myself a normal day in the Hospital wing," Fiona said with a tone clarifying that a normal day meant treating at least a couple of curious conditions. Treating various hexes, jinxes, doxy bites, Quidditch injuries, potion accidents and pranks gone bonkers were routine, and there was almost always something that stood out in one way or the other.

"Professor Hagrid was kind enough to let me join him for a lesson in Care of Magical Creatures, and in the afternoon he gave me a tour of the forest," Taya said "We spent some time at the Three Broomsticks until the Irish-American Snogging Team joined us.

Molly understood Taya was referring to Fiona and Seamus "I didn't know you used the word _snogging_."

"I didn't, at least not before coming here. I usedta call it _suck face,_" Taya grinned. "And those two do it a lot."

Molly chuckled but she was happy for her niece and the man she considered her ninth-or-so child. "Love is flourishing then?"

"Oh yes Aunt Molly," Fiona smiled.

Molly could see the change in Seamus after getting together with Fiona. He was still the fun-loving flirt he'd always been, but when it came to commitment he was all Fiona's. The American witches assisted Molly by setting the table and bringing Butterbeer and ale from the storage. Soon Bill and Fleur stepped out of the Floo.

"Welcome," Molly greeted them and was on her way to giving them a hug when Bill halted her.

"Hold on mum, stay where you are," He commanded and set the almost one year old Victoire on the floor and encouraged the girl. "There, go to grandma, alléz."

All activity came to a halt and everyone looked at Victoire as she left the safety of Bill's grasp and took a step forward. Another step, and focusing at her grandmother's outstretched arms she completed a wobbly baby walk across the kitchen. Reaching Molly she was hoisted into the air, as the praising of her accomplishment commenced.

"For how long has she been walking?" Molly asked.

"It happened just this week. And it's her favourite pastime now," Bill revealed.

Molly hugged her grandchild and kissed her. "You'll grow up to an amazing witch Victiore, one eighth Veela, half Weasley Head Boy and Curse Breaker, half Triwizard Champion. That's a winning combination if there ever was one." Molly said in baby talk while making funny faces, which caused Victoire to giggle "Do you want to go back to daddy?"

Another triumphant walk later the baby girl was back in the safety of her father's arms. "Everything all right in Gringotts?" Seamus asked.

"I can tell more when the lady of the day is here, but I'll say this much—I've never seen the goblins praising a witch as they did Hermione today. She's made history," Bill said.

"'Ermione eez a formidable witch," Fleur agreed.

Before more was said the door opened and the Ministry employees entered, Harry, Charlie, Arthur, Jayce and Percy. They told the others that Ron and Hermione were fetching the Grangers. And they were also waiting for George and Angelina to arrive from Diagon Alley. Andromeda had declined the invitation because Teddy had come down with a mild fever. Ginny was of course unable to attend because of her training schedule and preparations in Holyhead. They didn't have to wait long for George and his fiancée, who arrived only a few minutes later.

"So we're only waiting for her Worship, his Redness and the Grangers." Harry smirked.

"They'll be along soon enough. They're picking up the Grangers and enough Chinese food to feed an army—or a few Weaselys—at the Black Dragon," Arthur said "Which should be just enough time for me to dig out the bottle containing our welcoming toast from the cupboard," The special cupboard didn't look much to the world, but the inside was magically enlarged which made it quite a challenge to find one particular item since the opening was rather small. True enough Arthur had just procured Odgen's finest as Richard, Helen, Hermione and Ron entered the by now crowded kitchen. Hermione picked up the Chinese take-away from her beaded bag and with a quick Engorgio she returned it to proper size.

"Ron, wands away and arm yourself with chop sticks," Harry smirked referring to Ron's stag night accident, hexing his lips off when he used two wands for chop sticks.

"Very funny Scarhead," Ron replied with a grin.

"All right you two, before we dig in there's time for a toast," Arthur interrupted them. "Get yourselves a glass. Ron, park your lovely wife in a chair and we'll get this celebration started."

A slightly blushed Hermione sat as the gathered extended Weasley clan raised their glasses in her honour. Ron was the one to announce the toast. "The wisest witch of her age has showed her true colours. Shutting the Geezergamot up is quite an accomplishment in itself, but it pales in comparison to the reason for their collective silence," Ron declared proudly "Today our community has taken a huge step into modernization and the abandoning of archaic practices. I'm proud to be the lucky sod married to this amazing witch and I propose a toast to Hermione's speech, the favourable vote, and last but not least to Dobby's Law"

"Damn it Red, that could've been three separate toasts," Seamus interjected.

"Shut it Irish. There's enough to get you sloshed anyway." Ron said "To Hermione, hear hear."

"Sláinte," was heard in unison before everyone emptied their shots of Firewhiskey.

After the toast Hermione stood up again. "Thank you. I couldn't have done this without the support from you all, my family. The Chinese is under a heating charm so I suggest we start with the appealing looking appetizers Molly has made."

"Yes, help yourselves," Molly said, inviting everyone to eat, an invitation she didn't have to make twice.

Looking at the family filling their plates Harry wished Ginny had been there too. She responded though their bond. _I am here, through you Harry. We're having supper too, so I have time to eavesdrop a little._

_You know what I mean. How's practice coming?_

_We're prepared. If we lose, we've at least done everything we can. Now, get some food before Ron gets it all._

With a wave of Ginny's love Harry joined the family gathered around the table and found an empty seat between Helen and Angelina.

"How's my daughter's brother today?" Helen asked.

"Very well thank you Mrs Granger," Harry replied "At least now that I'm out of those ridiculous plum robes we have to wear in the Wizengamot. Did you enjoy attending the session?"

"Indeed I did, and so did Richard. Hermione was simply amazing, worthy of all the praise she's receiving."

"She truly was. And the dental clinic is thriving?" Harry asked.

"We're making a good living from our earnings, and I believe it's turned out to be a profitable investment on your part too."

Harry thought about how to respond. True, he made some Galleons from investing in the Granger dental clinic, but compared to his annual income the dental clinic didn't really matter. He and Ginny could live on just one of their respective incomes, and that was still a small portion of their total income, coming mostly from the interest the family fortune generated. Even after establishing the Magical Brethren Fund and pouring gold into it, they still made more Galleons than they ever needed. Hermione had told her parents that Harry was rich, but not just how sizeable his vault was. "What matters the most is that we're all happy about our deal. My investment pays off, and you're running your own successful clinic."

Finishing the appetizers Ron served the Chinese food. It contained every item on Sam's menu. _The man must've tripled his business by having Ron as a regular guest_, Hermione thought. The evening continued as a pleasant family gathering focused on celebrating Hermione. Despite Seamus' remark about Ron wasting two toasts, he had to admit there were enough toasts over the course of the evening. He was lucky to know Fiona had potions that would make him fit for duty in the morning. After dessert the assembly decided to stay the night at the Burrow, which pleased Molly and gave her the opportunity to cook a proper breakfast in the morning. Harry, Percy and Charlie kipped in in the sitting room. The Grangers retired to Ginny's old room, while Charlie's room was the home for Jayce and Taya. Bill, Fleur and Victiore had Bill's old room. Fiona and Seamus were offered Percy's room. Hermione and Ron slept in their room at the top floor. George and Angelina had the twins' old room. Soon everything was quiet, not even the resident ghoul was making any noise.

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The following morning Jayce was back in the ministry. He'd been given an office at level one, since his one year appointment as the America liaison to the British Ministry of Magic. He was reading the Daily Prophet, while enjoying a cup of tea. He'd never been much of a tea drinker, but living in England made it impossible not taking a liking to the beverage. This morning it also settled his stomach after having entirely too much for breakfast. Molly seemed to thrive on the opportunity to feed the entire Weasley clan, and had prepared a full English fry up. Jayce loved it, but the heavy breakfast had his stomach in protest an hour later. With another sip of tea he focused on the newspaper. It wasn't a surprise to see Hermione on the front page. The article was favourable, but also lifted up a few practical issues the Ministry would have to resolve in the coming month as Dobby's Law was implemented. There was also a column about Dobby. Harry had granted an interview sharing his memories of the courageous little fellow and there was a photo of the now immortalized elf. The articles covering the Wizengamot session also reported that SPEW, still on the list of official Hogwarts school associations since Hermione never dissolved it, had grown in numbers, although it had no chairman and no activities. Simply the fact that it was Hermione who'd founded it was reason enough to join. His tea break was interrupted by a memo buzzing around his head. He snatched it and unfolded it.

_Jayce,_

_Would you care to join us in the Forest of Dean at 10 am?_

_Harry_

After reading it the memo burst into flames. _So, it's back to nature for me as well then._ Jayce was thinking about Taya, who was going with Charlie to the Hebridean Dragon paddocks today.

At the appointed hour Harry, Ron and Jayce gathered in the Forest of Dean. Harry and Ron first cast a series of protective charms, the same ones that had kept them hidden during the Horcrux hunt. Once properly warded the trio sat down. Jayce was waiting for Harry to take the initiative.

"All right. We have a black op to plan." Harry began. "We can't count on our surveillance being successful and bringing Gumboil before justice by playing it by the rules. We have Dung in the street, and as soon as we hear from him we must be ready to strike."

"Isn't Dung a threat to our secrecy?" Ron asked.

"Dung lies about everything, even about lying in the first place. No one would believe him even if he'd suspect his tip to us is connected to the attack," Harry said.

Ron nodded in agreement and Harry turned to him. "I know you've been thinking about the tactics for the attack. What's your plan Red?"

"We have to keep it simple. We can't use anything fancy which might point to the attackers being skilled in fighting," Ron began. "I'm thinking a quick strike, and an equally quick escape. Get in, using some crude hexes and jinxes and a load of dungbombs, praise Mafalda and get out."

"Bonus points to the one who nails Gumponce in the face with a dungbomb," Harry grinned. "Jayce, how does the plan sound so far?"

Jayce thought about it for a moment. "How about going in polyjuiced?"

"Good idea." Harry agreed "We'll declare some of the Auror stock being outdated." In fact the Auror Office had a constant stock of polyjuice potion and it had to be replaced regularly. It wouldn't raise any suspicions to get hold of enough for the three of them to polyjuice for this operation.

"Has Hermione set up an escape route if this op goes ape shit?" Jayce asked.

"In case we're exposed and risk long term accommodation next to Lucius Malfoy she'd set up untraceable portkeys that will take us to America, for further apparation to Rook Holler," Ron confirmed "In case of our disappearance Hermione will provide Ginny and Taya with a set each too, so they can join us."

"It won't come to that," Harry said "But it's good to have insurance."

The three wizards thought about the plan from every conceivable perspective, in case there was an angle they hadn't covered.

"We launch from here, and travel here by bike," Harry said "In the unlikely event our escape is traced the trail stops here."

"Good thinking Chief," Jayce agreed.

"All right. I guess that concludes our meeting," Harry said. "Anyone up for some duelling practice in the Den?"

"Do gnomes swear?" Ron asked in response.

After cancelling the wards the trio apparated back to the Ministry. Harry felt good about the plan, although he hoped they wouldn't have to put it into action. But he suspected they would since they'd been unsuccessful in bringing in the anti-Pureblood extremists by following Ministry procedure. _Which is exactly what Gumboil is using to his advantage. But you won't see this coming. You're going down._


	54. Chapter 54 Enough is enough and sometime

_Dear reader,_

_This story has been very slow moving after Ghostchicken left for the next great adventure. It was a truly co-written story and losing her was like losing a leg. Trying to finish this story in a way I feel worthy of the co-written part has been very hard. Originally the final part of the story would've been a little more detailed and longer. But I've decided to finish the story with this chapter. I hope you will find it an end worthy the story. I'm happy with it, given the situation and I think Ghostchicken would've approved._

_I still might add an epilogue to this story. We also had numerous ideas how to continue our saga about post war Wizarding Britain, and after finishing this story I might develop these ideas into a continued story._

_To all of you who have sent encouraging messages, and questions about updates, I thank you all. Knowing you appreciate the story, and understanding that it's been hard to write these final chapters has been very helpful and inspiring._

_I want to thank theelderwand1, who's been helping me with proofreading and beta._

_Here it is, the final chapter of Harry Potter and the Right of Justice. Enjoy._

_JAM_

**Chapter 54 – Enough is enough and sometimes too much**

It was a gloomy morning with heavy grey clouds and a damp wind, not uncommon for Britain during the spring. But in an odd-looking house outside the charming Devon village of Ottery St-Catchpole the mood was anything but gloomy—a little bleary-eyed, but definitely not gloomy. The people gathered for Molly Weasley's grand Sunday breakfast were anxiously awaiting the post owl to deliver the _Daily Prophet_. Molly was happy that apart from the current inhabitants of the Burrow—herself, Arthur, Ron, Hermione, Jayce and Taya—Fiona, Seamus, Harry and Ginny were also there, having stayed after a wee bit of partying the previous night to celebrate the Holyhead Harpies advancement to the Quidditch Championship final, and of course Ginny's part in the advance.

A slightly bed-head ridden Ron slouched in his chair, next to his wife, who was shaking her head at him, with a small smile. "Still think that last shot of Old Ogden's was a good idea?"

"Seamus' fault," the tall redhead replied with a cock-eyed grin.

"Nae, mate. That was Harry's idea," the Irishman replied.

Ron shot a look at his best mate. "Come to think of it, Irish, you're right. Thanks a lot, Scarhead," Ron said with a smirk.

Harry feigned a hurt look. "See that, Gin? They've turned on me."

"You know I love you, but you brought this on yourself," she replied.

Jayce laughed as Fiona and Taya shook their heads. "Aunt Molly," Taya said, "is food the only thing that stops these folks from bickerin'?"

"It's the only cure I've found that's fool proof," the Weasley Matriarch responded with a smile of her own as she began to lay the spread on the table.

A hoot announced the approaching owl and after paying it they eagerly unfolded the newspaper. The owl didn't leave at once, but took its time to have a few owl treats from the tray between two perches. On one of them the retired family owl, Errol, was sitting trimming his feathers. He actually looked pretty good—by Errol's standards—since he didn't go on country-wide deliveries any longer. At the most he was sent to Harry and Ginny a mile up the road. The other perch which the post owl sat on was primarily for Pig, but the little energetic owl rarely used it.

Seeing the two owls reminded Harry once again that he and Ginny really needed one of their own. Sure, they communicated through their bond and Harry sent Prongs with messages, but the drawback with Prongs was that he delivered the message upon arrival, no matter the recipient was alone or not. A Patronus was for that matter not appropriate for delivering messages of a more personal or private nature. _I'll just tell Ginny to take me to Eeylop's and Bat Bogey me if I try to exit the shop without an owl. _Harry's thoughts were drawn back to the present as the family members commented on the front page image.

"Ginny, you sure know how to fly that broom," Taya said, as Harry took in the large front-page photo. It showed the Harpies flying together with Seeker Geraldine in the middle holding the Snitch over her head in triumph. The headline read: _Harpies in the Quidditch final against the Kestrals_.

The Welsh local derby between the Harpies and the Catapults had been a match best described as a roller coaster. The score had shifted back and forth and the Chasers on both teams had played at the top of their games. In the end it came down to a duel between the Seekers, each trying to outmanoeuvre the other once they both spotted the Snitch. Geraldine had caught it only by executing the crazy stunt of throwing herself off her Firebolt, snatching the Snitch as she tumbled through the air and then summoning her broom again before she smashed into the turf.

"What are they saying about the match?" Harry asked, proud of the Harpies in general and Ginny in particular. She'd scored more goals in this match than any other previously during the season. She was in fifth place among the top scoring Chasers, and would have the chance to continue to improve her standing during the final.

Hermione—self-appointed and unquestioned newsreader at the Burrow—opened the spread about the match and cleared her throat. "I guess I'll skip the summary of the actual match since we all were there to see it. Here's what they have to say about the upcoming final: _The Kestrals have been a stable team in the top of the league for many seasons, while the Harpies have remained in the middle. This season however, they've taken a big step forward with the energy, speed and talent Ginny Potter has added to the all-witch team. The Kestrals have played in the final before, but lost to the Magpies. None of the current Harpies have ever played a final. The big question is if the Kestral's experience will work in their favour, or if the memories of that loss to the Magpies will plague their confidence. One thing is certain, the bookmakers consider it nearly a toss-up: the odds are 5-to-6, favouring the Kestrals. I think the final will be something to look forward to for all Quidditch lovers throughout the realm, even if you're not a Harpy or Kestral fan."_

Every eye turned to Ginny, as the Weasley's waited for her to chime in on the article as Hermione refilled her cup of tea. The redheaded witch cocked her brow "Gwenog is positive we can beat the Kestrals but the reporter is right. We don't have the experience of playing the final, and it is a different kind of match. It's one single match, and no chance to repair a mistake the way we can if we lose during the season."

Molly was pampering Ron and his hangover by refilling his plate for the third time with more scrambled eggs, beans, bacon and bangers when she looked up. She didn't even bother asking if he wanted another serving. "I'm sure you'll give it your best Ginny."

"Of course I will mum," Ginny said confidently. "But it doesn't help much if we lose, does it?"

"I'm not that competitive I guess," Molly sighed. "I'll be proud of you no matter if you win the final or not."

"As will we all," Arthur added. Harry agreed by sending his love and pride through the bond and taking Ginny's hand.

Hermione again called for attention and once she had it she read another piece of news. _"As usual the Quidditch final will be played at a neutral stadium. Because of the unrest we've seen during the season the Quidditch League is negotiating with Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to host, since the school is the most secure location with a Quidditch pitch. The Daily Prophet also suspects the League will ask for extra security from DMLE,"_ She lifted her eyes from the paper and looked at Harry, Ron and Arthur, "Did you know about this?"

"I'm sure the memos are waiting for us when we arrive at work tomorrow." Harry said in something that sounded like a happy sigh and reached for another piece of toast.

"Strawberry jam, Harry dear?" Molly asked, knowing Harry's love for it. She was already looking forward to cooking more since last year's batch was down to the last few jars.

"Yes please, Mum," Harry replied and spread a thick layer on his toast, before Ginny snatched it from his grasp. Harry rolled his eyes and prepared another for himself, as his wife ate his with a wicked smile and a wink. Molly pretended she hadn't seen Ginny's act of playful thievery; she thought it rather cute, actually. Harry turned to Ginny "Anything else Mrs Potter?"

"More tea please," Ginny smiled and placed a kiss on the tip of Harry's nose.

Harry poured another cup for his wife. Jayce had glanced at the newspaper and turned to Fiona, "Any chance you and Poppy will provide the first aid?"

"Sure we will," Fiona said resolutely, even though she didn't have a clue. "I cain't miss the chance to see Cousin Ginny in the final."

"Even if they'd request you wear the formal Healer outfit?" Ron smirked.

"What's the formal outfit?" Taya asked, who only had seen Fiona in her scrubs at Hogwarts.

"I ain't wearin' that dress," Fiona told Ron with a huff and turned to her sister. "It's what Poppy is wearin', with the glorified coffee filter on 'er head 'n all. It's stiff n' itchier than a flea infested coyote," Fiona informed her sister and turned to Seamus "What team'll ya cheer for Irish?"

"Kestrals vs Harpies. That's a tough one I tell ya," Seamus said "Me Irish brethren playing against my boss' wife, and favourite individual player."

"Admit it Seamus, you're too Irish to support a Welsh team in good conscience," Ron grinned.

"Sorry Ginny, but he's right," Seamus admitted. "Nothin' personal though."

"It's all right. I won't tease you much if we win." Ginny replied.

Not much more was said about the upcoming final and once breakfast was finished Harry and Ginny were soon ready to leave. Harry took a deep breath and took Ginny's hand.

"_I'd like to take a detour on our way home,"_ he told her through the bond.

Ginny felt his trepidation. _"What is it love?"_

"_Something I've put off for far too long. Just take charge and get this done, Gin. We need to go to Eeylops."_

Ginny knew how hard this was for Harry, and didn't ask what had caused him to procure a new owl on this particular day._ "All right, Harry. Let's go,"_ and she sent all the sympathy and encouragement she knew he needed.

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A few minutes later Harry and Ginny entered the Leaky Cauldron. It was past breakfast time and Tom was in the bar with his wand raised and eyes focused on the floor. A witch was sitting in a corner still finishing her tea. The rest of the pub was empty.

"Good morning, Tom," Harry greeted.

"Good morning, Mr Potter," Tom said after looking at the newcomers. "Mrs Potter."

Harry looked curiously at Tom. "What are you up to?"

"I'm sure I saw a pixie hide behind the bar. I can't have it roaming freely. They're nasty little buggers and can cause quite a mess," he replied.

"You can ask your fair barmaid's husband about pixies," Harry grinned.

"I expect you're referring to Neville," a voice from the kitchen door said.

Harry and Ginny saw Hannah, who just had entered from the kitchen with a cloth she'd charmed to wipe all the tables. "The one and only," Harry confirmed. "Did he tell you about Lockhart's Pixie incident?"

"Yes, he did. Poor Neville, he hadn't quite the confidence he has now. The Slytherins teased him a lot about that." Hannah smiled, thinking about the insecure boy who'd grown up to the brave man—and loving husband—he was today.

"Care to let me in on the secret?" Tom asked from the bar.

"In our second year Gilderoy Lockhart set loose a score of Cornish Pixies in our class room. They descended on Neville and left him hanging from the chandelier," Harry recalled "So I've seen first-hand the trouble they can cause."

"Good luck catching it, Tom," Ginny said "And send Neville our greetings Hannah. We're off to Diagon Alley."

"Thank you," Tom said, again focusing on his Pixie hunt. "Enjoy your day and good luck in the final Mrs Potter.

"We will." Harry said with a smile and headed to the entrance to Diagon Alley.

A few minutes later Harry and Ginny entered Eeylops Owl Emporium. The owls looked at the customers with piercing gazes as if they silently asked _Are you worthy of my services as a post owl?_ Harry and Ginny looked with equal curiosity at the owls. Harry felt his nervousness fade. That's when he realised he'd finally come to grips with Hedwig's passing and was having a hard time understanding why he'd been putting this off for so long.

"Good morning," a voice said from behind. Harry and Ginny turned to see the shopkeeper's eyes widen when he realised who he'd greeted. "Looking for an owl today, are we Mr and Mrs Potter?"

_That's stating the obvious,_ Harry thought. "Yes we are. I've been putting it off after losing my previous owl during the war," Harry confessed. "Mister?"

"Grant. Geoffrey Grant at your service. And don't you worry Mr Potter, I'm sure we'll find the owl for you." He replied and cast his eyes about his shop as if he was looking for the right owl. "Any particular species in mind?"

"Uh, not really," Harry said. "Not a Snowy owl though. It'd remind too much of Hedwig."

Mr Grant smiled compassionately. "You're far from the only one not wanting the same species as the previous owl, Mr Potter," He revealed. "After all an owl becomes a very dear and trusted friend and family member."

It was obvious that Mr Grant took his work very seriously, that it was more of a calling and not just a means to putting Galleons in his pocket. "How about this one Harry," Ginny asked him, pointing at a Great Grey Owl that was looking back at her with a warm look.

Harry walked up next to Ginny and looked at the owl. "He looks like Errol, or rather how he must've looked when he was young... if he ever was," Harry smirked.

"He seems to like you," Mr Grant said.

"Is it with owls as it is with wands?" Harry asked and added a fair impression of Mr Ollivander "_The owl chooses the Wizard._"

"Not really Mr Potter, but they get a first impression of people they meet, and although they'd do their job for anyone, it helps if there's a mutual liking and approval," Mr Grant said making an effort to keep a straight face.

Harry looked at the owl and Ginny asked him though the bond how he felt about it. "We'll take him," Harry decided, feeling a great relief at finally taking this step toward leaving another part of the war behind him. Hedwig would still have a special place in his heart, but he was ready to move on.

"A splendid choice. Great Grey Owls can be very long-lived," Mr Grant revealed.

"Tell us about it," Ginny grinned. "Mum and Dad got Errol before I can remember and he's still alive, even if he's retired."

"Do you need a cage, perch, treats?" Mr Clark asked.

"Yes, we need the full package," Harry said.

Fifteen minutes later Harry and Ginny exited Eeylops, Harry carrying the cage with their new owl and Ginny with a bag containing the perch, treats and a few other trinkets. Ginny didn't need to ask Harry how he felt. He was radiating happiness and relief. She looked at the owl. "All that remains now is to take you to your new home, and come up with a name you'll like," Ginny cooed.

"_Yeah, how will you top Pigwidgeon,"_ Harry asked through the bond, just to make sure this owl wouldn't take a liking to the name as well. One Pigwidgeon could be argued to be one too many. _"Rumpelstiltskin perhaps? Rump for short?"_

"_Actually Harry..." _Ginny began mischievously.

"_That's a name from a Muggle fairy tale. And we're not calling our owl Rump,"_ Harry cut in.

"_I'm just yanking your wand, love."_

"_Remind me to sort you out later,"_ Harry sighed.

"_Promise?"_

"_Minx"_

"_And you love it."_

With a soft pop the couple disapparated and went home.

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Ron and Hermione walked along Station Road in Harrow, on their way to the flat they considered renting. Ron was looking at the various restaurants they passed by.

"That's a..." Ron said pointing at an Italian restaurant. "And there's... wow. I'm going to like it here."

Hermione just rolled her eyes. "Yes Ronald, there's a pretty fair selection of restaurants with cuisine from around the world to choose from."

Being introduced to the Black Dragon, and later Caribbean food during their honeymoon had opened up a whole new dimension for Ron when it came to eating. Even if his mum was an amazing housewitch and cook, and Hogwarts feasts were plentiful as well as delicious, he'd become aware of the wide variety that the Muggle world had to offer. And he liked it. A lot. Hermione kept her eyes on the street names to find the right address. Turning left and dragging Ron along they continued a few houses down the road before Hermione checked the address on the note her parents had given her one last time to be sure they had reached their destination. "Come on Ron, let's check the flat first, and then you can choose one place—yes, one place is enough—where we can have lunch," Hermione decided.

They knocked on the door and were let in by the current inhabitants, friends of Richard's and Helen's, who were moving to York. After the initial greetings and small talk Ron and Hermione were offered to look around before having a spot of tea. The flat had one bedroom, a living room, kitchen, loo and a rather small hallway. Ron and Hermione started looking in the bedroom.

"Blimey it's noisy," Ron commented listening to the cars driving by outside.

"Single pane windows are common among Muggles," Hermione informed him. "My parents installed double glass, but we'll just charm the windows here." Nothing a good silencing charm wouldn't fix.

The bedroom and the flat as a whole had light wallpaper on the walls, which made it feel inviting and homey. "I like it," Hermione said after looking at the other rooms. "And Harrow is a good place to live. The Metropolitan line takes us into London if we want to go by Muggle means. There's also a bus directly to Heathrow. There's also a lot of history here. Harrow school was founded in the 16th century, but there might've been an earlier school from the 13th."

Ron saw it fit to interrupt his wife before he got the full lecture about Harrow. Obviously Hermione had done some reading, in case they decided to move there. "That's 800 years, just a few centuries short of Hogwarts, " Ron said and continued. "I like it, when can we move in?"

"My parents said the flat will be available next month. I like it too. Let's see if we can make a deal."

Ron got a wicked gleam in his eyes. Catching her husband's mischievous expression, Hermione sighed. "Ronald, don't even think about Confunding my parents' friends in case they won't let the flat out to us."

"No, just having you on 'Mione." Ron grinned "Let's make the deal and then we'll have that lunch.

Half an hour later Ron and Hermione sat smiling as they enjoyed a wonderful meal in an Indian restaurant, the signed contracts for their first home tucked snuggly in Hermione's beaded bag.

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Harry was pacing back and forth in his and Ron's shared office. He was barking mad. His desk was reduced to a pile of firewood and on the floor were black stains from incinerated memos. Ron sat behind his desk, his face as red as his hair, equally angry. "Damn it Ron. Damn it all!" Harry shouted "I've had it with that sorry excuse for an arse of a former Hit-wizard! We have to end this. Now."

Next to the pile that had been Harry's desk were the ashes of what had been the cause of Harry's ire: a twenty-page report from Cho. During the early morning, no less than ten Pureblood families had been attacked in a clearly coordinated assault. The whole thing had been over by the time Harry and Ron arrived at the Auror Office. Three of the homes had been under Auror surveillance and the attackers had been apprehended. The other seven homes had been burnt to the ground. The Healers at St Mungo's had their hands full. The flow of casualties had been so heavy that even Hogwarts Hospital Wing had been pressed into service to help handle the emergency. Harry felt as if all their plans had failed. After reading the report Harry and Ron had flooed to Hogwarts and the hospital wing, which received most of the young casualties in the attacks. Walking through the Hospital wing he saw Poppy and Fiona tending to a mother and infant. Professor Slughorn was present with his portable brewing kit working with all his skill to keep up with the growing demand for restorative potions. Professors Flitwick and Watson assisted with treating various curses and jinxes. Professor Sprout, Hagrid and Neville brought in ingredients for Professor Slughorn's potions from the greenhouses and the forest. Harry could see Fiona's heart aching for the injured children. She had a hard time dealing with what essentially was a field hospital situation. The war veterans weren't oblivious to the effects of violence but their wartime experience helped them put their personal feelings aside and focus on the tasks at hand. Fiona's tear-filled eyes met Harry's. "Cain't y'all Aurors put a stop to this madness?" she asked in despair.

"We can, and we will," Harry said with a determination that gave Fiona new strength to continue working. She even started humming after a little while which had a calming effect on the patients closest to her.

Harry's mind returned to the present. He'd told Fiona they could put a stop to this and by Merlin's dragon tattooed chest it would come to an end. Now. Seeing the children in the hospital wing had caused something snap inside Harry. Enough was enough. He turned to Ron and could see in his eyes that he was thinking the same thing.

"We were about to execute our black ops plan to set Gumboil up and catch him in the act, and now this, " Harry sighed "We can't wait. Hell, we don't even know if the plan will work and if it does, we don't know how long it will take to implement—or how many people will be injured or killed—before we nail that bastard."

"What are you suggesting, Harry," Ron asked.

"I'm saying we find Gumboil now and put an end to this," Harry said with a determination that convinced Ron that he meant every word. "Him and his gang of Anti Pureblood fanatics"

"But that would be..." Ron began but Harry cut him off.

"Hermione has our escape route to Rook Holler prepared. We've reached the point where we have to break the law in order to uphold it. I say we get this done, now. But if we cross that line and have to leave England, this has to work. I won't leave that ponce here with free reign over the whole island, with us in exile," Harry said with a determined voice. "That sodding ponce was right about one thing, we didn't defeat Voldy by following the rules. We used the Unforgivables, we robbed the bank. Even if our intentions were good, we broke the law. It's the same now. Gumboil just knows his way around the system too damn well to be brought down by it. We both know that, and he knows it, too. Let's finish this now. No more waiting, no more deaths or injuries. It ends now."

"I'm with you Harry, you know that, but what's the plan?" Ron asked.

"To obtain the objective, any means necessary. That's the plan," Harry concluded. "I hate to admit it, but we're walking the line here _for the greater good_. Dumbledore wasn't perfect, he made mistakes, but I'm beginning to appreciate the difficult choices he had to make, even if I don't agree with all of them."

"Are you considering killing Gumboil, if necessary," Ron asked.

Harry realised he'd been talking to Ron and not thinking about his options. "No, it won't come to that. I'm sure of it. Gumboil can handle himself in a fight, but he's no match for the two of us," Harry said. "But we have to stop him."

"But it has to be done outside the law. We have nothing to justify taking action against him. He's covered his tracks too well," Ron argued. "There's no way to bring him before the Wizengamot this way."

"As long as he's stopped I don't care about the Geezergamot. Let's go and get him," Harry said "Just you and me, I don't want anyone else involved. If this goes ape-shit I'll take full responsibility."

Ron, the master strategist, gave his friend and brother a glance. "I have a plan."

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After the success of his early morning raids Gumboil had retreated to his home to plan his next move. Outside in his garden were Frank Stiles, Gerald Stormer and another roughly half dozen wizards, celebrating the blow they'd dealt the Purebloods. Harry and Ron approached the garden disillusioned, well outside the wards. They had no intent of announcing their arrival by tripping the wards. "Ron, what would Hermione do about the wards?"

Ron thought about it for a few moments. "Well, the general idea with wards is that you have to get inside before you can neutralize them. But in the process of getting inside, you end up tripping them…" the redhead trailed off as he pondered it. Harry knew his best mate had the answer as soon as a satisfied smile crossed his face. "Kreacher," he said slowly. "I think she'd suggest we ask Kreacher to help us, since he can pass through undetected."

"How's that for irony," Harry grinned. "ELF will be brought down by an elf."

"That's brilliant Harry," Ron agreed. "Do you think old Kreacher will help us?"

"Let's ask him," Harry responded. "Kreacher?"

With a soft pop Kreacher appeared looking around with a confused expression. "Harry," the old elf asked, seeing no one around. "Kreacher must be getting old: Kreacher was sure Master called from this location."

"I'm here Kreacher, disillusioned," Harry said with a low voice. Not that it was necessary, since the group in Gumboil's garden were too noisy to hear anyone talking outside the wards.

"That's a relief then," the old elf croaked. "Kreacher feared he'd gone to the wrong location. What is Harry's need of Kreacher in this Muggle neighbourhood?"

"There's a wizard's home over there," Harry said and pointed at Gumboil's house. "Ron and I need your help to get into the garden without alerting anyone of them."

"Kreacher will get Harry and Ron through," he replied.

"Good," Harry said and turned to Ron. "Once inside, provided we're not detected we put up anti apparation wards, port key wards, a silencing charm limiting the risk of Muggles hearing what's going on. Then we take the whole lot out and go inside to finish Gumboil."

"You're sure he's inside," Ron asked.

"There's a magical presence inside," Harry revealed. Professor Dumbledore was the one who had taught him that magic left traces when they entered the cave in search of Salazar Slytherin's locket. Since then Harry had obtained some of Dumbledore's skill at sensing magic. Discovering decades old traces as Professor Dumbledore had been able to do was still beyond him, but sensing the living presence of a wizard inside a nearby house was something he'd finally mastered. "I'm sure it's him."

"Plan of attack," Ron suggested. "I work from the left, you from the right and the poor sod in the middle will face the two of us."

Harry nodded his approval, "That works for me. Kreacher, take us inside the garden, preferably behind a bush or something. Despite being disillusioned they might notice us if we appear in plain sight. Once we go into action, you go back home Kreacher."

"As Harry wishes," Kreacher replied with a nod.

"Harry, once we're inside, as long as we're unseen, count three and drop your disillusionment charm. We'll need to see each other to avoid getting in each other's way."

"Good, idea. Ready, Kreacher?"

The house elf nodded, raising his arms outward so the two unseen Aurors could grasp his hands before he disapparated.

Kreacher took them right through the wards without trouble. They appeared behind a rhododendron bush. The two Aurors were a few meters from their prey. Obviously undetected they raised the charms that would keep their opponents from leaving. Harry also cast Muffliato, to ensure that Gumboil wouldn't be able to hear the fight that was about to erupt in his garden. With a firm nod from Harry to Ron they sprang into action firing off their first round of stunners. Two wizards fell to the ground immediately, but the others reacted quickly and threw themselves behind the nearest cover. Their shield charms were up, instantly. Despite the advantage of total surprise Harry and Ron had only gotten two of their opponents, and now they were outnumbered seven to two.

"We've got to even the odds a little," Harry hissed and with a twist of his left arm his spare wand appeared from its holster. Ron nodded and equipped with two wands each they went into action.

"Get them!" Stormer ordered "Stun them and then we'll Obliviate them. It's Aurors, so no crazy stunts."

Covering each other with shields, four wizards advanced on Harry's and Ron's position. The Aurors fired off two double stunners which shattered their attackers' shields. Harry took out two of George's stun grenades and tossed them in an arch above their opponents. At mid-arc, a thunderous stunning spell erupted above the wizards' heads. Then Ron and Harry let loose a withering barrage of curses. The four wizards were caught in a cross fire and one of them side-stepped from dizziness as the stunner brushed his side. Ron quickly took him out with another volley of stunners, while Harry shielded them as they advanced from tree to tree, moving quickly, blinding their opponents with a flurry of spells. Then all fell silent. The two aurors had simply vanished.

"Damn, that was Ron Weasley" Stormer said to Stiles as he recognised the tall redhead.

"Then the other one has to be Potter." Stiles concluded

"Are you sure that's it, only the two of them?" Stormer asked as he tried to catch his breath.

"You know those two. We're in trouble."

"We're still six to two," Stormer said. "Any chance we can get to Gumboil?"

"We sure can't make a run for it to the house. We'd be stunned instantly." Stiles said "and they've raised some kind of wards to keep us here."

"Let's take these two out then," Stormer decided.

Stormer ordered the others to flanking positions, in an attempt to use their greater number to outflank the Aurors. Ron and Harry saw what was happening. They waited until Stormer and Stiles approached in the centre and the others had formed a half circle around them. Scenarios like these were standard training in the Den and Ron had developed numerous tactics depending on the situation.

"Let's dust them," Ron hissed.

Harry and Ron broke cover, firing a series of blasting spells into the ground in front of the advancing opponents. Dirt and dust erupted impairing their opponents' vision. Harry and Ron moved quickly to the left and took out another wizard with their stunners. Escaping the half circle they fired another series of stunners, that were deflected by shielding charms. With their four wands, Ron and Harry decided they could take the remaining five head on in a full frontal assault. Back to back they advanced mercilessly before Stormer or Stiles had the chance to regroup their wizards from an offensive flanking formation into a defensive position. This meant the five of them basically were on their own, without the chance of tactically using their greater number. Ron and Harry didn't plan to give them any chance to breathe, pressing their enemies with rapid-fire curses. Within seconds, only Stormer and Stiles were still on their feet. The coordinated assault of the two aurors, their spells and fighting abilities honed by years of fighting together and tireless drills in the Den, had left their opponents completely off balance.

"I'll give you this one chance to surrender your wands," Harry said.

Stormer and Stiles replied with a volley of stunners and curses. Harry and Ron shielded themselves, waiting for a chance to strike. Instead Stormer surprised them by casting a shield charm and charging at the two aurors.

_He can't really be trying to ram us?_ Ron thought as Stormer smashed into him at full speed. Stiles in turn hissed an incantation both Harry and Ron hated, "Crucio".

Temporarily off balance, Ron was hit by the torturing curse collapsing to the ground in agony. Stormer didn't wait to take advantage of the opportunity. Harry was distracted by the sound of his friend and brother screaming as the curse ripped through his body. Then Harry felt the curse hit him and the pain increased. "We've got them now!"Stormer grinned triumphantly. "Let's have some fun before we knock them out, gift wrap them and hand them over to Gumboil."

Focusing his will, Harry drew power from the bond between him and Ginny, using her strength and love to form a shield against the pain. He'd done it before in Auror training, but never in the field. With his shield finally overcoming the Crucio he cast the curse off. Then he levelled his wand at Stormer, his mouth pulling back in a sneer. Stormer barely had enough time to look surprised before a devastating stunner sent him flying ten feet through the air. Stiles couldn't believe his eyes. Harry Potter had beaten the Crucio. His own Crucio faded as did Ron's screams. Stiles was out of strength, having channelled so much energy into the Crucio he'd levelled at the redhaired Auror. Stiles began to shake as an enraged Ron came to his feet. "Mr Auror, please..."

"Stupefy," Ron shouted, blasting Stiles with a bright red bolt that sent him flying through the air. He landed in a heap next to Stormer. Harry turned to Ron, concern etched his face. "How are you, mate?"

"Right annoyed!" Ron panted. "And a little tingly after that Crucio, but give me a moment to catch my breath and we'll finish this." He said, resting his hands on his knees. After a few steadying breaths, Ron looked up toward the house. "I'm good enough, now. Let's do this."

Gumboil, oblivious to what was going on in his garden, was happy that seven of his attacks had been successful. It sent a clear message to Kingsley that Wizarding Britain wouldn't stand for injustice any longer. Soon Kingsley would have no choice but to dissolve the Wizengamot, and declare all seats open for election. Gumboil felt he was close to fulfilling his plans. And when he did, he would claim his rightful place in the Wizengamot, or possibly even as Minister for Magic.

"Yes, yes, why settle for being Chief Warlock when I can be Minister," Gumboil asked himself "The Bones woman can remain in her position. Yes, that would be wise, to show that I don't mind Purebloods, just their inherited seats and power. The Purebloods would still lose all their power without their seats and no matter what Bones would do, we'll still vote in favour of confiscating the Purebloods' wealth and redistribute it fairly among the people. And if they complain they can sell their ruddy manors for a hefty amount of Galleons and move into something of a more reasonable size."

Gumboil smiled wickedly at his own brilliance. Anyone not happy with this new order of things would be perfectly welcome to leave Britain. He wouldn't force anyone or oppress them. And that was—if he in all modestly dared to say so himself—very noble and forgiving of him since the Purebloods had abused the majority of the wizarding population for centuries. Everything would be conducted in an orderly fashion in the Wizengamot, according to the will of the people. The people demanded justice and an end to Pureblood elitism. He, Alastor Gumboil, would go down in history as the man who saved Wizarding Britain. Harry Potter would be justly mentioned in the preface of the history books as the wizard who played an important role in this change, by defeating Voldemort. But the true hero was Gumboil, the man with the vision and courage to do what was needed to change the centuries old system. Gumboil bowed to his imaginary audience.

That's when his front door exploded.

Ripped out of his daydream Gumboil didn't understand what was happening. He was still reeling from the explosion as two wizards burst through his shattered front door, one taller than the other. Even though the smoke just barely allowed him to distinguish their silhouettes, he knew who they were and that this wasn't a social call. The realisation made him feel rather awkward since visitors coming for a social call weren't known to blow up the front door. Gumboil desperately tried to reach for his wand which lay on the table next to him. "Incendio!" Harry Potter's voice cried and, in a ball of fire Gumboil didn't know that spell was capable of producing, his wand and entire sofa table was reduced to ashes in mere seconds.

"It ends now Gumponce," Ron said "The attacks, the violence, the anti-Pureblood movement. Everything."

Frantically, Gumboil looked out the open door for help. "No help for you out there," the redhead sneered. "Your friends in the garden are taken out and obliviated."

"You don't have any proof," Gumboil began before feeling his mind being forced open. Against most mental attacks Gumboil would've been able to resist, but the force behind this Legillimens was simply too powerful. It had taken him off-guard. His mental barriers crumbled immediately. He knew it was Harry behind the assault on his mind. Helplessly, he felt the Chosen One sorting through all his memories from the last year before finally withdrawing.

"You know I could report you for this," he gasped. "Auror or not, you don't have the authority..."

"Did we say we were here as Aurors, Gumponce?" Harry asked "We said we were here to end this."

Gumboil started to feel uneasy. He was unarmed. Harry knew everything by now. His two opponents knew enough magic to do whatever they pleased with him, and they'd still get away with it. They'd probably be put in charge of investigating whatever was about to happen to him. And they'd file their report to Arthur Weasley. _That's very convenient now, isn't it?_ He sighed in defeat and looked Harry and Ron in their eyes. "What are you going to do? Kill me?"

"Just give me a reason. Go ahead, make my day" Harry said with a cold voice, trying to make Gumboil believe his life might be in danger.

"_Dirty_ Harry today, are we?" Ron grinned, remembering this line from a Muggle police movie they'd watched at Helen's and Richard's house.

Harry continued as if he hadn't heard his partner's banter. "This is what we're going to do Gumboil. You will write a statement where you make a full confession. Then you'll go to the Ministry and surrender yourself, claiming you can no longer stand for the violence. You will also send your statement to the Daily Prophet, along with a call for everyone in your ranks to stand down immediately."

Gumboil burst into laughter. "And exactly why would I do that?"

"Because if you don't, I'll make you," Harry said, icily. "I have all your memories, and I can make you write anything I want you to write. I can make you forget Ron and I were even here. For all you know you'll believe that what I just told you is true." Harry took a moment to let that sink in before he elaborated. "I'll Imperius you to make you write the confession, I'll obliviate you to make you forget we were here. I'll use legilimency to replace any contradictory memories and plant them so deeply in your mind that no one will ever be able to realise what happened to you. The next thing you'll know you'll be sitting in a holding cell at the Ministry, revelling in how you've saved Wizarding Britain from chaos by giving yourself up."

"You'd better believe him, Gumboil," Ron added "But we prefer if you'll surrender voluntarily. No matter what you do, it's over for you."

Gumboil weighed his options. He was in no position to mount any kind of resistance. His wand was gone, his mental barriers crumbled. Escape was not possible. Becoming a martyr by physically assaulting the Aurors would do no good. They'd hex him before he'd even get the chance to give even one of them a nosebleed. There was no doubt Harry was both capable and willing to do everything he claimed he'd do. They had him cornered. No matter what he said after submitting his written testimony, he knew he wouldn't be believed. Even with the memories of this situation intact he couldn't bring Harry Potter down with him. _Damn it all. Potter's magic and the Weasel's tactical brilliance have me cornered._ The only question was, would he cooperate, or would he force Harry to live with the knowledge of what they would have to do with him?

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Harry and Ron arrived at the Burrow early that same evening. Harry had asked Ginny to gather the Weasley assemblage and they were all there, with Molly preparing supper, of course. When the two Aurors entered the kitchen they looked tired. "What happened boys, why are we here," Arthur asked.

"It's over," Ron declared.

"What is," Bill wondered.

"Gumboil." Harry said "Fifteen minutes ago he turned himself in and submitted a written account of his involvement in the anti-Pureblood movement. His crimes will most likely land him life in Azkaban.

Hermione looked at them sternly. "What exactly did you do to him?"

"We cornered him." Harry said. "I threatened to Imperius him, to replace his memories to make him believe he'd given himself up because of all the violence."

"And?" Ginny asked, not sure what had happened, because Harry's anger had blocked any details coming through the bond. She only knew he'd drawn a lot of power through the bond at one point.

"He decided he preferred his mind intact," Harry said. "He considered forcing my hand, but just as he fought my Imperius he realised I'd made no empty threats. He gave up and cooperated."

"You cast the Imperius," Molly asked, gasping. "Don't you think he can use it against you?"

"Well, as it is I happened to take that particular memory from his mind, and besides I didn't use my wand to cast the curse. As far as Gumboil's concerned it never happened and it can't be traced to me."

The kitchen in the Burrow was deathly quiet, and everyone looked at Harry and Ron. Harry had insisted that they reveal what had happened to the family. They needed to know the dirty business of crime fighting for what it was. Arthur was the one to break the silence. "Well, if it's all over, I suppose this gathering is a celebration. Harry and Ron, I may not agree fully with the methods you used, but well done. Well done indeed."

Hermione's stern face had changed into a warm smile. "I know what that bastard was about to do to me, and I think you did well."

"You're not mad at us," Ron asked.

"After last night's attacks I think it's safe to say things were about to escalate. Stopping Gumboil is a good thing." Hermione concluded.

"Even if the methods were unorthodox, and even illegal?" Harry asked.

"C'mon Harry, how many school rules did we break at Hogwarts? How many laws did we break bringing down Voldemort?" Hermione asked "I'm the first one to acknowledge that rules can't be followed blindly, even if I consider myself to be a law-abiding citizen. And, I have to admit, it's what Dumbledore would've done. Sometimes," she hesitated for a split second, "the greater good requires it."

"Hypocrite," Jayce grinned, disguising it as a cough.

"Gesundheit," Hermione said with pretended innocence grinning back at him.

"Hear, hear" Charlie agreed and handed out glasses of Firewhiskey. "To Harry and Ron."

"To Harry and Ron" the Weasley assemblage echoed.

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The following days passed in a blur. The fallout of Gumboil's surrender and testimony turned into a huge investigation led by the Auror Office. The Aurors made a couple of arrests without any opposition, among them Stiles and Stormer. The whole anti-Pureblood movement had deflated after Gumboil's arrest. Public opinion shifted over to Hermione's position of slow and gradual change of Wizarding Britain. No one doubted that the inherited seats would eventually be changed into elected ones. No one doubted that Blood status would become archaic. The Daily Prophet had already adopted _First generation wizard or witch_ after Hermione had coined it publicly in an interview. At the same time they also talked about all-wizarding families, rather than Purebloods. It was a step in the right direction.

After the last year it was painfully obvious to everyone that change took—and had to take—time. This realisation had strengthened Kingsley's position as Minister and Madame Bone's as Chief Warlock. Virgil Greengrass had supported Hermione and that seemed to have bridged the centuries old prejudices between Purebloods and Mugglborns. Something that had never before existed in Wizarding Britain was growing stronger and stronger, a sense of unity. There was still a lot to do, but it seemed as if the wizarding population in Britain had come together as one. It had taken two wizarding wars and the aftermath to both of them, but out of the pain and hardship came something good in the end.

In a much needed break from work Harry and all the Weasleys watched the Harpies and the Kestrals in the Quidditch final. Ginny gave it her all, playing the best game of her career, but despite the Harpy Chasers efforts taking their team to a 120 point lead, they lost when the Kestral Seeker caught the Snitch. Gwenog Jones and her team mates could honestly thank the Kestrals for a game well played knowing they had done their best even though it wasn't quite enough. Ginny's season was capped off when she was elected the best Chaser in the league.

As things started to slow down for the Aurors and Ginny was relaxing after a long season Harry realised it was only a few days until Draco's and Astoria's wedding. He hadn't read about it in the Prophet, but the fact that he'd be officiating was reported as another proof of the new era in Wizarding Britain. On the morning of the wedding Harry woke up to Ginny kissing him. "Breakfast is served, Mr Potter," She said with a smile.

Ginny was well trained in household and kitchen magic, like mother like daughter. She had prepared a grand breakfast for them. Normally Harry did the breakfast cooking, but this morning she'd woke up early to give her husband a surprise. "Thank you Gin," Harry said as he saw the full English breakfast in the kitchen. "If I mess things up today at least it won't be because I'm hungry." Harry grinned.

"Harry Potter, are you nervous?" Ginny asked.

"No, not really, it's just that I haven't cast the wedding charm for real yet, just in training," he replied looking casually at their owl. "Did you give Merlin his treats this morning?"

Harry and Ginny had discussed name suggestions silently through their bond, but because of the amount of _Merlin's this-or-that_ the Weasleys had used when they came to see with their own eyes that a new owl indeed was purchased, the owl had simply refused to listen to any other name after that. So Merlin it was.

"Yes, but just a few. He gets enough food from the mice he catches, and we don't want him fat. But he deserves a few well-earned owl treats." Ginny said with a smile.

After breakfast Harry took a shower and put on his Auror dress robes. He didn't like showing off, but on a formal occasion like this he was required to wear his Order of Merlin. The good thing about his dress robes was that instead of his Order being the only award as it would've been with normal dress robes, he also wore his Auror Commander badge and insignia, making the Order of Merlin one golden item among many. _Thank you Jayce for coming up with the idea of Auror dress robes._

Thirty minutes before the wedding Harry apparated to the Greengrass manor. He quickly made his way to the main hall and met Virgil and Narcissa. "Welcome Auror Potter," Virgil greeted him. "I hope you excuse us for not welcoming you more grandly. We're a wee bit busy making the last preparations. My wife is overseeing the kitchen and we're making sure the decorations are properly charmed."

"It's quite all right, Lord Greengrass. I know how it was the day of my wedding," Harry replied and turned to Draco's mother. "Lady Malfoy, I'm honoured to cast the wedding charm for Draco and Astoria today."

"We're honoured that you accepted, Lord Potter," she replied, intrigued that Harry observed Pureblood tradition, by addressing them with their titles on a formal occasion such as this.

Harry looked around. The Greengrass main hall was decorated in the light green colour of their family. Garlands of green leaves and summer flowers hung around the hall. Guests had started to arrive and house-elves, properly dressed and with legally negotiated salaries and working hours, assisted them to find their place. "I won't take up any more of your time then. Is there anything I need to know about your wishes for the ceremony?"

"Just follow the traditional wedding ceremony. That's what we wish," Narcissa said.

Harry took his place and encouraged through the bond by Ginny he calmly went through the wedding charm and his training in casting it. Ten minutes before the wedding Draco entered the hall along with Goyle who obviously was Draco's best man. They greeted Harry before they took their places. Daphne followed shortly, curtseyed before Harry and assumed the designated spot of the maid of honour. To his surprise he didn't feel too uncomfortable by the formalities. Harry looked at the hall, by now full of guests. In the front rows were Lady Greengrass, and what Harry assumed to be other members of their house. On the other side was where Narcissa Malfoy was seated. Harry was surprised to see Andromeda sitting next to her. They hadn't talked about Draco's wedding, but Harry realised that even if the two sisters weren't close, Pureblood—or all-wizarding—tradition would've held it as bad form if Andromeda hadn't been present at her nephew's wedding. Further down the rows Harry could see several Slytherins, but also colleagues from the Muggleworthy excuses office where both Draco and Astoria were working. Clearly the change in Wizarding Britain had affected even an all-wizarding wedding such as this one, since their office mates wouldn't have been deemed worthy to attend otherwise. Several Wizengamot members were also there, including Madame Bones. She and Kingsley had concluded that one of them should attend and with Draco being a junior employee in a small office it was more appropriate for Madame Bones to attend, since both the groom and the bride's father were members of the Wizengamot.

Harry felt calm as he began the ceremony. His training kicked in and he performed each part of the wedding charm with a smooth and well governed hand. After Draco and Astoria had exchanged rings and declared their vows Harry looked at them. "By the power vested in me by the Ministry of Magic in Britain, I hereby declare you husband and wife." With a final flick of his wand a light flashed as a confirmation of the successful casting of the wedding charm. "Mr and Mrs Malfoy, let me be the first one to congratulate you."

Harry sighed in relief as he watched Draco and Astoria walk down the aisle; it had been a while since he'd attended a large gathering and not been the centre of attention. He found it refreshing The main hall emptied in favour of the wedding banquet prepared in the garden. Harry would follow the mandated tradition and stay for a while. Despite all the change he still didn't quite enjoy the company of Goyle, Pansy and the other Slytherins. Even now, he still felt the nagging sense that he should remain on his guard and, without Ron there to watch his back, that urge was even more pronounced. With a will, he forced those feelings to the back of his mind. _Old thinking, got to let it go_, he thought to himself. As he entered the garden, he snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, crossing the distance to Andromeda. "I shouldn't be surprised to see you here, I guess." He greeted her as he handed her one of the champagne flutes.

She smiled her thanks. "Harry, I thought a friendly face would be appreciated when you officiated your first wedding, deep within Slytherin territory."

"Actually I appreciated the strict observance of tradition today Andy, since I could follow the instruction to the letter. When Ginny and I got married, or Ron and Hermione for that matter, we used a little bit of liberty in the agenda."

"You did good Harry. This won't be the last time you cast the wedding charm," Andromeda predicted.

"I guess not. How's Teddy by the way?"

"He's with Bill, Fleur and Victoire and he's just fine."

"Just Floo me and Ginny when it's time for another sleepover for him at IB" Harry said.

"I will, he's already asking me about it. He's eager for more flying and he knows that with you and Ginny there's a lot of airborne time."

Harry soon left Andromeda to greet the guests. He stayed for dinner and after having a dance with Astoria he had fulfilled his obligations and could bid his farewell. He was very happy to return home.

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"How much longer?" Ron asked.

"About twenty minutes," Hermione replied. It was the day the Hogwarts Express arrived at Platform 9 ¾ with all the students returning from their year at Hogwarts. Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny were relaxing by the pond at the Burrow, until it was time to meet the Spawn at King's Cross Station. Suddenly Ron got a nostalgic look on his face, as his eyes fell on the Burrow.

"Blimey, I can't believe the Burrow isn't home anymore," Ron said, referring to his and Hermione's move to Harrow two days earlier.

"The Burrow will always be home," Ginny said and added with a cheeky smile. "When are we invited for the house warming?"

"As soon as I'm certain the silencing charms will hold up for the test of a wizarding invasion of our Muggle-surrounded home." Hemione explained. "We wouldn't like to give the Obliviators or the Muggleworthy Excuses Office the pleasure of taking the Mickey out of us in case we had to call them in."

"True," Ron agreed "But we'll have it soon, keep your eyes open for Pig and the invitation letter."

"Kreacher also asked about your housewarming," Harry recollected. "I promised him I'd tell you that he's eager to take charge of your kitchen and roast a Hippogriff or two... or are you bringing in Sam Chang?"

"Or? Why the 'or'?" Ron asked while Hermione was mumbling something about remembering to enlarge the oven magically to fit a Hippogriff "Let's bring in both Sam and Kreacher." Ron's wide grin and Hermione rolling her eyes at his remark made Ginny giggle.

Before long it was time to leave for London. The quartet disapparated with a soft pop and soon made their way towards Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross Station. Only five minutes later the Hogwarts Express arrived and it had barely come to a complete stop before students stepped onto the platform. Cheerful greetings were heard and families reunited were hugging their young ones. Although the quartet attracted some attention most people were focused on finding their homecoming students. Hermione soon heard her name being called by Patricia and moments later the Spawn and the Golden Quartet exchanged greetings and hugs.

"I hear you did honour to the House of Gryffindor by winning both the House Cup and the final Quidditch match," Harry said, praising the Gryffs in general and his Seeker apprentice and Auror Cadet Dennis in particular.

"Yeah, it was a team effort really. And The House Cup was won greatly because of Patricia earning loads of points in class." Dennis explained.

"We were also fortunate enough that none of us messed up by getting busted for any of the mischief and mayhem we pulled of," Jessica grinned.

"George would be proud of you," Ron said.

"You've done great all of you, both on the Quidditch pitch and in the castle," Ginny said.

Slowly the group moved towards the exit while still chattering about everything. "Mum and Dad sent an owl telling us they're back home and everything is fine." Emma revealed. Desmond and Heather had stayed with the Templetons for some time before Gumboil was locked up.

"And we'll go on a holiday together this summer, my family and the Prewetts," Patricia added. "Camping, The Forest of Dean."

At this revelation a hint of a blush was seen on the Quartet's faces, since their camping trip there had levelled a substantial clearing in the forest after Harry and Ginny lost control of their bond for a few minutes. No one noticed since everyone was looking at Patricia and the twins.

"Dad wishes he could bring two tents," Erica said.

"Patricia explained how a Muggle tent works and Dad wouldn't have the Templetons crammed up like that." Emma said and turned to her fellow Spawns. "Did you know that a Muggle tent is as tiny on the inside as they are on the outside?"

"Really," Jessica asked in shock, "that would be like living three or four people in one Hogwarts bed."

"And that's considered being a holiday." Emma commented.

"You can borrow our tent," Harry promised. "We're not using it over the summer anyway."

Emma, Erica and Patricia screamed in joy and excitement. "Thank you Harry," they yelled.

"Tell Desmond and Heather to come over to IB and pick it up." Ginny told the girls. "And of course the Templetons are welcome to. If you're lucky Harry will cook something."

"Of course I will," Harry promised, before turning to Dennis and Jessica, "and you, Cadets Creevey and Spinnet, are welcome to the Auror Office any time you feel like practising your duelling skills."

"I am?" Dennis asked, looking first at Harry and then at Jess, "We are?"

"You are an Auror Cadet and once you pass your Auror Field Manual and Ministry Organisation tests you'll be approved to go with Auror teams in the field." Harry confirmed. "Of course we'll send owls to invite all Cadets, but since we're here now I thought I just might as well tell you."

"Thank you Harry," Jessica answered since Dennis was still processing the fact that being an Auror Cadet allowed him to go to the Auror Office and practise duelling.

The group were moving towards the exit and one by one they found their respective families. When the Templetons and the Prewetts approached, Jessica and Dennis were still with them. Patricia turned to Hermione as it was time to say goodbye. "Will you help me with third year preparations?"

"Of course. Ron and I live in Harrow now. You can take the Tube and visit us," Hermione promised.

"Oh, that's wonderful," Patricia beamed despite her friends' cheeky remarks about doing voluntary homework during the summer holiday. She turned to them. "Don't you prats practise flying during summer?"

"Sure, we do that for fun, not because we fly at Hogwarts." Dennis replied.

"There you go, I study transfiguration during the holiday because it's fun, not because it's on our schedule at Hogwarts." Patricia said, shutting her friends up. "And the great thing about doing it at Hermione's and Ron's place is that the ruddy Trace can't tell whether it's me or Hermione doing the magic, so I can do more than just reading about the spells."

"Dad, does that mean..." Emma started.

"That means the Ministry wouldn't send owls if you cast spells at home, but I'd send you to an early bed if you did." Desmond said sharply, but with a warm grin.

"Aw c'mon Dad, can't we even throw a hex or two on the gnomes before tossing them out?" Erica pleaded.

"Well, under my supervision with proper demonstration it might be all right," Desmond said thoughtfully.

Heather shook her head and giggled. "Desmond, just admit you'd love to hex the snot out of the gnomes as well. You and the girls have a good time doing it together."

With a slight blush Desmond nodded and looked at Paul. "She's right," he admitted. "Let's do it as soon as we got home."

Soon enough the Templeton and Prewett families were on their way for a lunch together before going to their respective homes. Suddenly Dennis looked shy as his mother and father approached. They knew about his and Jessica's relationship but they'd never met her. "Mum, dad," Dennis greeted them and hugged them both before taking Jessica's hand. "Jes, these are my parents. Mum and dad, this is Jessica."

"A pleasure to meet you Mr and Mrs Creevey," Jessica greeted them.

"Likewise Miss Spinnet," Mrs Creevey replied. "Dennis has written a lot about you, and I'm happy to finally meet you.

"And congratulations both on winning the House Cup and becoming an Auror Cadet." Mr Creevey added.

"Oh, let me introduce the Commander and Captain of the Auror Corps, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley." Dennis said and the Creeveys turned to Harry and Ron.

"An honour, sirs." Mr Creevey said and greeted both of them.

"Dennis is a fine young wizard, and I'm honoured to meet you Mr Creevey, and Mrs Creevey." Harry said. He still didn't like being called _sir,_ but he'd have to come to terms with not being _just Harry_ with everyone.

After ten minutes Dennis and Jessica left with the Creeveys. Ron turned to the other three.

"Don't say it," Hermione cut in before Ron even opened his mouth, "You want lunch."

Ron kept silent and nodded.

"All right, let's go to Sam and have a dinner for six." Ginny decided. No one protested and after finding a good spot they disapparated.

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With the newfound sense of unity in Wizarding Britain summer seemed to be brighter and warmer than usual. Ron was stretched out on the sofa in his and Hermione's living room, relaxing after a full day of duelling practice in the Den. The only interruption had been a false alarm of a troll sighting in Wales. It had turned out to be a badly transfigured moss-covered troll-size boulder. Whoever had tried to improve their transfiguration skills had already left when the Aurors arrived at the scene and told the "troll" to stand down. After cancelling the spell, returning the boulder to inanimate state, the Aurors had apparated back to the Ministry.

Hermione put a cuppa on the sofa table and sat down next to Ron. "You look thoughtful," she told him.

"No, just a bit exhausted," Ron said and took a sip of tea. "Thank you, a spot of tea was just what I needed now."

"Well, it's been a busy couple of years, Ron. No wonder you're a bit exhausted." Hermione said.

"I was thinking about the workout today, but yeah, it's been busy. First the Dark Tosser, then our crazy cousin followed by the nutty Gumboil. Will it ever be over?" Ron asked.

"I think Voldy stood for everything that was bad about the Pureblood traditions and even twisted it further, and your dear cousin was a victim and a result of Voldy's insanity. That their reign was followed by a counter reaction was probably inevitable." Hermione analysed. "But that opened our eyes to the fact that the world isn't black and white. It's not as simple as saying Purebloods are evil and Muggleborns are good. There are good and bad people everywhere."

"It's a fine line 'Mione," Ron said "What is it that makes us good and Gumboil bad? We both acted according to our belief, putting personal agenda before even the law."

Hermione looked thoughtfully at her husband "I think the biggest difference is that Gumboil was driven by hate, and you are driven by love. And in this imperfect world, we sometimes have to come up with imperfect solutions to achieve victory for what's good and to defend what we love."

Ron thought about her words and nodded. "For the damnable greater good."


End file.
